Those Who Walk Away Read Free Page A

she recently married? But she went away before he could glance at her hand for a ring, and in fact he didn’t care. He cupped his cold hands round the hot cup, and was aware of the girl’s happy, healthy face on the other side of the counter, though he did not look at her again. With his second coffee, he got a croissant, paid the extra to sit down, and went to a small table. Next door, now, he was able to buy a newspaper. He sat for nearly an hour while the city awakened around him, and the street outside began to fill with people hurrying in both directions. The skinny little boy in black trousers and white jacket took out tray after tray of cappuccini for delivery in the neighbourhood, and returned swinging his empty tray between thumb and forefinger. Though he looked no more than twelve and should have been in school, he had a crush on the blonde girl, who treated him like a kid brother, tweaking the back of his hair.
    It was up to him to find Coleman and party, Ray supposed, not for them to run into each other in some restaurant or in the Piazza, Coleman perhaps registering shock, or saying, “Ray, what a surprise to see you here!” But it was barely eight, too early to try to ring them at the Gritti or anywhere. Ray debated going back to the pensione for some sleep, then decided to walk a bit farther. Shopkeepers were arranging their wares now, hanging pocketbooks and scarves outside the doors of cramped shops, rolling up blinds to reveal windows full of leather goods.
    Ray looked through a window at a green-black-and-yellow scarf, its floral pattern nearly covering its white ground. A pang had gone through him at the sight of it, and it seemed that only after the pang did he see the scarf, and still a second later realized he had noticed it because it looked like Peggy. She would have adored it, though in feet he did not remember a scarf of hers that was like this one. He walked on, five or six paces, then turned. He wanted the scarf. The shop was not yet open. To kill time, Ray drank an Espresso and smoked another cigarette in a bar in the same street. When he returned, the shop was opening, and he bought the scarf for two thousand lire. The salesgirl put it into a pretty box and wrapped it with care, thinking he was going to give it to a girl.
    Then Ray walked back to the Pensione Seguso. He was calmer now. In his room, he hung the scarf over the back of his straight chair, threw away the paper and box, and got into pyjamas again. He sat on his bed and looked at the scarf. It was as if Peggy were in the room with him. It needed no touch of her perfume, no folds from her tying, to look exactly like Peggy, and Ray wondered if he shouldn’t remove it, put it away in his suitcase at least? Then he decided he was absurd, and lay back on his bed and slept.
    He awakened at eleven to the sound of church bells, though he knew they had chimed every quarter of an hour since he fell asleep. Try Coleman, he thought, or they’ll be out for lunch and not back until five. There was no telephone in his room. Ray put on his trench-coat and went into the hall to the telephone that stood on a sideboard.
    “Would you ring the Hotel Gritti Palace, please?” he asked.
    There was no one named Coleman at the Gritti.
    Ray asked for the Royal Danieli.
    Again the answer was no.
    Had Coleman lied about going to Venice? It seemed rather likely that he had, would have done, whether Ray were killed or not. Ray smiled at the thought that Coleman might be in Naples or Paris or even still in Rome.
    There was the Bauer-Gruenwald. Or the Monaco. Ray lifted the telephone again. “The Hotel Bauer-Gruenwald, please.” A longer wait, then he put the question to the new voice.
    “Signor Col-e-man. One moment, please.”
    Ray waited.
    “‘Allo?” said a female voice.
    “Madame—Inez?” Ray did not know her last name. “This is Ray Garrett. I’m sorry to disturb you. I wanted to speak to Ed.”
    “Ah, Ray! Where are you? Here?”
    “Yes,