We walked on through the streets of Rome, stopping now and then to marvel at another statue, another fountain. Madeleine didn’t mention the incident again; instead, she seemed more tuned to the day, more resolved about something. I felt some guilt that I had suggested she leave the note and wondered if Mimi would think to discard it. If Carlo was indeed the international racing driver he claimed to be, Mimi would be very used to women leaving their calling cards.
We walked the streets until evening, both reluctant to return to our hotel room and miss the life of Rome. Over prosciutto and egg pizza in a small pizzeria, we watched the busy Roman world go by. Only that morning, we had been finalising our time in Kos. I recalled that, as the plane had tilted in its ascent, I looked down and s
