Return to Umbria by David Wagner (13 ebook reader txt) 📗

“Rhonda? Is that you? What a pleasant surprise. I was just thinking about you the other day, wondering what had become of you.” He walked toward her, his arms preparing for a welcoming abbraccio. He froze as the vase suddenly flew across the room and crashed against the wall, scattering bright colors in a wide circle on the stone.

“How clumsy of me, Amadeo. I’m not as agile as I used to be. You remember how I used to be, don’t you? And what a lovely work of art, such a beautiful pattern. Can you ever forgive me, Amadeo?” She ran her fingers over a ceramic piece which sat by itself on another shelf. “What unique glaze work, I love the way it winds around the entire bowl.” She picked it up and held it above her head. “And the decoration continues even on the base.”

With both hands she flung the bowl to the ground. The man jumped to the side to avoid the flying shards. He stepped back with his hands raised, pieces of broken ceramic crunching under the soles of his designer shoes.

“Do you see what you have done to me, Amadeo? All my life I have loved beautiful pieces like this, and seeing you has made me do this. I don’t recall ever breaking any pieces back then, do you? Do you remember anything at all from those days, Amadeo?”

“You were my finest student, Rhonda.” He tried to remain calm.

“And how many of your women students did you say that to?”

She walked slowly along the line of shelves, her purse swinging dangerously close to the pieces displayed on them. “It seems that you have become quite successful now, Amadeo. You don’t need to lower yourself any more by teaching.” Her hand stroked a small vase. “Which is such a shame since you are so creative and have so much you could share with students.”

His hands were shaking as he pressed his palms together. “Rhonda, please, please. We must talk. After so many years we have a lot to talk about.”

He held his breath as her hand edged toward another piece of ceramic art. It stopped and she looked at his ashen face, a brittle smile still on her own, as she decided her next move.

“That might be fun. A nice chat. Just like old times. The naive student and the experienced teacher. That’s what we were, weren’t we, Amadeo?”

“Whatever you say, Rhonda.” His muscles finally relaxed, but his mind did not.

***

When they had entered what appeared to be a simple trattoria, Rick expected that dinner would be simple as well. The owner was a close friend of one of Betta’s fellow art cops in Rome, and he lavished attention on the couple from the moment they walked through the door. He insisted that they try the lemon risotto, one of their specialties, and since it required time to prepare, why not start with some carpaccio from an excellent cut of beef he’d acquired only that afternoon? To follow the rice dish, duck breasts that had been simmering in wine much of the day would make an excellent second course. Of course the house Orvieto Classico would go perfectly with everything, unless they preferred a red. The two of them agreed to all the suggestions, and the happy owner bustled into the kitchen. There was never even a hint that the place might have a printed menu.

Two hours later they stood in front of the restaurant, agreeing that the meal was memorable. Rick suggested that they should fare due passi—take a stroll—to help digest the meal. They linked arms and walked in the opposite direction of the hotel. The evening was clear and the thermometer had dropped to a perfect temperature for walking. Rick’s cowboy boots clicked on the stone, in contrast with the tap of Betta’s Ferragamo flats.

After a few blocks Betta broke the silence of the night. “Rick, regarding your Cousin Fabrizio. You told me what happened, but you still haven’t said what your next move will be.”

Rick shook his head. “I don’t know what it will be. Do you have a suggestion?”

The street narrowed and squeezed itself under an arch flanked by a pair of Corinthian columns, above which two windows looked down from unplastered brick walls. A dozen meters later the stone walls of the tunnel ended and they emerged into a rectangular piazza. Unlike its brick posterior, the facade of this building was anything but plain. Arches held up a balcony running the length of the facade, with seven windows facing out to the square. Empty flag poles above the entrance indicated a government office, possibly city hall. The city coat of arms centered between the middle windows confirmed it. Next to the municipal building, taking up one corner of the square, an octagonal bell tower rose up like a giant chess piece next to an equally ancient church. An arched doorway and round stained-glass window decorated the plain brick facade of the church. Lighting for the piazza came from floodlights on the government office and carriage lamps attached to the buildings opposite. Rick was taking it all in when Betta spoke.

“I’ll think of something.”

Rick moved his eyes from the tower to her face. “What?”

“I’ll think of something to get Fabrizio to come to his senses. Perhaps the way to do it is not with Fabrizio but through that woman. What’s her name?”

“Tullia Aragona.”

“Tullia. Let me think about it. Do you know where we’re going?”

They had walked out of the plaza along the side of the church. It was a broad street, which meant it led to another square somewhere in the distance. “Not really, but Orvieto is so small we shouldn’t get lost.” He recalled that he had said the same thing to the American woman earlier. He also realized he hadn’t told Betta about the encounter. “At least we shouldn’t get lost for more than a couple hours.”

He looked up to see a lighted