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“Sorry. Ignore me, I’ve got low blood sugar. Haven’t eaten anything since lunch.” Liam says something else in Italian to the waiter, who smiles. He retreats, whistling, and disappears around a corner. “So you speak Italian, too.” Liam shrugs. “Along with Gaelic, Spanish, and French. Any others?” “A few.” “Did you study languages in school?” “It was more like on the job training.” I sit back in my chair and gaze at the Mona Lisa smile on his face. “Oh, look, we’re being vague and inscrutable again. Was that part of your training, too?” “As a matter of fact, it was. Have some bread.” He passes me the bread basket from the middle of the table. It’s covered in a white linen cloth. I pull the cloth back to reveal a beautiful selection of fresh ciabatta rolls baked with olive oil, salt,
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