Evening Class

First he had to go to the restaurant where they were all sitting down and then standing up again to take pictures of the banner saying Benvenuto agli Irlandesi.

'I need the Garaldis' address,' he hissed to Signora.

'No. He's never gone there?'

'So it would appear.'

Signora looked up at him anxiously. 'I'd better go.'

'No, let me. You stay here and look after the dinner.'

'I'll go, Aidan. I can speak the language, I've written to them.'

'Let's both go,' he suggested.

'Who will we put in charge? Constanza?'

'No, there's something upsetting her. Let's see. Francesca and Luigi between them.'

The word was out. Signora and Mr. Dunne had gone to hunt for Lorenzo and two new people were in command, Francesca and Luigi.

'Why those?' someone muttered.

'Because we were the nearest,' Fran said, a peacemaker.

'And the best,' said Luigi, a man who liked to win.

They got a taxi and they arrived at the house. 'It's even smarter than I thought,' Signora whispered.

'He never got into a place like this.' Aidan looked amazed at the big marble entrance hall and the courtyard beyond.

'Vorrei parlare con la famiglia Garaldi.' Signora spoke with a confidence she didn't feel to the splendid-looking uniformed commissionaire. He asked her name and business and Aidan marvelled as she told him and stressed the importance of it. The man in the grey and scarlet went to a phone and spoke into it urgently. It seemed to take for ever.

'I hope they're managing back in the restaurant,' Signora said.

'Of course they are. Weren't you great to find a place so quickly? They seem very welcoming.'

'Yes, it was extraordinary.' She seemed miles away.

'But everyone's been so nice everywhere, it's not really extraordinary,' Aidan said.

'No. The waiter, I knew his father. Can you believe that?'

'Was that in Sicily?'

'Yes.'

'And did you know him?'

'From the day he was born… I saw him going to the church to be baptised.'

The commissionaire returned. 'Signor Garaldi says he is very confused, he wants to speak to you personally.'

'We must go in, I can't explain things on the telephone,' Signora said. Aidan understood and marvelled at her courage. He felt a little confused by this rediscovering of a Sicilian past.

Soon they were walking through a courtyard and up another wide staircase to a fountain and some large doors. These were seriously wealthy people. Had Laddy really penetrated in here?

There were shown into an entrance hall where a small angry man in a brocade jacket seemed to hurtle out of a room and demand an explanation. Behind him came his wife trying to placate him and inside, wretched and totally at a loss, was poor Laddy sitting on a piano stool.

His face lit up when he saw them. 'Signora,' he called. 'Mr. Dunne. Now you can tell them everything. You'll never believe it but I lost all my Italian. I could only tell them the days and the seasons and order the dish of the day. It's been terrible.'

'Sta calma, Lorenzo,' Signora said.

'They want to know am I O'Donoghue, they keep writing it down for me.' He had never looked so anxious and disturbed.

'Please Laddy, I am O'Donoghue, that's my name, that's why they thought it was you. That was what I put on my letter.'

'You're not O'Donoghue,' Laddy cried. 'You're Signora.'

Aidan put his arm around Laddy's shaking shoulders and let

Signora begin. The explanation, and he could understand most of it, was clear and unflustered. She told of the man who had found their money in Ireland a year ago, a man who had worked hard as a hotel porter and had believed their kind words of gratitude to be an invitation to come to Italy. She described the efforts he had made to learn Italian. She introduced herself and Aidan as people who ran an evening class and how worried they had been that due to some misunderstanding their friend Lorenzo had believed there was a message for him to call. They would all go now, but perhaps out of the kindness of his heart Signor Garaldi and his family might make some affectionate gesture to show they remembered his kindness, and indeed spectacular honesty, in returning a wad of notes to them, money that many a man in many a city including Dublin might not have felt obliged to return.

Aidan stood there, feeling Laddy's shaking shoulder and wondering about the strange turnings life took. Suppose he had become Principal of Mountainview? That's what he had wanted so much, not long ago. Now he realised how much he would have hated it, how far better a choice was Tony O'Brien, a man, not evil incarnate as he had once believed, but a genuine achiever, heartbroken in his battle against nicotine and shortly to become Aidan's son-in-law. Aidan would never have notes for a lecture in the Forum stuck in his pocket, he would never be standing here in this sumptuous Roman townhouse reassuring a nervous hotel porter and looking with pride and admiration at this strange woman who had taken up so much of his life. She had brought clarity and understanding to the face that had so recently been creased with anger and confusion.

'Lorenzo,' Signor Garaldi said, and approached Laddy who sat terrified at his approach. 'Lorenzo, mio amico.' He kissed him on both cheeks.

Laddy didn't harbour a grudge long. 'Signor Garaldi,' he said and grabbed him by the shoulders. 'Mio amico.'

There were quickfire explanations and the rest of the family realised what had happened. Wine was brought, and little Italian biscuits.

Laddy was beaming from ear to ear now. 'Giovedì,' he kept saying happily.

'Why does he say that?' Signor Garaldi was raising his glass and toasting next Thursday, as well but he wanted to know why.

'I told him that we would be in touch with you then, I wanted to prevent him from coming here on his own. I put that in my letter, that we might call by the house for ten minutes on Thursday. Did you not get it?'

The little man looked ashamed. 'I have to tell you I get so many begging letters I thought it was something like that, if he came some money would have been given. You have to forgive me but I didn't read it properly. Now I am so ashamed.'

'No please, but do you think he could come on Thursday? He is so eager, and maybe I could take his photograph with you and he could show it to people afterwards.'

Signor Garaldi and his wife exchanged glances. 'Why don't you all come here on Thursday, for a drink and a celebration?'

'There are forty-two of us,' Signora said.

'These houses were built for gatherings like that,' he said with a little bow.

A car was called and they were soon crossing Rome to the Catania, in a street where a car like the Garaldis' had hardly ever driven before. Signora and Aidan looked at each other, as proud as parents who had rescued a child from an awkward situation.

'I wish my sister could see me now,' Laddy said suddenly.

'Would she have been pleased?' Signora was gentle.

'Well, she knew it would happen. We went to a fortune teller, you see, and she said she would be married and have a child, and die young, and that I would be great at sport and I would travel across the sea. So it wouldn't have been a surprise or anything, but it's a pity she didn't live to see it.'

Tt is indeed, but maybe she sees now.' Aidan wanted to be reassuring.

'I'm not at all sure that there are people in heaven, you know, Mr. Dunne,' said Laddy as they purred through Rome in the chauffeur-driven car.

'Aren't you, Laddy? I'm getting more sure of it every day,' said Aidan.

At the Catania everyone was singing 'Low Lie the Fields of Athenry'. The waiters stood in an admiring group and clapped mightily when it was over. Any other guests brave enough to dine in the Catania that night had been absorbed into the group, and as the threesome came in there was a huge shout of welcome. Alfredo ran to get the soup.

'Brodo,' Laddy said.

'We'll go straight to the main course if you like,' Aidan said.

'Excuse me, Mr. Dunne. I'm in charge until relieved of it, and I say that Lorenzo is to have his brodo.' Luigi looked fiercer than he had ever looked. Aidan quailed and said of course it had been a mistake. 'That's all right, then,' Luigi said generously.

Fran explained to Signora that one of the younger waiters kept asking young Kathy to go out with him later and Fran was worried. Could Signora say that they all had to return together when the night was over.

'Certainly, Francesca,' Signora said. Wasn't it amazing, none of them asked what had happened to Laddy, they had just assumed that she and Aidan would rescue him in Rome.

'Lorenzo has had us all invited to a party on Thursday,' she said. Tn a magnificent house.'

'Giovedì,' Laddy said, in case anyone should mistake the day. They seemed to take that for granted too. Signora finished her soup quickly. She looked around for Constanza and saw her, not animated like she normally was but looking absently into the distance. Something had happened, but she was such a private person and would not say what it was. Signora was that kind of person herself, she would not make any enquiries.

Alfredo said that there was going to be a surprise for the Irlandesi. There was going to be a cake in the Irish colours, they had arranged it because all the people had been so happy and they wanted to make it a memory for them. They knew the Irish colours since the World Cup.

'I can't thank you enough, Alfredo, for making the evening so special for us.'

'You can, Signora, can you come and talk with me tomorrow? Please?'

'Not tomorrow, Alfredo, Signor Dunne is giving his talk about the Forum.'

'You can hear Signor Dunne any time. I have only a few days to talk to you. Please, Signora, I am begging.'

'Perhaps he'll understand.' Signora looked over at Aidan. She hated letting him down, she knew how much he had put into this lecture. He was determined that everyone would see Rome as it was when chariots raced through it. But the boy did look very anxious, as if he had something to tell her. For the sake of the past and of everyone, she must listen.

Signora managed to get Caterina back to the hotel and out of the clutches of the waiter very easily; she just told Alfredo that the boy was to be called off immediately. So the soulful Roman eyes had beseeched Caterina for another evening and he had given her a red rose and a kiss on the hand.

The mystery of the message had not been sorted out by Connie. Signora Buona Sera said she had delivered to Signora Kane. Neither she nor her husband knew whether it was a man or a woman who had left it. It would always be a mystery, Signora Buona Sera said. But during the night Connie Kane lay awake and worried. She wondered why some things should always be mysterious. She longed to tell Signora, but didn't want to intrude on the quiet woman who lived such a private life.

'No, of course, if you have business of your own. Business to do with Sicily,' Aidan said next day.

'I am so sorry, Aidan, I was looking forward to it.'

'Yes.' He turned away shortly so she wouldn't see the naked hurt and disappointment in his face, but it was too late. Signora had seen it.

'We don't have to go to this lecture,' Lou said, pulling Suzi back to bed.

'I want to go.' She struggled to get up.

'Latin, Roman gods and old temples… of course you don't.'

'Mr. Dunne's been getting it ready for weeks, and anyway Signora'd like us to be there.'

'She's not going to be there herself.' Lou spoke knowledgeably

'How on earth do you know that?'

'I heard her telling him last night,' Lou said. 'He was sour as a lemon.'

'That's not like her.'

'Well, now we don't have to go,' Lou said, snuggling back into the bed.

'No, now it's more important that we go to support him.' Suzi was out of bed and into her dressing gown before he could protest. ' She was halfway down the corridor to the bathroom before he could reach out and catch her.

:

Lizzie and Bill were making their sandwiches carefully. 'Isn't it a great idea?' Bill said eagerly, hoping that it was something that might be extended to their own life at home. The idea of saving money by any means at all was something that he prayed would catch on in Lizzie's mind. She had been very good on this visit and not even looked at a shoeshop. She had noted the cost of Italian ice cream in lire, translated it and said it wasn't a good idea.

'Oh, Bill, don't be an idiot. If we were to buy ham and eggs and great chunks of bread like this to make sandwiches it would be dearer than having a bowl of soup in a pub like we do already.'

'Maybe.'

'But when you're an international banker out here, then we might consider it. Will we be living in a hotel do you think, or having our own villa?'

'A villa, I imagine,' Bill said glumly. It all seemed so unlikely and far from reality.

'Have you made any enquiries yet?'

'About villas?' Bill looked at her wildly.

'No, about opportunities in banking, remember that's why we are learning Italian.' Lizzie was prim.

'It was, in the first place,' Bill admitted, 'but now I'm only learning it because I enjoy it.'

'Are you trying to tell me we'll never be rich?' Lizzie's huge beautiful eyes were troubled.

'No, no, I'm not trying to tell you that. We will be rich. This very day I'll go into banks and ask relevant words. Believe me, I will.'

'I believe you. Now I have all these done and wrapped, we can eat them in the Forum after the lecture, and we might send our postcards too.'

'This time you'll be able to send one to your Dad,' Bill Burke said, always seeing the silver lining.

'You got on well with him, didn't you?'

They had had a brief visit to Galway and a reasonably successful attempt to reunite Lizzie's parents. At least they were speaking to each other and on visiting terms now.

'Yes, I liked him, he was very comical.' Bill thought this was a masterly way to describe a man who had almost crushed Bill's whole hand in his, and who had borrowed a ten-pound note from him within minutes of their meeting.

'It's such a relief that you like my family,' Lizzie said.

'And you mine,' Bill agreed.

His own parents were warming more to Lizzie's ways. She wore longer skirts and higher necklines. She asked questions of his father about cutting bacon, and the difference between smoked and green bacon. She played noughts and crosses endlessly with Olive, letting her win about half the time, which gave the games an air of frenzied excitement. The wedding wouldn't be nearly as fraught as Bill had once thought it would be.

'Let's go hear about Vestal Virgins,' he said, smiling from ear to ear.

'What?'

'Lizzie! Didn't you read your notes? Mr. Dunne gave us one page, he said we'd all be able to remember that much.'

'Give it to me quick,' said Lizzie.

Aidan Dunne had drawn a little map highlighting the places they would visit and which he would describe. She read it speedily and returned it.

'Do you think he's in bed with Signora?' she asked, eyes shining.

'If so, Lorenzo and Constanza will be feeling a bit in the way,' said Bill.

Constanza and Signora had dressed and were about to come down to breakfast. There was an air that something was about to be said.

'Constanza?'

'Si, Signora'?'

'Could I ask you to take notes when Aidan is speaking today? I can't go, and I'm upset and, well, I think he's upset. He went to such trouble, such great trouble.' Signora's face looked very sad.

'And you have to miss it?'

'Yes, I do.'

'I'm sure he'll understand but I will pay great attention, and yes, of course I'll tell you everything.' There was a pause, then Connie spoke again. 'Oh, and Signora?'

'Si, ConstanzaT

'It's just that… Well, did you ever hear anyone in our group saying anything bad about me, resentful, or possibly caught up in losing money to my husband or anything?'

'No, never. I never heard anyone saying anything about you. Why do you ask?'

'Someone left me a rather horrible note. It's probably a joke, but it upset me.'

'What did it say? Please tell me.'

Connie unfolded it and showed it to the other woman. Signora's eyes filled with tears. 'When did this happen?'

'It was left at the desk yesterday evening before we went out. Nobody knows who left it. I have asked but the Buona Seras don't know.'

'It can't be anyone in this group, Constanza, I teli you that.'

'But who else knows we are in Rome?'

Signora remembered something. 'Aidan said there was madwoman back in Dublin enquiring what hotel we were all staying in. Could that be it? Someone who followed us here?'

'That's hard to believe, it's very far-fetched.'

'But it's even harder to believe that it's any member of our group,' Signora said.

'Why me? Now? And in Rome?'

'Is there anyone with a grievance, do you think?'

'Hundreds because of what Harry did, but he's locked up in gaol.'

'Not someone mad, disturbed possibly?'

'Not that I know.' Connie shook herself deliberately. She must spend no time speculating and worrying Signora as well. 'I'll just walk well away from the traffic side of things and be watchful. And Signora, I'll take notes. I promise you, it will be just as good as being there.'

'Alfredo, this had better be important. You have no idea how much I have upset somebody by missing a lecture.'

'There are many lectures, Signora.'

'This one was special. A great deal of trouble had been taken. Anyway?'

He made them coffee and sat down beside her. 'Signora, I have a very big favour to ask of you.'

She looked at him, anguished. He was going to ask her for money. He could not know that she had nothing. Literally nothing. When she got back to Dublin she would be penniless. She would have to ask the Sullivans to let her live free in their house until September when payment would start again in the school. Every last coin she had, had been changed into lire so that she could pay her way on this viaggio. How could this boy from his simple village and working as a waiter in a shabby restaurant in Rome know this? He must see her as responsible for forty people, a person of importance. Power even.

'It may not be easy. There's a lot you do not know,' she began.

'I know everything, Signora. I know my father loved you, and that you loved him. That you sat in that window sewing while we all grew up. I know that you behaved so well to my mother and that even though you didn't want to go, when she and my uncles said it was time to leave, you left.'

'You know all this?' Her voice was a whisper.

'Yes, we all knew.'

'For how long?'

'As long as I remember.'

'It's so hard to believe. I thought… well, it doesn't matter what I thought…'

'And we were all so sad when you went away.'

She lifted her face and smiled at him. 'You were? Truly?'

'Yes, all of us. You helped us all. We know.'

'How do you know?'

'Because my father did things he would not have done otherwise, Maria's wedding, the shop in. Annunziata, my brother going to America… everything. It was all you.'

'No, not all. He loved you, he wanted the best. Sometimes we talked. That was all.'

'We wanted to find you when Mama died. We wanted to write and tell you. But we didn't even know your name.'

'That was good of you.'

'And now, now God sends you into this restaurant. It was God who sent you, I really believe that.' She was silent. 'And now I can ask you the great, great favour.' She held tightly onto the table. Why had she no money? Most women of her age had some money, even a little. She had been so uncaring about possessions. If there was anything she could sell for this boy, who must be very desperate to ask her…

'The favour, Signora…'

'Yes, Alfredo.'

'You know what it is?'

'Ask me Alfredo, and if I can I will.'

'We want you to come back. We want you to come home, Signora. Home where you belong.'

Constanza didn't eat breakfast, she went off to the shops. She bought the soft shoes she yearned for, she got a long silk scarf for Signora, and cut off the designer label in case Elizabetta would recognise the name and exclaim at how much it must have cost. And then she bought what she had set out to buy and went back to join the trip to the Forum.

They all loved the lecture. Luigi said you could nearly see the poor Christians being led into the Colosseum. Mr. Dunne said that he was only a crusty old Latin teacher and he promised he wouldn't keep them long, but when it was over they clapped and wanted more. His smile was surprised. He answered all their questions, and occasionally looked at Constanza, who seemed to be waving a camera near him all the time but never took a picture.

They separated for lunch to eat their sandwiches in little groups. Connie Kane watched Aidan Dunne. He had no sandwiches with him, he just walked to a wall and sat there looking absently out into the distance before him. He had told everyone the route back to the hotel. He made sure that Laddy was in the hands of Bartolomeo and his funny little girlfriend Fiona. Then he just sat there, sad that the person he had prepared the lecture for had not turned up.

Connie wondered whether to join him or not. But she didn't think that there was anything she could say that might help. So she walked to a restaurant and ordered herself grilled fish and wine. It was good to be able to do so easily. But she barely tasted the food as she wondered who could have come from Dublin to frighten her. Could Harry have sent someone? It was too alarming to think about. It would be preposterous to try and explain it to the Italian police, and difficult to get any detectives in Ireland to take her seriously either. An anonymous letter in a hotel in Rome? It was impossible to take seriously. But she walked very close to the walls and shops as she returned to the hotel.

And she enquired nervously at the desk had there been any more messages.

'No, Signora Kane, nothing at all.'

Barry and Fiona were going to the bar where Barry had met all the wonderful Italians during the World Cup. He had pictures taken that summer, flags and bunting and Jack Charlton hats.

'Have you written and told them we're coming?' Fiona asked.

'No, it's not that kind of scene, you just turn up and they're all there.'

'Every night?'

'No, but you know… most nights.'

'But suppose they came looking for you in Dublin, you mightn't be in the pub the night they came. Don't you have any names and addresses?'

'Names and addresses aren't important in something like this,' Barry said.

Fiona hoped he was right. He had set so much store by meeting them all and living through those glory days again. He would be very disappointed if it turned out that nobody ever gathered there any more. Or worse if they had forgotten him.

That was the evening that everyone was at leisure. If things had been different Connie might have gone window-shopping with Fran and Kathy and had coffee at a pavement cafe. But Connie was afraid to go out at night in case somebody really was waiting to push her in front of the cars that sped up and down the Roman streets.

If things had been different Signora and Aidan would have had supper together and planned the visit to the Vatican next day. But he was hurt and lonely and she had to be somewhere quiet until she could think over the turbulent proposal that had been made to her.

They wanted her to go back and help in the hotel, bring them English-speaking visitors, be part of the life she had looked on for so long as an outsider. It would have made sense of all those years she had watched and waited. It would be a future for her now as well as a past. Alfredo had begged her to come back. Even for a visit first, so that she could see how things were. She would realise all that she could contribute and know how much people had admired her. So Signora sat alone in a cafe thinking about what it would be like.

And a few streets away Aidan Dunne sat and tried to think about all the good things that had come out of this trip. He had managed to create a class that had not only stayed together for the year but had travelled in a block to Rome at the end of it. These people would never have done that without him. He had shared his love of Italy with them, nobody had been bored at his lecture today. He had done all he had set out to do. It had in fact been a year of triumph. But of course he had to listen to the other voice, the voice that said it was all Nora's doing. It was she who had created the real enthusiasm, with her silly games and her boxes pretending to be hospitals and railway stations and restaurants. It was Nora who had called them these fancy names and believed that one day they would go on a viaggio. And now that she was back here in Italy its magic had worked too strongly for her.

She had to talk business, she told him. What business could she have with a waiter from Sicily, even if she had known him as a child? He ordered a third beer without even noticing. He looked out at the crowds walking around on the hot Roman night. He had never felt so lonely in his life.

Kathy and Fran said they were going for a walk, they had planned a route and it would end up in the Piazza Navona where they went the first night. Would Laddy like to come?

Laddy looked at the route. It would pass the street where his friends the Garaldis lived. 'We won't go in?' Laddy said. 'But I can point out the house to you.'

When they saw the house Fran and Kathy were dumbfounded.

'We can't possibly be going to a party in a place like that,' Kathy said.

'Giovedì,' Laddy said proudly. 'Thursday, you'll see. He wants all of us, the whole forty-two. I said to him quarantadue but he said si, si, benissimo.'

It was only one more extraordinary thing about this holiday.

Connie waited for a while in her room for Signora to return; she wanted to give her the information and the surprise. But it got dark and she never came back. From outside the window came the sounds of chatter and people calling to each other as they went along the street, the distant sound of traffic and of cutlery clinking in a nearby restaurant. Connie decided that she would not allow herself to feel imprisoned by this mean, cowardly letter-writer. Whoever it was would not kill her in a public place even if it was someone sent by Harry.

'To hell with him, if I stay in tonight he's won,' she said aloud. She walked around the corner to a pizza parlour and sat down. She didn't notice someone following her from outside the door of the Hotel Francobollo.

Lou and Suzi were across the river in Trastevere. They had walked with Bill and Lizzie around the little Piazza but, as Signora had warned, the restaurants were a bit too pricey for them. Wasn't it wonderful that they had learned all that about the piatto del giorno, and how to think in lire rather than translating it back into Irish money all the time.

'Maybe we should have kept our sandwiches from lunchtime,' Lizzie said sadly.

'We can't go in the door of these places,' Suzi said philosophically.

'It's not fair as a system, you know,' Lou said. 'Most of those people are on the take somehow, they all have an angle, a scene for themselves. Believe me, I know…'

'Sure, Lou, but it doesn't matter.' Suzi didn't want the murky past brought up. It was never discussed but it was hinted at wistfully when Lou might sometimes tell her how the living could have been very easy had she not been so righteous.

'Do you mean like stolen credit cards?' Bill asked, interested.

'No, nothing like that, just doing favours, someone does a favour and they get a dinner, or a big favour and they get many dinners or a car. It's as simple as that.'

'You'd have to do a lot of favours to get a car,' Lizzie said.

'Yes and no. It's not doing a lot, it's just being reliable. I think that's what people want when favours are being exchanged.'

They all nodded, mystified. Sometimes Suzi looked at her huge emerald engagement ring. So many people had claimed it was the real thing that she had begun to believe that it might have been the result of a huge favour Lou had done for somebody. There was a way of finding out, like having it valued. But then she would know one way or the other. Far better to leave it as part of the unknown.

'I wish someone would ask us to do them a favour,' Lizzie said, looking at the restaurant with the musicians going from table to table, and the flower sellers passing amongst the diners selling long-stemmed roses.

'You keep your eyes peeled, Elizabetta,' said Lou with a laugh.

And at that moment a man and woman rose to their feet at a table near the road, the woman slapped the man across the face, the man snatched her handbag and leaped over the little hedge that formed the restaurant wall.

In two seconds Lou had caught him. He held one of the man's arms behind his back in a lock that was obviously extremely painful, he raised the other hand, the one holding the stolen handbag, high for all to see. Then he marched him through all the guests right up to the proprietor.

Huge explanations in Italian were exchanged, leading to the arrival of the carabinieri in a van and enormous excitement all around. They never got to know what had happened. Some Americans nearby said they thought the woman had picked up a gigolo. Some English people said that he was the woman's boyfriend who had been taking a cure for drug addiction. A French couple said that it was just a lovers' tiff but it was good that the man should be taken to a police station.

Lou and his friends were the heroes of the hour. The woman was offering him a reward. Lou was quick to translate it into a meal for four. This seemed entirely suitable to all parties.

'Con vino, se è possibile"?' Lou added. They drank themselves into a stupor and had to take a taxi home.

'It wash the besht time I ever had,' Lizzie said as she fell twice before getting into the taxi.

'It's all a matter of looking for opportunities,' said Lou.

Connie looked around the pizza place. They were mainly young people, her children's age. They were animated and lively, interrupting each other laughing. Very alive and aware. Suppose this were to be the last place she was to see. Suppose it were really true and someone stalked after her leaving frightening messages at the hotel. But she couldn't be killed in front of everyone here? It wasn't possible. And yet how else to explain the letter? It was still in her handbag. Maybe if she were to write a note to leave with it just in case, a note explaining how she feared it might be from Harry, or one of his associates, as he always called them. But was this madness? Or was he just trying to make her go mad? Connie had seen films where this happened. She must not let it happen to her. A shadow fell over the table and she looked up, expecting the waiter or someone to ask for one of the spare chairs. But her eyes met those of Siobhan Casey, her husband's mistress of many years. The woman who had helped Harry salt away money not once but twice.

Her face was different now, older and much more tired. There were lines where they had never been before. Her eyes were bright and wild. Connie suddenly felt very afraid indeed. Her voice dried in her throat. No words would come out.

'You're still alone,' Siobhan said, her face scornful. Connie still couldn't speak. 'It doesn't matter what city or how many deadbeats you travel with, you still end up having to go out by yourself.' She gave a little bark of a laugh with no humour in it.

Connie struggled to remain calm, she must not let the fear show in her face. Years of pretending that everything was normal stood to her now. 'I'm not by myself any more,' she said, pushing a chair towards Siobhan.

Siobhan's brow darkened further. 'Always the grand lady with nothing to back it up. Nothing.' Siobhan spoke loudly and angrily. People began to look at them, sensing a scene about to begin.

Connie spoke in a low voice. 'This is hardly the setting for a grand lady,' she said. She hoped her voice wasn't shaking.

'No, it's part of the slumming duchess routine. You have no real friends so you go and patronise a crowd of no-hopers, and you come on their cheapo trip with them and even then they don't want you. You'll always be alone, you should prepare for it.'

Connie breathed a little more easily. Perhaps Siobhan Casey did not intend to launch a murderous attack on her after all. She wouldn't speak about an empty, lonely future if she were about to kill her. It gave Connie a little courage. 'I am prepared for it. Haven't I been alone for years?' she said simply.

Siobhan looked at her, surprised. 'You're very cool, aren't you?'

'No, not really.'

'You knew the letter was from me?' Siobhan asked. Did she seem disappointed, or was she pleased she had instilled such fear? Her eyes still glinted madly. Connie was unsure which way to react. Would it be better to admit that she had no idea, or was it more clever to say that she had rumbled Siobhan from the start? It was a nightmare trying to guess which way would be the right one.

'I thought it must be, I wasn't sure.' She marvelled at how steady her own voice was.

'Why me?'

'You're the only one who really cared enough about Harry to write it.3

There was a silence. Siobhan stood leaning on the back of the chair. Around them the babble and laughter of the restaurant went on as before. The two foreign woman did not appear to be about to have a fight, as had looked possible. There was nothing of interest there any more. Connie would not ask her to sit down. She would not pretend that matters were so normal between them that they could sit together as ordinary people. Siobhan Casey had threatened to kill her, she was literally mad.

'You know he never loved you at all, you do know that?' Siobhan said.

Tn truth possibly he did, the very beginning, before he knew I didn't enjoy sex.'

'Enjoy it!' Siobhan snorted at the word. 'He said you were pathetic, lying there whimpering, tight and terrified. That was the word he used about you. Pathetic.'

Connie's eyes narrowed. This was disloyalty of a spectacular sort. Harry knew how she had tried, how she had yearned for him. It was very cruel to tell Siobhan all the details. 'I did try, you know, to get something done about it.'

'Oh yes?'

'Yes. It was upsetting and distressing and painful, and in the end did no good at all.'

'They told you that you were a dyke, was that it?' Siobhan stood swaying, mocking, her lank hair falling over her face. She was hardly recognisable as the efficient Miss Casey of former times.

'No, and I don't think that was it.'

'So what did they say?' Siobhan seemed interested in spite of herself.

'They said that I couldn't trust men because my father had gambled away all our money.'

'That is pure bullshit,' Siobhan said.

'That's what I said too. A little more politely, but it's what I meant,' Connie said, with weak attempt at a smile.

Unexpectedly, Siobhan pulled out the chair and sat down. Now that Connie didn't have to look up at her any more she saw close up the ravages that the past months had worked on Siobhan Casey. Her blouse was stained, her skirt ill-fitting, her fingernails bitten and dirty. She wore no make-up and her face was working and moving all the time. She must be two or three years younger than I am, Connie thought; she looks years older.

Was it true that Harry had told her that he was finished with her? This was what must have unhinged her. Connie noticed the way she picked up the knife and fork and fingered them, moving them from hand to hand. She was very disturbed. They were not out of the wood yet.

'It was all such a waste when you look back on it. He should have married you,' Connie said.

'I don't have the style, I couldn't have been the kind of hostess he wanted.'

'That was only a small and very superficial part of his life. He practically lived with you.' Connie was hoping that these tactics would work. Flatter her, tell Siobhan that she was central to Harry's life. Don't let her brood and realise it was all over now.

'He had no love at home, of course, he had to go somewhere,' Siobhan said. She was drinking now, the Chianti from Connie's glass.

Connie with a glance and an indication of her finger managed to let the waiter know they needed more wine and a further glass. Something about her also communicated itself, so that instead of the usual friendly greetings and banter of a place like this he just left the bottle and glass on the table and went away.

'I did love him for long time.'

'Fine way you showed it, shopping him and sending him to gaol.' - 'I had stopped loving him by then.'

'I never did.'

'I know. And for all you may hate me, I didn't hate you.'

'Oh yeah?'

'No, I knew he needed you, and still does, I imagine.'

'Not any more, you put paid to that too. When he gets out he'll go to England. That's all your fault. You made it impossible for him to live in his own land.' Siobhan's face was blotched and unhappy.

'I presume you'll go with him.'

'You presume wrong.' Again the sneer and the very, very mad look.

Connie had to get it right now. It was desperately important. 'I was jealous of you but I didn't hate you. You gave him everything, a proper love life, loyalty, total understanding about work. He spent most of his time with you, for God's sake, why wouldn't I

have been jealous?' She had Siobhan's interest now. So she continued. 'But I didn't hate you, believe me.'

Siobhan looked at her with interest. 'I suppose you felt it was better that he should have just been with me than having lots of women, is that it?'

Connie knew she must be very careful here. Everything could depend on it. She looked at the ruined face of Siobhan Casey, who had loved Harry Kane for ever and still loved him. Was it possible that Siobhan, who was so close to him, didn't know about the girl from the airline, the woman who owned the small hotel in Galway, the wife of one of the investors? She searched the other woman's face. In as much as she could see, Siobhan Casey believed herself to have been the only woman in Harry Kane's life.

Connie spoke thoughtfully. 'I suppose that's true, it would have been humiliating to think he was running around with everyone… but even though I didn't like it… I knew that what you and he had was something special. As I said, he should have been married to you from the start.'

Siobhan listened to this. And thought it over. Her eyes were narrow and very mad when she finally spoke. 'And when you realised that I had followed you here and written that note, why were you not afraid?'

Connie was very afraid still. 'I suppose I thought you realised that whatever the difficulties were or maybe are, you were the only one who ever counted in Harry's life.3 Siobhan listened. Connie continued. 'And of course I left a sort of insurance policy, so that you'd be punished if you did do me any harm.'

'You what?'

'I wrote a letter to my solicitor to be opened in case I died suddenly in Rome, or indeed anywhere, enclosing a copy of your note, and I said I had reason to suspect that it might have come from you.'

Siobhan nodded almost in admiration. It would have been marvellous to think that she saw reason. But the woman was still too distraught for that. It was not the time to give her a woman to woman talk about smartening herself, setting her appearance to rights, and providing a home for him in England to await his release. Connie was very sure that there was still money that had escaped any detection. But she wasn't going to run Siobhan's life for her. In fact her legs were still weak. She had managed to remain so normal and calm when faced with someone dangerous enough to follow her and make death threats, but Connie didn't know how much more she could take. She longed for the safety of the Hotel Francobollo.

'I won't do anything to you,' Siobhan said in a small voice.

'Well, it would sure be a pity for you to have to go in one door of the gaol as Harry is coming out another,' Connie said, as casually as if they were talking about shopping for souvenirs.

'How did you get to be so cool?' Siobhan asked.

'Years and bloody years of loneliness,' Connie said. She wiped an unexpected tear of self-pity from her eye and walked purposefully towards the waiter. She gave him lire that would cover the bill.

'Grazie, tante grazie, Signora,' he said.

Signora! She would be back now surely, and Connie wanted to give her the surprise. It all seemed much more real to her than the sad woman sitting in this pizza house, the woman who had been her husband's mistress for most of her life, who had come to Rome to kill Connie. She glanced at Siobhan Casey briefly, but she didn't say goodbye. There was nothing more to say.

It was very noisy in the bar where Barry and Fiona were looking for the friends from the World Cup.

'This is the corner we sat in,' Barry said.

Great crowds of young people were gathered and the giant television set was being moved into a position of even greater prominence. There was a match, and everyone was against Juventus. It didn't matter who they were for, Juventus was the enemy. The game began and Barry got drawn into it in spite of his quest. Fiona too was interested, and howled with rage at a decision that went against everyone's wishes.

'You like the football?' a man said to her.

Barry immediately put his arm around her shoulder. 'She understands a little, but I was here, here in this very bar for the World Cup. Irlanda.'

Trlanda!' the man cried with delight. Barry produced the pictures, great happy shouting throngs then as now, but more bedecked. The man said his name was Gino, and he showed the pictures to other people and they came and clapped Barry on the back. Names were exchanged. Paul McGrath, Cascarino, Houghton, Charlton. A.C. Milan was mentioned tentatively and proved to have been a good way to go. These were good guys. More and more beer kept flowing.

Fiona lost all track of the conversation. And she was getting a headache. 'If you love me, Barry, let me go back to the hotel. It's only a straight line along the Via Giovanni and I know where to turn left.'

'I don't know.'

'Please, Barry. I don't ask much.'

'Barry, Barry,' his friends were calling.

'Take great care,' he said.

'I'll leave the key in the door,' she said, and blew him a kiss.

It was as safe as the streets in her own part of Dublin. Fiona walked happily back to the hotel, rejoicing that Barry had found his friends. They seemed to be fairly casual in their great reunion, none of them remembering anyone's names at first. But still, maybe that's the way men were. Fiona looked at the window boxes with the geraniums and busy lizzies in them, clustered in little pots. They looked so much more colourful than at home. Of course it was the weather. You could do anything if you had all this sunshine.

Then passing a bar she saw Mr. Dunne sitting on his own, a glass of beer in front of him, his face sad and a million miles away. On an impulse Fiona suddenly turned in the door to join him. 'Well, Mr. Dunne… the two of us on our own.'

'Fiona!' he seemed to drag himself back. 'And where's Bartolo-meo?'

'With his football friends. I got a headache so he let me go home.'

'Oh, he found them. Isn't that marvellous!' Mr. Dunne had a kind, tired smile.

'Yes, and he's delighted with himself. Are you enjoying it all, Mr. Dunne?'

'Yes, very much.' But his voice sounded a bit hollow.

'You shouldn't be out here on your own, you organised it with Signora. Where is she, by the way?'

'She met some friends from Sicily, that's where she used to live, you see.' His voice sounded bitter and sad.

'Oh, that's nice.'

'Nice for her, she's spending the evening with them.'

'It's only one evening, Mr. Dunne.'

'As far as we know.' He was mutinous, like a twelve-year-old.

Fiona looked at him, wondering. She knew so much. She knew for example all about Mr. Dunne's wife Nell, who had been having an affair with Barry's father. It was over now, but apparently there were still bewildered letters and phone calls from Mrs. Dunne, who had no idea that Fiona had been responsible for breaking everything up. Fiona knew from Grania and Brigid Dunne that their father was not happy, that he withdrew into his own little Italian sitting room all the time and hardly ever came out. She knew like everyone on the maggio knew that he was in love with Signora. Fiona remembered that divorce was now possible in Ireland.

She recalled that the old Fiona, the timid Fiona, would have left things as they were, would not interfere. But the new Fiona, the happy version, went in there fighting. She took a deep breath. 'Signora was telling me the other day that you had made the dream of her life come true. She said she never felt of any importance until you gave her this job.'

Mr. Dunne didn't respond, not as she would have liked. That was before she met all these Sicilians.'

'She said it again today at lunchtime,' Fiona lied.

'She did?' He was like a .child.

'Mr. Dunne, could I speak to you frankly and in total secrecy?'

'Of course you can, Fiona.'

'And will you never tell anyone what I said, particularly not Grania or Brigid?'

'Sure.'

Fiona felt weak. 'Maybe I need a drink,' she said.

'A coffee, a glass of water?'

'A brandy, I think.'

'If it's as bad as that FU have a brandy myself,' Aidan Dunne said, and they ordered it flawlessly from the waiter.

'Mr. Dunne, you know that Mrs. Dunne isn't here with you.'

'I had noticed,' Aidan said.

'Well, there's been a bit of unfortunate behaviour. You see, she's friendly, rather over-friendly actually, with Barry's father. And Barry's mother, she took it badly. Well, very badly. She tried to kill herself over it all.'

'What"?' Aidan Dunne looked utterly shocked.

'Anyway, it's all over now, it was over on the night of the festa up in Mountainview. If you remember, Mrs. Dunne went home in » bit of a hurry, and now Barry's mother is all cheered up and his father isn't, well, unsuitably friendly, with Mrs. Dunne any more.'

'Fiona, none of this is true.'

'It is actually, Mr. Dunne, but you swore and promised you'd tell nobody.'

'This is nonsense, Fiona.'

'No it's not, it's utterly true. You can ask your wife when you home. She's the only person you can tell about it. But maybe better not bring it up at all. Barry doesn't know, and Grania or Brigid don't, no point in getting everyone upset about it.' She looked so straightforward with her huge glasses reflecting all the lights in the bar that Aidan believed her utterly.

'So why are you telling me if no one is to know and no one is to get upset about it?'

'Because… because I want you and Signora to be happy, I suppose. Mr. Dunne, I don't want you to think that you were the one to make the first move cheating on your wife. I suppose I wanted to say that the cheating had started and it was open season.' Fiona stopped abruptly.

'You're an amazing child,' he said. He paid the bill and they walked back to the Hotel Francobollo in total silence. In the hall he shook her hand formally. 'Amazing,' he said again.

And he went upstairs to the bedroom where Laddy had arranged all the items that would be blessed by the Pope tomorrow. The Papal audience in St Peter's. Aidan put his head in his hands. He had forgotten all about it. Laddy had six sets of Rosary Beads to be blessed by the Pope. He was sitting in the little anteroom sorting them out. He had already polished the shoes for the Buona Seras, who didn't know what to make of him. 'Domani mercoledì noi vedremo II Papa, ' he said happily.

Upstairs Lou had to admit to Suzi that he was full of desire for her but didn't think that the performance would live up to it. 'A bit too much drink,' he explained, as if this were an insight.

'Never mind, we need our energy to see the Pope tomorrow,' Suzi said.

'Oh God, I'd forgotten the damn Pope,' said Lou, and fell asleep suddenly.

Bill Burke and Lizzie had fallen asleep with their clothes on, lying on the bed. They woke frozen at five o'clock in the morning. 'Is today a quiet day, by any chance?' Bill asked.

'After the Papal Audience I think it is.' Lizzie had an inexplicable headache.

Barry fell over the chair and Fiona woke in alarm. 'I forgot where we were living,' he said.

'Oh Barry, it was a straight line from the pub and then you turn left.'

'No, I meant in the hotel. I kept opening the wrong people's doors.'

'You're so drunk,' Fiona said sympathetically. 'Was it a nice night?'

'Yesh, but there's a myshtery,' Barry said.

'I'm sure there is. Drink some water.'

'I'll be going to the loo all night.'

'Well go, you will anyway after all the beer.'

'How did you get home?' he asked suddenly.

'As I told you, it was only a straight line. Drink up.'

'Did you have a convershashun with anyone?'

'Only Mr. Dunne, I met him along the way.'

'He's in bed with Signora,' Barry reported proudly.

'He never is? How do you know?'

'I could hear them talking when I passed the door,' Barry explained.

'What was he saying?'

'It was about the temple of Mars the Avenger?'

'Like the lecture?'

'Just like that. I think he was giving her the lecture again.'

'God,' said Fiona. 'Isn't that weird?'

'I'll tell you something even more weird,' Barry said. 'All those fellows in the bar, they're not from here at all, they're from somewhere else…'

'What do you mean?'

'They're from a place called Messagne, way down at the bottom of Italy, near Brindisi where you get the boat from. Full of figs and olives, they say.' He sounded very troubled.

'What's wrong with that? We all have to be from somewhere.' Fiona gave him more water.

'This is their first time in Rome, they say, I couldn't have met them when I was here before.'

'But you were such friends.' Fiona was sad.

'I know.'

'Could it have been a different bar, honestly?'

'I don't know.' He was very glum.

'Maybe they forgot they'd been to Rome,' she said brightly. 'Yes, it's not the kind of thing you'd forget though, is it?'

'But they remembered you.'

'And ,' thought I remembered them.'

'Come on, go to bed. We have to be bright-eyed for the Pope,' Fiona said.

'Oh God, the Pope,' said Barry.

In their bedroom Connie had given her surprise to Signora. It was a full tape-recording of Aidan's speech. She had bought the tape recorder and got every word of it for her.

Signora was touched to the heart. 'I'll listen to it under my pillow here so that it won't disturb you,' she said, after they had tried some of it out.

'No, I'm happy to hear it again,' Connie said.

Signora looked at the other woman. Her eyes were bright and she seemed flushed. 'Is everything all right, Constanza?'

'What? Oh yes, absolutely, Signora.'

And they sat there, each of them having had an evening that might change their lives. Was Connie Kane in any real danger from the mentally disturbed Siobhan? And would Nora O'Donoghue go back to the small town in Sicily which had been the centre of her life for twenty-three years? Even though they had confided in each other a little, they both had a strong tradition of keeping troubles to themselves. Connie wondered what had kept Signora from Aidan's lecture, and indeed out so late on her own tonight. Signora longed to ask if Constanza had heard anything more from the person who had written the unpleasant letter.

They got into bed and discussed the time for the alarm.

'Tomorrow is the Papal Audience,' Signora said suddenly.

'Oh God, I'd forgotten,' Connie admitted.

'So had I, aren't we a disgrace?' said Signora with a giggle.

They loved seeing the Pope. He looked a little frail but in good spirits. They all thought he was looking directly at them. There were hundreds and hundreds of people in St Peter's Square, and yet it seemed very personal.

'I'm glad it wasn't a Private Audience,' Laddy said, as if such a thing could ever have been possible. 'This big one is better somehow. It shows you religion isn't dead, and what's more you wouldn't have to think of anything to say to him, yourself like.'

Lou and Bill Burke had three cold beers each before they went and when Barry saw them he joined in quickly. Suzi and Lizzie had two very cold ice creams each. They all took photographs. There was an optional lunch which everyone took. Most of them had been too hungover or upset to have thought of making sandwiches at breakfast time.

'I hope they'll all be in better shape for the party at Signor Garaldi's tomorrow,' Laddy said disapprovingly to Kathy and Fran.

Lou was passing by when he said it. 'God Almighty, the party,' he said holding his head.

'Signora?' Aidan spoke to her after lunch.

'That's a bit formal, Aidan, you used to call me Nora,' she said.

'Ah well.'

'Ah well what?'

'How was your meeting yesterday, Nora?'

• She paused for moment. 'It was interesting, and despite the fact that it was in a restaurant, I managed to stay sober, unlike almost everyone else in the group. I'm surprised the Holy Father wasn't lifted out of his chair with the fumes of alcohol from our group.'

He smiled. 'I went to a bar and drowned my sorrows.'

'What are these sorrows, now?'

He tried to keep it light. 'Well, the main one was that you weren't there for my talk.'

Her face lit up and she reached into her big handbag. 'But I was. Look what Constanza did for me. I've heard the whole thing. It was wonderful, Aidan, and they clapped so much at the end and they loved it. It was so clear, I could see it all. In fact, when we have little free time I'm going back there and I'll play the tape just for myself. It will be as if I got a special tour all for myself,'

'I'd give you a repeat, you know that.' His eyes were full of warmth, he was reaching out for her hand, but she pulled away.

'No, Aidan don't, please don't, it's not fair. To make me think things I shouldn't think, like that you… well, like that you care about me and my future.'

'But God, Nora, you know I do.'

'Yes, but we've been over a year fond of each other in this way, and it's impossible. You live with your wife and family.'

'Not for much longer,' he said.

'Ah well, Grama's getting married, but nothing else has changed.'

'Yes it has. A lot has changed.'

'I can't listen to you, Aidan. I have to make up my rnind about something huge.'

'They want you to go back to Sicily, don't they?' he said, his heart heavy and his face rigid.

'Yes, they do.'

'I never asked you why you left.'

'No.'

'Nor why you stayed so long there either.'

'So doesn't that show something?'

'I don't ask about you either. I don't ask questions I might like to know the answers to.'

'I'd answer them, I promise you, and I'd hold nothing back.'

'Let's wait. It's too hothouse to ask each other questions and answer them here in Rome.'

'But if we don't, then you may go away and live in Sicily, and then…'

'And then what?' her voice was gentle.

'And then the whole point of my life will have gone away,' he said, and his eyes filled with tears.

The forty-two guests arrived at the Garaldi residence at five o'clock on Thursday. They had dressed in their best finery, and they all carried cameras. Word had got around that this was the kind of house that you might see in Hello! magazine. They wanted it recorded.

'Will we be able to take photos do you think, Lorenzo?' Kathy Clarke asked.

Laddy was the authority on all aspects of the visit. He thought about it for a while. 'There should be an official group photograph certainly, to record the occasion, and as many shots of the outside as we like. But I somehow feel that we shouldn't take pictures of their possessions, you know, in case they were to be seen and stolen later.'

They nodded their agreement. Laddy had certainly worked it all out. When they saw the building they all stopped, amazed. Even

Connie Kane, who was used to visiting splendid places, was knocked backwards.

'We can't be allowed in here,' Lou whispered to Suzi, loosening his tie which had begun to choke him.

'Shut up, Lou, how are we going to go up in the world if you panic in front of a bit of money and class,' Suzi hissed back at him.

'This is the kind of life I was born to,' Lizzie Duffy said, bowing graciously at the staff who conducted them in, and up the steps.

'Don't be ridiculous, Lizzie.' Bill Burke was anxious. He hadn't learned any really good phrases about international banking that would advance his career. He knew she would be disappointed in him.

The Garaldi family were there and they had invited a photographer of their own. Would anyone mind if they took pictures, then these could be developed and given to the guests as they departed? Mind? They were thrilled. First there was Lorenzo and Signor Garaldi. Then one of Lorenzo and the whole Garaldi family. Then that group plus Signora and Aidan and after that, everyone ranked on the stairs. This was a house that had seen the need for group photography before.

The two sullen sons of the family whom Laddy had entertained in the snooker halls of Dublin had cheered up mightily, and they bore him away to show him their own games room. There were trays of wine and soft drinks. There was beer in tall elegant glasses, plates of crostini and little cakes and tartlets.

'May I take a picture of the food?' Fiona asked.

'Please, please.' Signor Garaldi's wife seemed touched.

'It's my future mother-in-law, she's teaching me to cook, I'd like her to see something elegant like this.'

'Is she a kind person, la suocera… the mother-in-law?' Signora Garaldi was interested.

'Yes, very kind. She was a bit unstable, she tried to commit suicide you see, because her husband was having an affair with that man's wife. But it's all over now. Actually, I ended it. Myself personally!' Fiona's eyes were bright with excitement and marsala wine.

'Dio mio.' Signora Garaldi had her hand to her throat. All this in Holy Catholic Ireland!

'I met her through the suicide,' Fiona continued. 'She was brought to my hospital. In many ways I pulled her around, and she's very grateful to me, so she's teaching me high-class cooking.'

'High class,' Signora Garaldi murmured.

Lizzie passed by her eyes wide with admiration. 'Che bella casa,' she said.

'Parla bene Italiano,' Signora Garaldi said warmly.

'Yes, well I'll need it when Guglielmo is appointed to an international banking post, quite possibly in Rome.'

'Really he might be sent to Rome?'

'We could choose Rome, or anywhere he wants really, but this is such a beautiful city,' Lizzie was gracious in her praise.

There was going to be a speech, people were gathered together, Laddy from the games room, Connie from the picture gallery, Barry from the car and motorbikes down in the underground garage.

While they assembled Signora took Aidan's arm. 'You won't believe what the Garaldis have made of this, I heard the wife explaining that someone in the group is an international surgeon who saves lives, and Elizabetta has said that Guglielmo is a famous banker contemplating settling in Rome.'

Aidan smiled. 'And do they believe any of it?' he asked.

'I doubt it. For one thing, Guglielmo has asked three times can he cash a cheque and what is today's rate of exchange. It wouldn't inspire huge confidence.' She smiled back at him too. Anything either of them said seemed warm or funny or full of insights.

'Nora?' he said.

'Not yet… Let's try and get the show on the road.'

The speech was warm in the extreme. Never had the Garaldis been made so welcome as in Ireland, never had they met such honesty and friendship. Today was just one more example of it. People had come to their house as strangers and would leave as friends. 'Amici,' a lot of them said when he said friends.

'Amici sempre,' said Signor Garaldi.

Laddy's hand was raised high in the air. He would come to this house for ever. They would visit his nephew's hotel again.

'We could have a party for you when you come to Dublin,' Connie Kane said, and at this they all nodded eagerly, promising to take part. The pictures arrived. Marvellous big pictures on elegant steps in the courtyard. Amongst the thousands of shots taken on this viaggio, snaps of people squinting into the sun, these would have pride of place in all the different homes over Dublin.

There were a lot of CMOS and arrivedercis and grazies, and the evening class from Mountainview were out again on the streets of Rome. It was after eleven o'clock, the crowds were beginning to have their little passeggiata, the evening stroll. Nobody felt like going home; they had been having too exciting a time.

'I'm going back to the hotel. Will I take everyone's pictures?' Aidan said suddenly. He looked across the group, waiting for her to speak.

Signora spoke slowly. 'So am I, we can carry them back for you and so if you all get drunk again you won't lose them.'

They smiled at each other knowingly. What they had all suspected over the past year was about to happen.

They walked hand in hand until they found an open-air restaurant with strolling players. 'You warned us against these,' Aidan said.

'I only said they were expensive, I didn't say they weren't wonderful,' said Nora O'Donoghue.

They sat and talked. She told him about Mario and Gabriella, and how she had lived happily in their shadow for so long.

He told her about Nell, and how he could never see when and why the good times had gone from their marriage. But gone they had. They lived now like strangers under the same roof.

She told him how Mario had died first and Gabriella then, how their children wanted her to go back and help with the hotel. Alfredo had said the words she had ached to hear, that they had always thought of her as a kind of mother anyway.

He told her that he knew now Nell had been having an affair. That he had neither been shocked or hurt by this, but just surprised. It did seem a very male response, he thought, a little arrogant and very insensitive, but that's the way it was.

She said that she would have to meet Alfredo again and talk to him. She didn't know yet what she was going to say.

He told her that when they got home he would tell Nell that they would sell their house and give her half the proceeds. He didn't know yet where he was going to live.

They went slowly back to the Hotel Francobollo. They were too old to have the where-do-we-go problem of youngsters. Yet that was exactly what they had. They couldn't lock Laddy out of his room for the night. Nor Constanza. They looked at each other.

'Buona sera, Signor Buona Sera,' began Nora O'Donoghue. 'C'e un piccolo problema…'

It wasn't a problem for long. Signor Buona Sera was a man of the world. He found them a room with no delays and no questions asked.

The days flew by in Rome, and then it was just a short walk across to Termini and the train to Florence.

'Firenze,' they all chorused when they saw the name come up on the noticeboard at the station. They didn't mind leaving because they knew they were coming back. Hadn't they all put their coins in the Trevi Fountain? And there would be so much more to see and do once they had mastered Intermediate or Improvers' Italian. They hadn't decided what to call it, but everyone was signing on.

They settled in the train, their picnics packed. The Buona Seras had left out plenty of supplies. This group had been no trouble. And imagine the unexpected romance between the two leaders! Far too old for it, of course, and it would never last when they went back to their own spouses, but still, part of the madness of a holiday.

Next year's viaggio they would go south from Rome, not north. Signora said they must see Naples, and then they would go to Sicily to a hotel she had known when she lived there. She and Aidan Dunne had promised Alfredo. They had also agreed to tell him that Aidan's daughter Brigid or one of her colleagues would come out and see if they could set up package holidays to his hotel.

At Signora's insistence Aidan had telephoned his home. The conversation with Nell had been easier and shorter than he could ever have believed.

'You had to know sometime,' Nell said curtly.

'So we'll put the house on the market when I get home and split it down the middle.'

'Right,' she said.

'Don't you care, Nell? Doesn't it mean anything to you, all these years?'

'They're over, isn't this what you're saying?'

'I was saying we should discuss the fact that they will be over.'

'What's there to discuss, Aidan?'

'It's just that I didn't want you to be getting ready for my coming home and preparing for it… and then this being a bombshell.' He was always too courteous, and possibly too self-centred, he realised.

'I don't want to upset you, but truly I don't even know what day you are coming back,' Nell said.

They sat apart from the others on the train, Aidan Dunne and Signora, in a world of their own with a future to plan.

'We won't have much money,' he said.

'I never had any money at all to speak of, it won't bother me.' Signora spoke from the heart.

'I'll take all the things from the Italian room. You know, the desk, the books, and the curtains and sofa.'

'Yes, better to put back a dining room table in there, for the sale, even just borrow one.' Signora was practical.

'We could get a small flat, I'm sure, as soon as we get back.' He was anxious to show her that she wasn't going to lose out by refusing to go back to Sicily, her only real home.

'A room would do,' Signora said.

'No, no, we must have more than a room,' he protested.

'I love you, Aidan,' she said.

And for some reason, the others were all quiet and the train wasn't making any of its noises so everyone heard. For a second they exchanged glances. But the decision was made. To hell with discretion. Celebration was more important. And the other passengers on the train would never know why forty people wearing badges saying Vista del Monte cheered and cheered and sang a variety of songs in English including 'This Is Our Lovely Day', and eventually ended up in a tuneless version of 'Arnvederci Roma'.

And they would never understand why so many of them were wiping tears quickly away from their eyes.