“Watch out or I’ll bring you the leftovers,” he threatened. “Anyway, tomorrow maybe we can take a look inside the box, and I’ll see if I can’t decipher that symbol. I’ll also show you an instrument that will be a nice complement to your DNA analysis. See you in the morning—just hope my daughter doesn’t tempt me into a second bottle of wine.”
“You have a good evening, Giovanni. Thanks again for lunch.”
“You’re welcome. And try and get some sleep tonight, eh? I don’t want you getting sick on me.”
Too late for that, she thought. She smiled and waved.
“Ciao.”
As the door closed behind him, just for a moment, Charlotte Hennesey envied him.
When she finished preparing the packages, she buzzed the intercom for Father Donovan. He responded almost immediately, as if he knew she was still in the lab.
“Good evening, Dr. Hennesey. What can I do for you?”
She told him about the packages and he assured her that if she left them in the lab, he would have the courier handle both. She also confirmed with him that sending the overnight DHL package was okay, despite the hefty cost for overseas delivery.
Once the business issues were resolved, he asked her, “Are you going into Rome tonight?”
“It is a beautiful evening. I thought I’d take a walk and get dinner somewhere.”
“If you don’t mind splurging a bit, I could give you a recommendation for a superb restaurant.”
“Sure. That would be great. You know what they say—when in Rome...”
28
******
As Charlotte exited the Vatican Museum through the upstairs service door, the early evening sun was still warm. She’d decided that her khakis and blouse were good enough not to have to trail all the way back to her room to change. Besides, she had to adhere to the Vatican’s strict dress code or she wouldn’t be allowed back in. That didn’t leave many other wardrobe options.
She ambled along the walkway between the towering northern city wall and the Vatican Museum’s severe edifice and headed down to the Sant’ Anna Gate and was cleared by the Swiss Guards to leave the premises.
Father Donovan had indicated that the restaurant didn’t open until seventhirty. Unlike the States, Italians preferred to eat dinner late, he reminded her. With an hour to kill, Charlotte stayed close by, but enjoyed walking the side streets, venturing over to the Tiber River, taking in the richness that was Rome.
Awhile later, following Donovan’s directions, Charlotte zigzagged back to the imposing six-story facade of the Hotel Atlante Star. She saw the sign indicating the hotel’s Les Étoiles restaurant. Already she felt underdressed. Entering the foyer, she rode an elevator to the top floor.
As soon as the doors opened, she was greeted by the maître d’. He was a young man and elegantly dressed—perhaps in his mid-thirties she guessed—with dark features and thick black hair.
“ Signora Hennesey...Buona sera! Come sta?” He switched to English. “Father Donovan called ahead. I was expecting you.”
“Buona sera,” she said, peering into the restaurant.
“My name is Alfonso,” he bowed slightly. “Please follow me, Signora. You have a reserved table on the rooftop.”
She was guided through the dining room and up a staircase that led onto a terrace adorned with a sea of colorful flowers. Alfonso stopped in front of a small table by the railing.
Rome’s skyline left her momentarily breathless. The huge dome of St. Peter’s Basilica sat only a short distance away behind the eastern walls of the Vatican Museum. On the opposite side she spotted the curved edifice of Castel Sant’ Angelo. Across the Tiber lay the old city marked by the domed Pantheon.
Charlotte was helped into her chair. A white linen napkin was plucked from her plate and draped across her lap.
“If there is anything you need, Signora Hennesey, please don’t hesitate.”
“Grazie.”
A sommelier silently appeared and presented her with an intimidating leather-bound wine list.
Through all the activity, discovery, and suspense of the day, Charlotte realized that she’d barely had a moment to take stock. Suddenly she felt almost lonely. Or did she? Wasn’t everything perfect? She stared out across the river—she couldn’t have asked for a more idyllic setting.
But she knew everything wasn’t perfect.
The wine waiter was back at her side and she ordered a half bottle of Brunello di Montalcino. Alcohol wasn’t advised, but this evening she wasn’t going to deny herself.
The sound of scooters echoed up from the street below.
When the sommelier returned, he went about his wine presentation, showing the label, then opening the bottle and having Charlotte give it the sniff test. Finally, he poured some into a glass and asked her to taste it. She sloshed it around the glass, more for show, knowing that the medication she’d been taking would give the wine a slight metallic aftertaste no matter how refined its vintage.
When he left, her thoughts settled into their own direction, leading her back to Evan Aldrich. She reminded herself that making any long-term emotional commitment to him would be irresponsible. Yet, the doctors had told her that research was advancing all the time. Answers would soon be found. But how soon was soon?
And what about kids? At thirty-two she was already feeling the pressure that she might never have any of her own. Having researched later, more aggressive treatments that might include bortezomib injections—known to cause birth defects in unborn children—her anxiety had only deepened, knowing that might well be an unattainable dream.
She cast her eyes idly over the neighboring tables. Happy-looking couples, a laughing family to her right. Maybe they weren’t happy at all. Appearances rarely told the whole truth—she knew that better than anyone. Oddly, it made her think about Salvatore Conte and Father Patrick Donovan. What was their story? How had a box of bones brought such a mismatched pair together?
She thought about the bone sample sent to Ciardini—how it would be incinerated during the carbon dating test to determine its age.
Bone being destroyed.
“Has Signora decided?” It was Alfonso.
“I’m glad you’re here. I need your help.”
Despite the fact that the restaurant had a name Charlotte swore was French, its menu featured Italian cuisine. After a few quick questions about her likes and dislikes, Alfonso steered her to a Sorrento scialatielli— “sumptuous homemade pasta with creamy Alfredo seafood sauce full of lobster and crab. Absolutely delightful.”
From the first bite of her pasta, she knew he was right on target. Addicted to the Food Network channel, Charlotte was a huge fan of Rachel Ray’s 30 Minute Meals. She wished the peppy half-Italian host could be here now to enjoy this with her—it was simply delicious. She’d finally found something that had awakened her pill-muted taste buds.
Eating pasta, drinking wine, surrounded by sweet-smelling flowers, and looking out over the city that had practically molded Western culture succeeded in bringing Charlotte’s mind to another place. After she had finished eating, she just sat and took it all in for another hour. Content. Happy.