Ring of Fire Read Free Page B

interjects. “One of the reasons our hotel is always so full is that there’s no place cleaner or more sweet-smelling on the whole planet. Therefore … Fernando will sleep on the floor, and right now you and Elettra need to get all the rooms ready for our guests.”
    Convinced, the two turn to leave. But then Linda has a nagging doubt. “Sorry, but … even if we do it this way we’re still three beds short. One for the Chinese man’s son, one for—”
    “Then here’s what we’ll do: we’ll put all the kids in the bunk beds in Elettra’s room.”
    “Are you joking?”
    “No. They’ll have a world of fun. Elettra speaks English better than all of us put together. And her room’s perfect.”
    “Yes, but—”
    “But what?” the girl says, cutting her off with a shake of her thick black curls. “It’s a great idea. And maybe the only solution. Come on, Auntie! We can do it!”
    “Mr. Mahler?” asks the young woman at the airport.
    She’s standing in front of the international arrivals exit. Around her is the orange glow from a streetlight. She’s thin, withlong eyebrows and the slender hands of a photographer. She’s wearing a pin-striped jacket, tight-fitting jeans and a pair of tall green leather boots.
    The man she’s just asked the question doesn’t stop. He passes right by her and pretends to check out the line for taxis. He’s thin, dressed in black, and has straight gray hair, high cheekbones and a nose as pointy as an ice pick. He has tiny eyes and a mouth so thin it looks like a slit. He’s wheeling behind him an anonymous black carry-on bag and is holding an unusual violin case.
    “Are you Mr. Mahler?” the young woman repeats, walking up to him.
    The first snowflakes begin to fall.
    Without shifting his gaze, the man murmurs, “Possibly.”
    “Beatrice,” she says, introducing herself. “I’ve come to pick you up.”
    “Obviously.”
    The young woman bites her lip. “Would you care to follow me?”
    “You came here by car?”
    “Obviously,” she replies, peeved.
    Only then does the man turn around. His gaze is cold and distant. “Fine,” he says. “I know the airport is far from downtown. And I’m extremely tired.”
    “Joe Vinile asked me to take you over for something to eat—”
    “Not tonight,” the man objects. “All I need are a bed and a bathtub.”
    Beatrice leads the way down the sidewalk. “Nice violin,” she remarks, opening the door to her yellow Mini.
    “It’s not a violin,” he replies, slightly intensifying his hold on the case.

3
THE FOUR

    I T’S SNOWING WHEN F ERNANDO M ELODIA’S MINIBUS REACHES THE courtyard inside the Domus Quintilia, in the old heart of the Trastevere district. His guests step out into the densely falling snow and scurry over to the shelter of the old wood-covered terrace. Their host quickly disappears into the reception lounge. And as they begin to unload the first suitcases, he returns to the minibus, nervously explains what’s happened with the reservations, describes the emergency solution that the ladies of the house have come up with and, without waiting for their response, disappears once again into the hotel.
    A heated dispute breaks out among the guests. Swirling down around them, the snow grows thicker and thicker.
    The American professor is standing stock-still beside the entrance to the hotel, a furious look on his face.
    “This is an outrage!” he thunders. “I’ve never been treated in such a manner!”
    His wife has grabbed one of his lapels and occasionally yanks on it like a leash. “George … Calm down. …”
    “Calm down?” he sputters, pointing first at the ancient courtyard of the Domus Quintilia and then at the stairs leading up to the reception lounge. “How can I calm down? We reserved a triple room and now we’re being given a double! Where will our poor Harvey sleep?”
    Hearing he’s been caught up in the middle of something, “poor Harvey” looks around, disgusted. “Let’s get