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“I know that, Hickman. If I didn't, I wouldn't have told you. So, keep your eyes open.”
“Naturally. Sir, would you be willing to give me your itinerary for the next few days?”
He blinks. “Should have thought of that myself, shouldn’t I. I'll jot down some notes for you tomorrow…”
I haver. “Mr Romano, under the circumstances, I'd like to send Schmidt ahead of us to check out the restaurant. I can drive you and Miss Masterson taking… um… the scenic route… while he makes sure everything’s as it should be over there.”
Romano nods. A short gesture. “Fine. You want me to warn Emilio he’s coming?”
“No need. Emilio knows what I do. He won't mind. And if there are any surprises at La Dolce Vita, I’d prefer that I am one of them.”
At the sound of approaching footsteps, he raises a finger to his lips. “Shush now. I don’t want Katya distressed.”
As she enters, he slaps me on the arm… “Good man, Hickman. Go talk to Schmidt, then bring the car to the front.” He turns to Katya. “Amore Mio, you look beautiful. Hickman here tells me there is a festival by the park this week, outdoor performances by musicians. Artists’ displays and suchlike. Hickman has suggested we might go see if there’s anything we might want to take a closer look at.”
She tilts her head. Beautiful. Charming. “Won’t that make us late for the table booking?”
“We’ll only take five minutes, a drive-by, just to see if we might like to book tickets, for tomorrow perhaps. Emilio won’t mind. We’re his best customers.” He jerks his chin at me, and I retreat indoors to find Schmidt.
CHAPTER TWO
It’s a part of the job that’s mundane but safe. Romano’s Merc is beyond comfortable, a custom job, moulded leather seats and all the luxury extras, polish and wax hanging in the air. And if the privacy screen is closed behind me, I can listen to my own choice of music.
As the pair descend the steps, I hop out of the car, buttoning up my jacket to conceal the holstered Glock. Standing by the rear door, I hold it open as, her arm linked into Romano’s, Katya sashays past, trailing that perfume she wears and the whisper of silk.
Objectively, Katya’s not conventionally beautiful. She wouldn’t photograph well because her features are strong for a woman. Her chin is a little too defined. Her nose a touch too pronounced for the fashion gurus. Her beauty is not of the high-cheek-bones-and-perfect-cosmetics kind. Rather, when she speaks, she comes alive, her zest for life written there. Her intelligence. Her…
Get a grip…
She belongs to another man…
Her dress, ankle-length, haltered, is subtle and elegant, displaying her lovely swan neck, the lift of her chin, her upright posture. Naturally tall, more so in the dagger-heeled shoes, she’s elegant as she walks, with a sway to the hips that ripples her dress and long wrap thrown around her shoulders.
What do you see in him?
As though it weren’t obvious.
At her neck, diamonds splinter the sunshine. Matching teardrops flash rainbows from her ears. And something new. On the fourth finger of her left hand, a ring glitters, the glint of the diamond cold against the warmth of the gold.
But Katya outshines any gems she could wear.
As they draw closer, I extend a hand to the seat… “Miss Masterson.”
She ducks down to get inside. “Thank you, Hickman.” The polite, empty gratitude of the privileged for the minor functionary.
My gut tightens.
“My pleasure.” Clicking the door closed, I trot round to open up for Romano.
Back in my seat, I glance back to the rear-view, speaking over the intercom. “The art festival, sir?”
“That’s right. Just take us past slowly to give us the flavour, then on to La Dolce Vita.”
“Yes, sir.”
The festival is worth the drive-by. On a wide sidewalk, edged by trees, backed by the park, every ten or twenty yards, bands and solo singers have set up, each giving voice or beat to their own variety of sound. Between them, a mix of artists are manning stalls and demonstrations, displaying paintings and sculptures. Apparent statues come to life, startling passers-by. It’s eclectic but entertaining.
I crawl the car along. Katya angles to see. “Look at that one. The impression style. His use of colour. Almost a touch of Monet in his work. I’d like to come back to see…”
