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‘Are you finding thisfunny?’ Charlie says, and she sounds so much like a third-rate am-dram Lady Bracknell that it just sets me off. I laugh and laugh until my stomach hurts and my eyes are wet with tears.
‘Oh dear,’ I gasp after a while. ‘Sorry.’
‘Well, I hope you feel better for that,’ Charlie snaps.
‘I do, actually,’ I say. And then I hear footsteps in the hallway, coming closer. ‘I have to go. Bye, Charlie.’
‘But—’
‘We’ll talk another time. If I feel like it.’ I end the call just as the door opens and Marco comes in.
‘Oh,’ he says, looking a little worried. ‘You okay?’
‘I’m fine.’ I breathe out slowly, trying to resist the laughter that’s still bubbling up. Marco eyes me cautiously.
‘Well,’ he says, ‘at least you’re not crying.’
‘Stop,’ I squeak, wiping my eyes. ‘Oh, God.’
‘What’s so funny?’
I shake my head and pat the bed next to me. He puts his bag of purchases on the nightstand and sits down. ‘It’s nothing,’ I say. ‘Just some ridiculous family drama.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ He puts his arm around me and I lean into him. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
His hand is warm on my waist, his thumb stroking my skin through the thin fabric of my top. Something stirs in me then, beneath all the nerves and the agitation – something hot and faintly devilish. ‘I really don’t,’ I say, and I move even closer and brush my lips against his neck, just below his ear. Marco’s breath quickens and he grips me tighter as I trail kisses down towards his collarbone, letting my mouth linger on his skin, tasting him. I put my palm to his chest and feel his heart beating hard and fast.
I think, on the whole, I haven’t forgotten how to do it after all.
21
‘I suppose you’ll be back here soon,’ Marco says as Romituzzo comes into view. ‘Did you have a good morning yesterday? Somehow I didn’t manage to ask.’
He shoots me a wicked look and I smile at him. ‘Well, we had to keep the terms of our deal. And yes, I did, though the heat was unbearable. I swear it was worse than Florence.’
‘Yeah, it would be. We’re right at the bottom of the valley here, so it’s like a… uh…’
‘Sauna? Steam cooker? Massive pot of boiling soup with extra mosquitoes?’
‘Something like that,’ Marco says.
The via Senese is busier than yesterday. There’s a queue outside the bakery, and people are strolling along the street with shopping bags and those tartan wheely carts that always look so practical. In the shade of the church porch, a little knot of women are chatting. I look to see whether I can spot the lady I saw yesterday, but she isn’t among them. There’s no car at the cemetery gates and the place itself looks empty.
Marco pats my knee. ‘You’re probably too early. It was well past noon when I came to get you. And she might only visit once a week, or even less.’
‘Of course.’ I know he’s right, but I’m still disappointed. ‘I wonder why she was there in the middle of the day? Surely she could visit when it’s cooler.’
‘Definitely,’ Marco agrees. ‘In fact, it’s dangerous to be working outside in that kind of heat. If I were her son or grandson or whoever that guy was, I’d never let her risk her health like that.’
‘I know. It makes no sense.’
He thinks for a moment. ‘Unless she doesn’t want to be seen. A town like this shuts down for a couple of hours in the middle of the day. Perhaps she wants to visit Achille when she won’t be disturbed.’
‘Maybe.’ My mind’s beginning to work again, churning over possibilities. ‘I mean, we know she can’t be Stella. But maybe you’re right and she is an old flame of Achille’s, or there’s some other reason she wants to keep things private.’
‘Another mystery. First the Bugatti, then Stella, now this. You’re going to need Inspector Montalbano at this rate.’
On the corner of piazza Achille Infuriati, Totò’s putting up the big canvas umbrellas outside the bar. I wave to him and he raises a hand in reply.
