The Rome Prophecy

18

Sunday morning gathers around Valentina Morassi like a cool mountain mist.

She opens her eyes slowly and sees untidy puddles of pale daylight shimmering on the wooden bedroom floor.

Leakage from the real world.

An unwelcome clue that her night’s rest is over.

Not that she got much rest.

Valentina’s normally an eight-hours-a-night person. She squints at her Mickey clock and realises she’s had less than six.

Her own fault.

Hers and Tom’s.

The thought makes her smile. She’s happy to lose a lot more sleep if the man next to her is the reason why.

She has a plan for the day, and it’s a simple one.

Sleepy lovemaking. Breakfast in bed. Less sleepy love-making. Shower – dress – reluctantly think about work.

It’s all a nice change from her normal pattern of putting work first.

Great sex turns everything upside down.

Fill your body with pesky orgasms and suddenly your all-important life-defining job can go hang itself.

Valentina slides close to Tom and drifts her hand down his impressive rack of abdominal muscles.

He stirs a little.

Still asleep.

But not for long.

Before Valentina rouses him, she thinks about yesterday, about how nervous she was meeting him at the airport. About whether he would feel the same way about her as she did about him. Whether any sexual advance would jeopardise their friendship.

Then there was their first kiss.

It seems unfair that romance can live or die in only a few seconds or just a few words. Had she not been bold enough to ask that he kiss her ‘a proper hello’, then maybe nothing would have happened between them.

How many great loves have never happened because someone lacked the courage to make the first move?

She tries to clear her mind and return to the matter in hand.

Her right hand, to be precise.

Tom lets out a sigh that comes from so far inside of him it’s like the distant growl of an animal in a far-off jungle.

Her fingers bring the beast closer.

As he stretches and hardens, she kisses his back and presses her soft flesh against him.

He rolls over and looks at her. Eyes still sleepy, the colour of beaten pewter, but alive enough to show his pleasure at being with her.

Valentina doesn’t even let him say good morning. She presses her lips gently against his. She wants to capture the precious intimacy growing between them. Make sure it never escapes.

Her romantic thoughts and plans for the day come to an abrupt end.

The phone rings.

It’s bad news.

She knows it is.

Bad news has a way of preceding itself. Like the stench of rotting fish – you’re aware of it before you even see it. Similarly, the one thing you can’t do is ignore it.

‘Sorry,’ she says, in a breathy voice as soft as kitten fur.

Tom manages a moan of understanding.

The call is from Federico Assante. He gets straight to the point. ‘I’ve been rung by the hospital – it seems our prisoner had a good night. So good that she gave the staff a real name and apparently is willing to be interviewed.’

Valentina is surprised. ‘Who is she?’

He glances at his notes. ‘Suzanna someone. Hang on, I wrote it down. Now where is it? Grecoraci – Suzanna Grecoraci. Apparently, before we get to see her, the bossy doctor we met yesterday, Verdetti, wants to talk to us, and she’s only going to be at the unit for another hour.’

Valentina glances at the only thing she’s wearing, her watch; it’s not even nine a.m. Her tone gives away a distinct lack of enthusiasm. ‘I guess I can be there in twenty minutes. Does that work for you?’

Federico says it does and they agree to meet in reception.

She thinks about mentioning that she knows he called Major Caesario, but decides to save it until they’re face to face.

When she’s finished, Tom is sitting up in bed, bare-chested, hair tousled and eyes full of expectancy. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, ‘I have to go straight away. I’ll be back as soon as possible, promise.’ She wants to kiss him, a kiss just to apologise, to show he’s not second choice to work. But she daren’t.

One kiss won’t be enough.

One kiss will result in making her at least an hour late.

She dresses quickly. Smart black Armani jeans and a warm grey sweater. She’s still explaining her rushed exit as her head pops through the floppy cowl neck. ‘The woman in charge of the psych unit is difficult; I don’t want her to change her mind. I’m really sorry.’

‘Stop apologising. It’s not a problem.’ Tom is almost as fascinated watching her dress as he was watching her un dress. ‘Do you think your colleagues have a camera on us?’

‘What?’

He peers up as though he’s searching for a lens hidden in the ceiling. ‘Only it seems that any time there’s a hint of romance between us, someone from the Carabinieri always rings.’

She laughs. ‘Don’t say that. We’re safe, I promise.’

‘If you like, I can grab the metro and meet you somewhere, when you know what time you’re finishing, and where you’re going to be.’

‘Could be an idea. I’ll call you. There’s food in the kitchen, but of course you know that from your shopping.’

‘Thanks. Have you got a computer, a laptop I can use?’

‘There’s a little Sony in a case in the lounge.’

‘Password?’

‘Electra.’

‘Elector?’

She chuckles. ‘No, Elec tra, as in the big Electra Glide that I’m going to one day treat myself to.’ Fully clothed, she now risks kissing him.

But only lightly.

Well, it starts lightly.

It’s meant to be just a peck, but it turns out to be more passionate. She pulls away and lets out an almost painful sigh.

Her thoughts about Tom – and that brief kiss – have a tingling and hypnotic effect that last throughout the drive from her home to the Policlinico.

Valentina only clears her head when she is inside the disinfectant-smelling hospital and approaching the psychiatric ward.

Federico is obediently waiting in reception, engrossed in a well-thumbed gossip magazine.

‘ Buongiorno,’ he says amiably, dropping the mag and standing, ‘Verdetti’s waiting for us.’

She skips the pleasantries as they walk to the doctor’s office. ‘Tell me, Federico, did you call Caesario, or did he call you?’

He lets out a dismissive humph. ‘He is my boss – he asked that he be kept in touch, so I did as he asked.’

A good answer, but she’s not letting him off that lightly. ‘No. He’s not your boss. I am. I’m your immediate boss and you report directly to me.’ She waits for a reaction. He should look a little ashamed, a little afraid because he’s being dressed down for undermining a senior officer, but he doesn’t. He should be eager to apologise, say he’s sorry and promise not to do it again, but he clearly isn’t going to.

They stop outside Verdetti’s office and Valentina lets off more steam again. ‘Lieutenant, we have ranks and reporting procedures for good reasons, so make sure they are respected and followed in future. If Major Caesario needs informing of something, then I’ll do it. You report only to me, unless instructed otherwise. Do we understand each other?’

He shrugs and makes to open the door.

Valentina grabs his wrist and stops him. ‘I asked you a question. Do you understand the order I just gave you?’

He looks at her tight grip on his arm and reacts for the first time. A flush of colour to his face. A twitch of his Adam’s apple as he swallows and tries to stay calm. ‘I understand.’

‘ Va bene.’ She lets go of his wrist and allows him to open the door.