The Rome Prophecy

11

The easyJet plane from Paris into Rome Ciampino arrives late. It hits the tarmac just before five p.m., or almost seventeen hundred hours, as Valentina has grown accustomed to calling it.

It takes twenty-five minutes for Tom to clear customs and baggage control, and when he appears she almost doesn’t recognise him.

He’s dressed in a brown leather jacket, ribbed brown sweater, faded blue jeans and smart brown cowboy boots. His hair is much longer than she remembers, and unless she’s mistaken, his chiselled face is shadowed with a hint of designer stubble.

Tom can’t see her.

She’s hidden in a dense crowd of expectant families and taxi drivers holding signs with the names of businessmen they’re picking up.

‘Tom! Tom!’

His head turns. Now he spots her.

He swings his suitcase her way and within seconds she throws her arms around him and buries her head against his face. He squeezes her tight and then holds her by the waist like he’s admiring a giant bouquet of flowers. ‘You look amazing. Wow! I bet you’re the hottest capitano the Carabinieri have ever seen.’

‘ Grazie.’ She strikes a pose for him and smiles. ‘And you look good too. But what happened? Someone take a punch at you?’

Tom looks embarrassed. ‘A long story.’ He points to her mouth. ‘I could say the same. Have you been brawling with your new bosses?’

She touches her face self-consciously. ‘ Sono stupido. A prisoner hit me with her head.’ She slaps a palm on her forehead. ‘She just went crazy in her cell. I’ll tell you in the car.’

The traffic isn’t good and the journey from Ciampino on the south of the city to Valentina’s apartment off Via Annia Faustina gives them plenty of time to catch up on things. She tells Tom all about the strange happenings the previous night in Cosmedin, and he tries to explain his bruises and busted lip.

‘So you have some money to spend on me,’ says Valentina mischievously. ‘I think tonight you can pay for dinner. It can be your punishment for behaving like some drunken teenager.’

Tom protests that he was championing the cause of vulnerable French youths against a seasoned bully, but somehow the reasoning doesn’t seem as sensible as it did last night.

Valentina squeezes the little Fiat into a gap between a Smart car and an old Ford Fiesta that looks like it’s never been washed. She links Tom’s arm and leads him through an iron gate in a long brick wall that cordons off her apartment block.

One set of stairs later, she opens the front door to her tiny apartment and instantly wishes she’d made more of an effort to tidy up.

‘Nice,’ says Tom, ‘small but very nice.’

‘Liar. It’s horrible.’ She abandons her jacket and handbag and heads straight to her treasured DeLonghi coffee machine. ‘Are all ex-priests bad liars?’

‘It’s possible,’ he concedes, standing by her settee, not sure what to do with his suitcase.

She switches on the machine and smiles at him. ‘Now we’re inside, I have something to ask you.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You need to come over here to answer it.’

Tom drops his jacket over the case and steps into the kitchen area. She puts a finger gently to his damaged lip, almost as though she’s inspecting it. ‘Is your mouth too sore to kiss me a proper hello?’

‘A proper hello?’

She doesn’t let him prevaricate any longer. She tilts her head and gently kisses him. The unharmed corner of her lips touches the unharmed corner of his. A kiss as light as the fluttering wings of a butterfly.

Neither of them close their eyes. It’s like they’re watching each other unwrap long-awaited presents.

Tom’s hands find her waist.

She lets the tip of her tongue run sensually along the length of his dry lip.

The contact is minimal but electrifying.

They press together, so close they can feel nothing but the warmth of each other.

Somewhere in the room her phone rings.

Valentina tries to ignore it.

Tom slowly kisses the side of her neck.

She goes weak at the knees.

The phone trips to the answering function. ‘This is Lieutenant Assante – Federico. I tried your cell phone and left a message. Forgive me calling your home, but we have an incident at the hospital with the woman we arrested. I really need to talk to you urgently. If you can’t reach me, it may be because I’m already leaving for the pysch unit and I don’t have hands-free in my car. Ciao.’