And Thereby Hangs a Tale

Richard kissed her gently on the lips, slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom. After a quick shower, he put on his old clothes. When he returned to the bedroom she was standing by the window. He walked across, took her in his arms, and looked hopefully down at the bed.

“Time for you to go,” she whispered after giving him one last kiss.

“I’ll never forget you,” he told her. She smiled wistfully.

She pushed the window up and pointed silently to the fire escape. Richard climbed out and began to tiptoe down the iron staircase, trying not to make too much noise. When his feet touched the ground, he looked up and caught a final glimpse of her naked body. She blew him a kiss, making him wish it was the first day of his holiday and not the last.

He crept stealthily round some flowerpots and down a gravel pathway that led to a trellised gate. He opened the gate and found himself back on the street. He made his way to the front of the hotel, and once again looked through the glass door. The beautiful vision of last night had been replaced by an overweight middle-aged woman, who could only have been the manager.

Richard checked his watch. He needed to collect his rucksack and be on his way if he hoped to see the fresco of the Madonna del Parto and still leave himself enough time to catch the train for Florence.

He walked into the hotel more confidently this time, and strolled up to the counter. The manager raised her head, but didn’t smile. “Buongiorno,” said Richard.

“Buongiorno,” she replied, taking a closer look at him. “How can I help you?”

“I left my rucksack here last night and I’ve come back to collect it.”

“Do you know anything about this, Demetrio?” she asked, not taking her eyes off Richard.

“Si, signora,” the porter replied, removing the rucksack from behind his desk and placing it on the counter. “This one, if I remember, sir,” he said, giving Richard a wink.

“Thank you,” said Richard, who would have liked to give him a tip, but . . . he pulled the rucksack over his shoulder and turned to leave.

“Did you stay with us last night?” asked the manager just as he reached the door.

“No I didn’t,” said Richard, turning round. “Unfortunately, I arrived a little too late, and you didn’t have a room.”

The manager glanced down at the register and frowned. “You say you tried to get a room last night?”

“Yes, but you were fully booked.”

“That’s strange,” she said, “because there were several rooms available last night.”

Richard couldn’t think of a suitable reply.

“Demetrio,” she said, turning to the porter, “who was on duty last night?”

“Carlotta, signora.”

Richard smiled. Such a pretty name.

“Carlotta,” the manager repeated, shaking her head. “I’ll need to have a word with the girl. When is she back on?”

Nine o’clock, Richard almost blurted out.

“Nine o’clock, signora,” said the porter.

The manager turned back toward Richard. “I must apologize, signor. I hope you were not inconvenienced.”

“Not at all,” said Richard as he opened the door, but he didn’t look back for fear that she might see the smile on his face.

The manager waited until the door was closed before she turned to the porter and said, “You know, Demetrio, it’s not the first time she’s done that.”

CASTE-OFF*

15

The driver of the open-top red Porsche touched his brakes, slipped the gear lever into neutral, and brought the car to a halt at the lights before checking his watch. He was running a few minutes late for his lunch appointment. As he waited for the light to turn green, he noticed several men admiring his car, while the women smiled at him.