She looked at the clock beside the bed. It was still early. She didn’t have to be at the station until ten. She had time for a shower and breakfast. On second thought, she’d order room service. She didn’t want to bump into him in the dining room.
After her shower, during which she washed off the scent of lemon, she dressed and packed her bag. As she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she recalled the excitement of the night before. Alessandro had been good for her. He had at least put a plaster across her broken heart and mended it temporarily. He had taken her thoughts away from Fitz to a more exotic world of adventure, where she was free to be whoever she chose, in a place where no one knew her. In a moment of enthusiasm she decided she would telephone Alessandro’s room and thank him. After all, he had given her an enormous amount of pleasure. Perhaps they could breakfast together; then, at least, she wouldn’t have to eat alone.
She called reception. “I would like to be connected with Alessandro Favioli,” she demanded in a haughty voice. There was a pause while the receptionist looked in the book.
“Alessandro Favioli,” repeated Alba. God, they don’t even understand their own language, she thought irritably.
“I’m afraid there is no one by the name of Favioli in this hotel.”
“Well of course there is. I dined with him last night.”
“No Signore Favioli.”
“Look again. We arrived together yesterday evening, then returned together after dinner. Surely you saw him.”
“I was not on duty last night,” the receptionist informed her coldly.
“Well, ask your colleague. I didn’t dream him up, you know.”
“Do you know which room he is in?” The receptionist was getting impatient.
“Of course not, that’s why I’m calling you!” Alba retorted. “Maybe he’s checked out.”
The woman repeated herself with forced politeness. “There was no one by the name of Favioli in this hotel. I’m sorry.”
Alba suddenly felt sick. On reflection, it did seem too much of a coincidence that he had booked into the same hotel. He hadn’t invited her back to his room, either. At the time she hadn’t thought it strange at all, but now it did seem a little odd. With a suspended heart, she opened her handbag and shuffled around for her wallet. This has got to be a joke, she thought, feeling as if she were swimming against a strong current. The wallet wasn’t in her bag. She swallowed hard, desperately turning the bag upside down so that all the contents tumbled onto the bed. She was relieved to find her passport still there, but no money. He had taken her wallet containing all her travelers’ cheques and lire. How the hell was she going to pay the hotel bill, train, let alone the boatman to take her to Incantellaria?
She sank onto the bed. The bastard. He used me, then robbed me. He had it all worked out, the shit. And I fell for it like a fool. She felt too angry to cry and too embarrassed to telephone anyone in England to admit her stupidity. She’d simply have to work it out for herself.
As she wasn’t intending to pay the bill, she thought she’d at least go and enjoy a good breakfast. Besides, she’d need to eat as much as she could now for she had no money for food later. She’d steal a few bread rolls from the buffet.
Downstairs, she greeted the receptionist in the most friendly tone she could muster and strode confidently into the dining room. She sat down at a small table in the middle of the room, and ordered coffee, orange juice, croissants, toast, and fruit salad. While she watched the other guests, she began to feel increasingly alone. She had no friends in Italy. No one at all. What if her family had moved away from Incantellaria? What if she were chasing a rainbow? She had no money. It would take a few days to get it wired to the bank in Incantellaria. She wasn’t prepared to hang around in Naples in case she bumped into Alessandro again. She remembered the sinister-looking men who had leered at her in the dark alleyways the night before and suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable. He might just as well have robbed her of her clothes, she felt so naked and lost.
Suddenly, to her enormous relief, she spotted Fatman sitting alone at the other end of the dining room. With a wave of affection for the person she had previously thought beneath contempt, she swept over to his table. She didn’t notice the look of horror that crossed his features when he laid eyes on her. He looked down at his bread roll, already buttered and dripping with strawberry jam, and tried to hide it under his pudgy hand. She sat down and put her elbows on the table.
“I hope you don’t mind if I join you,” she said in the sweetest voice she could manage. She looked up at him with big doe eyes. “I’ve been robbed. An Italian man has stolen everything. My money, my clothes, my passport, my ticket home. Everything. You’re the only person I know in the whole of Italy. In the whole of Europe, in fact. Could I be so bold as to ask you the hugest favor? Could I borrow some money off you? Just enough to get me to Incantellaria? I’ll take your address and pay you back with interest. I’d be so grateful.” She smiled at him and added, “Don’t stop eating on my account.”