The Rome Prophecy

71

Tom doesn’t have to wait long in reception.

Valentina soon appears. She looks drained of all colour. In her hands are two carrier bags. Her personal belongings, newly cleared from her desk.

‘Come here.’ He opens his arms and embraces her tightly. ‘Everything will be fine.’

Valentina is more angry than tearful.

She didn’t expect fairness. Certainly didn’t expect favours. But she also didn’t anticipate this.

She pulls away from him. ‘Let’s talk in the car, not here.’

He understands.

Valentina produces the veneer of a smile for the front desk staff as she leaves the building.

‘Your major came into the briefing room after you left.’

‘I guessed so.’ Valentina zaps the car open and they slide inside. ‘He gave me a letter suspending me, pending an internal inquiry and a possible court martial. Then he told me that he’d made you wait in reception.’

Tom nods. ‘I heard him speaking to Federico. Sounded like he was warming him up to take over from you.’

‘Big surprise.’

She starts the engine, clicks off the park brake and moves out of the yard.

‘They were talking about the night you got injured, and I got the feeling Federico was being asked to say it was your fault.’

Valentina turns on the radio as the Fiat noses out into the traffic. ‘I can’t talk about it right now, Tom. I don’t know whether I want to scream, get hideously drunk or find a gun and blow Caesario’s head off.’

‘Screaming is the best option out of the three.’

She does.

Very loudly.

Tom covers his ears.

When she’s finished, they both laugh.

He dips the radio. ‘As a matter of interest, where is home tonight?’

‘Not that fleapit we stayed in. The insurance company is going to cover a hotel until they’ve inspected the place and filed a report. I have somewhere in mind.’

He can’t help but be impressed. Even when her world turns to garbage, she’s still together enough to look after them both. Seems women the world over do that. Guys take a body blow and they go down. They wallow or drink themselves unconscious. Women take a knock and they just ride it, get on with the job of looking after themselves and those they love most.

Minutes later, Valentina parks at the front of a functional three-star on Via Mario de’ Fiori.

‘Let me book us in,’ says Tom. ‘If the press get a whiff of the suspension and come hunting, then you’ll be harder to trace.’

She slaps a credit card down on the reception desk. ‘I don’t want to be hard to trace.’ She stands tippy-toe and kisses him.

The front desk is busy and they have to wait.

Tom takes the place in.

It’s cosy enough.

Off to his right is a lounge area with light wood-panelled walls, and some of those dark chesterfield leather settees that you see in old English homes. A large desk in the corner supports a computer and printer, and there’s a long coffee table filled with magazines and leaflets about Rome. To his left, a thick red carpet flows down a marble staircase into the reception area. There are only two people working behind the high curved desk, hence the delay. Behind them, Tom sees the key slots and mail for a total of seventeen rooms. There are no frequent-visitor leaflets and nothing promoting other hotels across Italy or Europe. He guesses the place is probably family-owned and not part of a chain.

All pluses in his book.

Valentina dangles a brass key and a warm smile before him.

He follows her upstairs to a first-floor bedroom.

It’s decorated in soft peach and gentle gold, with matching ceiling-to-floor curtains and a bed large enough to land an Airbus on.

Valentina kicks off her shoes and throws her coat on the quilt. ‘Wine! I don’t care what colour or temperature, just open some, please. I’m going to the bathroom.’

Tom finds the minibar.

He selects two small screw-top bottles of Frascati and empties them into glasses. Valentina reappears from the bathroom and all but downs the cold white before sitting on the bed alongside him. ‘I was just thinking, now that work isn’t in the way, we should do something touristy. You’ve not seen anything of Rome except police stations and bodies, so let’s fix that.’

He touches her face. ‘I’ve seen everything I want.’

‘Aaah, you say all the right things.’

He puts an arm around her and kisses the side of her forehead. ‘I’m happy just to grab dinner here and stay in the hotel if you prefer.’

She shakes her head. ‘No, I’d like to get out. I don’t want to sit and brood. I need to move around and be distracted.’

A muffled ring fights its way out from the pocket of the crumpled coat she’s thrown on the bed.

Valentina ignores it.

She sips her wine and it rings again.

Tom unfolds the coat and offers her the noisy pocket. ‘Maybe it’s good news.’

She doubts it. She dips her hand in and takes out her phone.

Tom goes back to the minibar in search of more wine. By the time he’s retrieved some from the back of the bottom shelf, she’s finished the call.

Her face looks as empty as their glasses.

‘It was Federico. He’s been suspended as well.’