And Thereby Hangs a Tale

14. No Room at the Inn

Richard Edmiston climbed off the bus feeling tired and hungry. It had been a long day, and he was looking forward to a meal and a bath, although he wasn’t sure if he could afford both.

He was coming to the end of his holiday, which was a good thing because he was also coming to the end of his money. In fact, he had less than a hundred euros left in his wallet, along with a return train ticket to London.

But he wasn’t complaining. He’d spent an idyllic month in Tuscany, even though Melanie had dropped out at the last minute without offering any explanation. He would have cancelled the whole trip but he’d already bought his ticket and put a deposit down at several small pensioni dotted around the Italian countryside. In any case, he’d been looking forward to exploring northern Italy for the past year, ever since he’d read an article in Time magazine by Robert Hughes which said that half the world’s treasures were to be found in one country. He was finally persuaded to go after he and Melanie had attended a lecture given by John Julius Norwich at the Courtauld, at which the celebrated historian ended with the words, ‘If you were given two lives, you’d spend one of them in Italy.’

Richard may well be ending his holiday penniless, tired and hungry, but he’d quickly discovered just how accurate Hughes and Norwich were after he’d visited Florence, San Gimignano, Cortona, Arezzo, Siena and Lucca, each of which contained masterpieces that in any other country would have been worthy of several pages in the national tourist guides, whereas in Italy were often no more than a footnote.

Richard needed to leave for England the following day because he would start his first job on Monday, as an English teacher at a large comprehensive in the East End of London. His old headmaster at Marlborough had offered him the chance to return and teach English to the lower fifth, but what could he hope to learn by going back to his old school and simply repeating his experiences as a child, even if he did exchange his blazer for a graduates gown?

He adjusted his rucksack and began to trudge slowly up the winding path that led to the ancient village of Monterchi, perched on top of the hill. He’d saved Monterchi until last because it possessed the Madonna del Parto, a fresco of the Virgin Mary breastfeeding the infant Jesus by Piero della Francesca. It was considered by scholars to be one of the artist’s finest works, which was why many pilgrims and lovers of the Renaissance period came from all parts of the world to admire it.

Richard’s rucksack felt heavier with each step he took, while the view of the valley below became more spectacular, dominated by the River Arno winding its way through vineyards, olive groves and green-sculpted hills. But even this paled into insignificance when he reached the top of the hill and saw Monterchi in all its glory for the first time.

The fourteenth-century village had been stranded in a backwater of history and clearly did not approve of anything modern. There were no traffic lights, no signposts, no double yellow lines and not a McDonald’s in sight. As Richard strolled into the market square, the town hall clock struck nine times. Despite the hour, the evening was warm enough to allow the natives and an occasional interloper to dine al fresco. Richard spotted a restaurant shaded by ancient olive trees and walked across to study the menu. He reluctantly accepted that it might have suited his palate, but sadly not his purse, unless he was willing to sleep in a field that night before walking the ninety kilometres back to Florence.

He noticed a smaller establishment tucked away on the far side of the square, where the tables didn’t have spotless white cloths and the waiters weren’t wearing smart linen jackets. He took a seat in the corner and thought about Melanie, who should have been sitting opposite him. He’d planned to spend a month with her so they could finally decide if they should move in together once they’d both settled in London, she as a barrister, he as a teacher. Melanie clearly hadn’t felt she needed another month to make up her mind.

For the past couple of weeks, whenever Richard had studied a menu, he’d always checked the prices rather than the dishes before he came to a decision. He selected the one dish he could afford before rummaging around in his rucksack and pulling out the book of short stories that had been recommended to him by his tutor. He’d advised Richard to ignore the sacred cows of Indian literature and instead enjoy the genius of R. K. Narayan. Richard soon became so engrossed by the problems of a tax collector living in a small village on the other side of the world that he didn’t notice when a waitress appeared with a pitcher of water in one hand, and a basket of freshly baked bread and a small bowl of olives in the other. She placed them on the table and asked if he was ready to order.

‘Spaghetti all’ Amatriciana,’ he said, looking up, ‘e un vetro di vino rosso.’ He wondered how many kilos he’d put on since crossing the Channel; not that it mattered, because once he began the new job he would return to his old routine of running five miles a day, which he’d managed even when he was taking his exams.

He’d only read a few more pages of Malgudi Days when the waitress reappeared and placed a large bowl of spaghetti and a glass of red wine in front of him.

‘Grazie,’ he said, looking up briefly from his book.

He became so involved in the story that he continued to read as he forked up his food until he suddenly realized his plate was empty. He put the book down and mopped up the remains of the thick tomato sauce with his last piece of bread, before devouring what remained of the olives. The waitress returned and removed his empty plate before handing him the menu.

‘Would you like anything else?’ she asked in English.

‘I can’t afford anything else,’ he admitted without guile, not even opening the menu for fear it might tempt him. ‘Il conto, per favore,’ he added, giving her a warm smile.

He was preparing to leave when the waitress reappeared carrying a large portion of tiramisu and an espresso. ‘But I didn’t order—’ he began, but she put a finger to her lips and hurried away before he could thank her. Melanie had once told him it was his boyish charm which made women want to mother him — a charm which clearly no longer worked on Melanie.

The tiramisu was delicious, and Richard even put his book down so he could fully appreciate the delicate flavours. As he sipped his coffee, he began to think about where he would spend the night. His thoughts were interrupted when the waitress returned with the bill. As he checked it, he realized she hadn’t charged him for the glass of house red. Should he draw her attention to the omission? Her smile suggested he shouldn’t.

He handed her a ten-euro note and asked if she could recommend somewhere he might spend the night.

‘There are only two hotels in the village,’ she told him. ‘And La Contessina—’ she hesitated — ‘might be...’

‘Out of my price range?’ suggested Richard.

‘But the other one is not expensive, if a little basic.’

‘Sounds like my kind of place,’ said Richard. ‘Is it far?’

‘Nothing is far in Monterchi,’ she said. ‘Walk to the end of the via dei Medici, turn right and you’ll find the Albergo Piero on your left.’

Richard stood up, leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. She blushed and hurried away, bringing to his mind Harry Chapin’s sad lyrics in the ballad, ‘A Better Place to Be’. He threw his rucksack over his shoulder and began to walk down via dei Medici. At the end he turned right and, as the waitress had promised, the hotel was on his left.

He stood outside, uncertain if he could still afford a room now he was down to his last eighty-six euros. Through the glass door he could see a receptionist, head down, checking the register. She looked up, handed a waiting couple a large key, and a porter picked up their bags and led them to the lift.

When he saw her for the first time, he didn’t dare take his eyes off her, for fear the mirage might disappear. She had flawless olive skin, long dark hair that curled up as it touched her slim, graceful shoulders and large brown eyes that lit up when she smiled. Her dark tailored suit and white blouse had an elegance that Italian men take for granted and English women spend a fortune trying to emulate. She must have been around thirty, perhaps thirty-five, but she was graced with the kind of ageless beauty that made Richard wish he hadn’t only just graduated.

Even if he couldn’t afford a room, nothing was going to stop him speaking to her. He pushed open the door, walked up to the counter and smiled. She returned the compliment, which made her look even more radiant.

‘Vorrei una camera per la notte,’ he said.

She looked down at the register. ‘I’m sorry,’ she replied in English, revealing only the slightest accent, ‘but we’re fully booked. In fact, the last room was taken just a few moments ago.’

Richard glanced across at a row of keys dangling on hooks behind her. ‘Are you sure you don’t have anything?’ he asked. ‘I don’t care how small the room is,’ he added as he peered over the counter at a short list of upside-down names.

Once again, she glanced down at the guest register. ‘No, I’m sorry,’ she repeated. ‘One or two guests haven’t checked in yet, but I can’t release their rooms because they’ve paid in advance. Have you tried La Contessina? They may still have a room.’

‘Not one that I can afford,’ said Richard.

She nodded understandingly. ‘There’s an old lady who runs a guest house at the bottom of the hill, but you’ll have to hurry because she locks her door at eleven.’

‘Would you be kind enough to call her and ask if she has a room?’

‘She doesn’t have a phone.’

‘Perhaps I could spend the night in the lounge?’ said Richard hopefully. ‘Would anyone notice?’ He tried out the boyish grin Melanie had once assured him was irresistible.

The receptionist frowned for the first time. ‘If the manageress were to discover you were sleeping in the lounge, not only would she throw you out, but I’d probably lose my job.’

‘So it will have to be the nearest field,’ he said.

She looked at Richard more closely, leaned across the counter and whispered, ‘Take the lift to the top floor and wait there. If any of the bookings don’t show up before midnight, you can have their room.’

‘Thank you,’ said Richard, wanting to give her a hug.

‘You’d better leave your bag in reception,’ she added without explanation.

He took off his rucksack and she quickly placed it under the counter. ‘Thank you,’ he repeated, before making his way across to the lift. When the door opened, the porter stepped out and stood to one side, giving Richard a warm smile as he entered it.

The little lift whirred its way slowly up to the top floor and when he stepped out into a dark corridor that was lit by a single, uncovered bulb, Richard couldn’t believe he was still in the same hotel. As there wasn’t a chair to be seen, he hunched down on the well-trodden carpet, his back against the wall, already regretting that he hadn’t taken the book out of his rucksack. For a moment he considered returning to the lobby to retrieve it, but the thought of coming face to face with the manageress and being thrown out onto the street was enough to convince him to stay put.

After a few minutes he stood up and began to pace restlessly up and down the corridor, frequently checking his watch.

When midnight struck on the town hall clock, he decided he’d rather sleep in the open air than hang around in that corridor a moment longer. He walked across to the lift, pressed the button and waited. When the doors finally opened, she was standing there, looking even more seductive in the half-light. She stepped out of the lift, took him by the hand and led him along the corridor until they reached a door with no number. She placed a key in the lock, opened the door and pulled him inside.

Richard looked around a room that wasn’t much larger than his college study, and was almost completely taken up by a bed that was neither a single nor quite a double. The family photographs dotted around the walls suggested that this was where she lived. As there was only one small chair, he wondered where she expected him to sleep.

‘I won’t be a moment,’ she said, and gave him that disarming smile again before disappearing into the bathroom. Richard sat down on the wooden chair and waited for her to reappear, not certain what he should do next. When he heard a shower being turned on, a hundred thoughts began to race through his head. He was thinking about Melanie, his first real girlfriend, when the bathroom door swung open. He hadn’t looked at another woman for the past two years. She stepped out, dressed in a bathrobe, the cord undone.

‘You look as if you need a shower,’ she said, leaving the door open as she brushed past him.

‘Thank you,’ he replied, and disappeared inside, closing the door behind him. Richard enjoyed the feeling of the warm water cascading down on him, and with the assistance of a bar of soap he slowly removed the dirt and grime of a long, hot, sweaty day. After he’d dried himself, he once again regretted leaving his rucksack downstairs, as he didn’t want to put his dirty clothes back on. He looked around the room and spotted another hotel bathrobe hanging on the back of the door. He was surprised how well it fitted.

Richard turned out the bathroom light and tentatively opened the door. The room was dark, but he could see the outline of her lithe body under a single sheet. As he stood there, a hand pulled the sheet back. He tiptoed across the room and sat upright on the edge of the bed. She pulled the sheet further back, but didn’t speak. He lay down on the bed, his back to her.

A moment later, he felt a hand undo the cord of his bathrobe, while the other hand tried to take it off. He was thinking about Melanie when the receptionist finally pulled off his robe, threw it on the floor and slid her naked body up against his back. When she began to kiss the nape of his neck, Melanie evaporated. Richard didn’t move a muscle as she began to explore his body, first his neck, then his back, with one hand, while the other moved slowly up the inside of his thigh. He turned over and took her in his arms. She felt so enticing that he wanted to switch the light back on and enjoy the sight of her naked body. When he kissed her, he felt a desire he’d never experienced with any other woman, and when they made love, it was as if it were the first time. As she lay back, Richard still held her in his arms, not wanting to fall asleep.

He woke when he felt her hand moving gently up the inside of his leg. This time he made love slowly and with more confidence, and she made no attempt to disguise her feelings. He couldn’t be sure how many times they made love before the morning sun came streaming into the room, and he saw, for the first time, just how beautiful she was.

When the town hall clock struck eight, she whispered, ‘You’ll have to leave, il mio amore. I’m expected back on duty at nine.’

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 around some flower pots 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 towards 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.’