Rome in Love Page 16

  “I have not, Miss Tate.”

  “She is the most famous detective in American literature,” Amelia mused. “Nancy Drew never missed a clue.”

  “I don’t understand.” Ernesto frowned.

  “If I could borrow the key for a few minutes, I promise to return it,” Amelia suggested.

  “That is out of the question,” Ernesto insisted.

  “It would be our secret, you know I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

  Ernesto inhaled Amelia’s perfume and glanced around the lobby. He took a gold key from the desk and handed it to Amelia.

  “You are the best.” She smiled, clutching the key to her chest.

  Amelia took the elevator to the sixth floor and slipped the key in the door. She entered the living room and gazed at the oriental rugs and the crystal vases and the Rembrandt sketch over the fireplace. She saw a stack of magazines on the glass coffee table and a pitcher of lemonade. There was a silk scarf draped over an armchair and a pair of Prada loafers tucked under the sofa.

  She walked into the bedroom and opened the closet. She saw silk dresses by Armani and Fendi. There were boxes of Bottega Veneta pumps and a quilted Chanel purse. She thought about how much Sophie loved the boutiques on the Via Condotti and smiled.

  She glanced around the bedroom and saw the canopied bed with its gold brocade bedspread. The pillows were plumped and there was a silver tray of Baci chocolates. She wondered if Sophie spent the night at Theo’s but she remembered how upset Sophie had been about their kiss.

  She looked in the corner and noticed a set of Louis Vuitton luggage. She remembered when Sophie bought them and Amelia asked if she really needed two steamer trunks and a couple of carry-ons. Sophie laughed and said how else was she going to carry her new clothes to Portofino.

  She studied the luggage and realized the Louis Vuitton duffel bag was missing. She ran out of the suite and pressed the button on the elevator. She crossed the lobby and approached the concierge desk.

  “You are back, Miss Tate.” Ernesto sighed. “I have good news. Marco saw Signorita Sophie leave the hotel last night.”

  “Did he say where she was going?” Amelia asked.

  “He is in front of the hotel.” Ernesto shrugged. “You can ask him.”

  Amelia walked through the glass revolving doors and saw a valet in a white uniform with gold buttons.

  “Good morning, Marco, it’s lovely to see you.”

  “Good morning, Miss Tate,” Marco beamed. “Today you won’t need an umbrella, there is nothing but blue sky and sunshine.”

  “Ernesto said you saw Sophie leaving last night,” Amelia continued.

  “Signorita Sophie is an admirer of Renaissance art.” Marco nodded. “We discussed Donatello and Raphael.”

  “Did she say where she was going?” Amelia asked.

  “We stood for a while waiting for a taxi,” Marco replied. “Then she changed her mind.”

  “Changed her mind?” she raised her eyebrow.

  “She decided to walk.” Marco slipped his hands in his pockets.

  “She walked through Rome in the middle of the night carrying a Louis Vuitton duffel bag?” Amelia felt her heart pound.

  “It is my fault.” Marco lowered his head. “I tell Mr. Black we must always have a line of taxis. One must not keep guests of the Hassler waiting.”

  “Thank you, Marco.” She said, striding along the cobblestones.

  “Wait, Miss Tate,” Marco called. “Would you like me to call a taxi?”

  * * *

  Amelia squeezed through the afternoon crowds on the Via Condotti. She had checked Hermès and Armani and Dolce & Gabbana. She looked inside Caffé Greco and asked the salesgirls at Prada and Burberry. She thought about asking Theo, but if he hadn’t seen the article in Inside Rome she didn’t want to tell him Sophie was a princess.

  She stood in front of the Gucci boutique and gazed at the window display. The mannequin wore a two-piece metallic bathing suit and a visor that said Portofino. There was a quilted beach towel and gold sandals.

  Amelia flashed on Sophie’s lady-in-waiting and the royal yacht in Portofino. She was the only other person who knew Sophie was in Rome. Amelia hurried back to the Hassler and strode through the glass revolving doors. She took the elevator to the Villa Medici Suite and entered the living room. She picked up the phone and called the front desk.

  chapter twenty-one

  Philip shielded his eyes from the sun and glanced around the Piazza del Popolo. He saw a man with blond hair sitting outside Canova. He wore blue jeans and white sneakers and was eating a chocolate croissant.

  Philip clutched his newspaper and hurried across the piazza. He stayed up all night, hoping Amelia would return. This morning he scribbled a note and delivered it to Ernesto. He had to find Amelia and make her believe he was telling the truth.

  “Where were you last night?” Philip approached the wrought iron table. “I called you for hours.”

  “The countess and I attended a cooking class.” Max added sugar to a cup of espresso.

  “You and the countess?” Philip raised his eyebrow.

  “I gave her the box of Baci chocolates and we realized how much we missed each other,” Max replied. “We’re going to learn how to make ricotta cheesecake.”

  “How could you print this without telling me?” Philip flung the newspaper on the table.

  “And I thought Sophie was just Amelia’s friend.” Max whistled, studying the photo. “No wonder she has eyes like cornflowers and skin like alabaster. She’s European royalty.”

  “Amelia is furious.” Philip sunk into a chair. “You ruined everything.”

  “If I discovered Sophie was Princess Sophia de Grasse of Lentz I would have sold it to People and Us.” Max folded the newspaper.

  “You didn’t do this?” Philip asked.

  “I snapped a few photos of Amelia and Sophie together.” Max shrugged. “I thought we’d use them in the articles about Amelia.”

  “There aren’t going to be any articles.” Philip sighed. His throat was parched and he realized he was starving. “Amelia ran out of my apartment, I don’t know where she is.”

  “You better find her.” Max sipped his coffee. “I paid for six cooking classes in advance.”

  “I thought the countess paid for everything.” Philip ate a piece of Max’s croissant.

  “I’m turning over a new leaf,” Max said. “I don’t want to be a kept man.”

  * * *

  Philip crossed the Piazza di Trevi and ran up four flights of stairs. He entered the tiny reception area and opened the door of Adam’s office.

  “Just because I can’t afford a secretary doesn’t mean you don’t knock.” Adam looked up from a stack of tear sheets. He wore a creased blue shirt and khakis and had a cigarette stuck behind his ear.

  “Where did you get this story?” Philip tossed the newspaper on the desk.

  Adam glanced at the picture of Sophie and grinned. “Largest circulation we’ve ever had. The paper has already gone back to press three times and it hit newsstands yesterday. If this keeps up I might redecorate the office, get rid of the linoleum and put in an oak floor.”

  “Who told you Sophie was a princess?” Philip demanded.

  “It says ‘Anonymous’ for a reason.” Adam flicked a cigarette into the metal garbage can. “I don’t reveal my sources.”

  “You tell me where you got this or I’ll light the damn cigarette and make you smoke it,” Philip seethed.

  Adam stood up and walked to the window. He turned and looked at Philip.

  “I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “Amelia and I are becoming so close, I think she’s falling in love with me,” Philip persisted. “Now she accused me of planting the article and disappeared.”

  “You really think you can get her to marry you?” Adam hesitated.

  “I’ll bet you a new espresso maker.” Philip nodded.

  Adam sat at his desk and leaned back in his ch
air. He looked at Philip and ran his hands through his hair.

  “She gave it to me.”

  “Who?” Philip asked.

  “She walked in wearing a white crepe dress and silver sandals. I haven’t seen legs like that since I stopped reading my father’s Playboys.” Adam tapped a cigarette from the box of Lucky Strikes on the desk. “She opened her leather tote and took out a manila envelope. I thought she was a high-priced call girl about to spill dirt on the prime minister.”

  “Who was she?” Philip leaned forward.

  “The girl in the photo.”

  “Sophie gave you the picture!” Philip sucked in his breath. “Why would she write an exposé about herself?”

  “I have no idea.” Adam shook his head. “She had the article written and everything.”

  “Did she want money?” Philip asked.

  “I don’t have that kind of money.” Adam laughed. “She said it was free and gave me an exclusive.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense.” Philip paced around the tiny office.

  “I gave up trying to understand women years ago.” Adam shrugged, flicking the cigarette into the garbage can.

  * * *

  Philip stood at the entrance of the Hassler and glanced around the lobby. He saw black and gold marble floors and thick gold columns. He saw velvet wallpaper covered with paintings by Titian and Botticelli. There were marble statues and crystal vases filled with white and yellow tulips.

  “Good afternoon, Ernesto.” He approached the concierge desk. “Has anyone picked up my letter?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Ernesto shook his head.

  “I have another one.” Philip reached into his shirt pocket.

  “The woman interested in your letters is not here,” Ernesto said slowly.

  “Has she checked out?” Philip asked.

  “She took a little trip.” Ernesto hesitated. “She will return on Tuesday.”

  “Where did she go?” Philip felt his heart pound.

  “I cannot reveal her destination.” Ernesto glanced around the lobby.

  “Please, Ernesto.” Philip drew forty euros out of his pocket. “It’s very important.”

  “I am not at liberty to say.” Ernesto eyed the notes. “But most travel arrangements are made with Signora Rosa.”

  “Signora Rosa?” Philip repeated.

  Ernesto pointed to a woman sitting behind a mahogany desk. “Signora Rosa is our travel concierge; she is the best in Rome.”

  “Thank you,” Philip beamed.

  He smoothed his hair and slipped his hands in his pockets. He approached the desk and took a deep breath.

  “Hello, I wonder if you could answer a few questions.”

  Signora Rosa glanced up from a stack of brochures. She had brown eyes and blond hair pulled into a bun. She wore a yellow silk dress and narrow heels. She looked at Philip’s rumpled shirt and creased slacks and frowned.

  “Are you a hotel guest?” she asked.

  Philip hesitated. “Not exactly.”

  “I am sorry, I only assist guests of the Hassler.” She tapped her red fingernails on a ceramic ashtray.

  “I’m a journalist and I’m writing a feature on Rome’s top travel concierges.” Philip sat in a gold velvet chair. “I heard you are one of the best.”

  “I may have a free moment,” Signora Rosa murmured. “How can I help you?”

  “What are the most popular trips from Rome?” Philip began. “Where have you booked guests in the last couple of days?”

  “Spoleto is always attractive.” Signora Rosa flipped through her notes. “And guests love Villa d’Este in Tivoli. Wine tasting in Pienza is popular and I booked a group to visit Monte Oliveto Maggoire; it is one of the oldest Benedictine monasteries.”

  “Some place farther.” Philip rubbed his forehead. “Somewhere they would spend the night.”

  “A lot of guests visit Pompeii,” she mused. “Or in the summer it is nice to travel to Portofino and sail on the Mediterranean.”

  “Portofino?” Philip sat forward. He pictured Amelia giggling and telling him Sophie was a princess. He remembered her saying she had a diamond tiara and a lady-in-waiting and a royal yacht in Portofino.

  “Portofino is only four hours by train and it is the jewel of the Ligurian Riviera,” Signora Rosa replied. “It is home to countless movie stars and the harbor is full of quaint wooden fishing boats and sleek yachts. The restaurants are exceptional and the view from Castello Brown is spectacular.”

  Philip stuck his legs in front of him and let his shoulders relax. “If a guest was going to Portofino, where would she stay?”

  “There is only one property comparable to the Hotel Hassler.” Signora Rosa smiled. “The Hotel Splendido.”

  * * *

  Philip placed two pieces of wheat bread on a plate. He added bacon and sliced heirloom tomato and red onions. He cut a wedge of Edam cheese and sat at the glass dining room table.

  He took big bites of the sandwich, sifting through his mail. His mother sent a letter saying she bought tickets to The Book of Mormon in September. His father sent the address of the Bruno Magli store in Rome with the note:

  Could you pick me up a pair of burgundy velvet slippers? My pair is so worn your mother made me donate them to the Salvation Army.

  Philip glanced at the thin pile of euros on the table and frowned. If he took the train to Portofino he would only have a few euros left. He wasn’t sure if Amelia was there but he had no other leads.

  Max opened the door and entered the living room. He wore a yellow collared shirt and jeans and sneakers. His camera was slung over his shoulder and he carried a packet of digestive biscuits.

  “Signora Griselda told me to give you these.” Max handed him the biscuits. “She thinks you haven’t been eating.”

  “Sophie gave Adam the photo. She wrote the exposé herself.” Philip wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  “Why would she do that?” Max took a green apple from the fruit bowl.

  “I don’t know.” Philip shrugged. “But I think Amelia went to Portofino to see Sophie’s lady-in-waiting.”

  “Ladies-in-waiting, royal yachts.” Max bit into the apple. “It sounds like a James Bond movie.”

  “I have to go to Portofino but the train ticket cost seventy-five euros.” Philip pushed away his plate.

  “I’d go with you but the countess and I are seeing Rigoletto at Opera Roma,” Max replied.

  “You’re going to the opera?” Philip raised his eyebrow.

  “We saw Othello last night. The countess wore a gold lamé dress and a sapphire and diamond necklace. She looked like Cleopatra,” Max mused. “We sat in a red velvet box and she dug her nails into my arm, I’ve never done anything so erotic.”

  “I better hurry.” Philip pushed back his chair. “The train leaves at four o’clock.”

  “You can borrow my car.” Max drew a car key out of his pocket. “Be careful on the Appian Way, Italians drive like race car drivers.”

  “Since when do you have a car?” Philip frowned.

  “Mirabella gave it to me,” Max replied. “It’s a beauty, a baby blue Alfa Romeo Spider.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to be a kept man.” Philip grinned, fingering the car key.

  “I did her a favor.” Max tossed the apple in the garbage. “She bought an Aston Martin and didn’t have room in the garage.”

  * * *

  Philip closed his suitcase and strode down the stairs. He threw the bag in the trunk and climbed into the small blue car. He rolled down the window and started the ignition.

  He pictured Amelia’s glossy brown hair and large brown eyes. He saw her slender neck and small pink mouth. He turned into the narrow alley and stepped harder on the accelerator.

  chapter twenty-two

  Amelia stood on the balcony of her room at the Hotel Splendido and gazed at the harbor. The water was pale blue and dotted with wooden fishing boats. Wide catamarans sailed beside glittering speedboats and huge yac
hts rested at the dock.

  She took the late night train to Rapallo and a taxi dropped her off at the Hotel Splendido. She followed the concierge to her room and fell asleep in her cotton dress and sandals. She woke in the morning and felt the warm breeze waft through the lace curtains.

  Now she gazed at the sparkling Mediterranean and had never seen anywhere so beautiful. The Hotel Splendido was perched on a hill, high above the piazza. Amelia saw green inlets and lush tropical gardens.

  She walked inside and admired the white marble floor and the lace bedspread scattered with pink and blue satin pillows. Signora Rosa apologized she couldn’t secure a suite at short notice but Amelia liked the cozy room.

  She glanced at the silver tray of fluffy scrambled eggs and fresh scones and wished she were hungry. She unpacked her suitcase and slipped on a white linen dress and sandals. She tied a yellow silk scarf around her head and put on oversized sunglasses. She rubbed pink lip gloss on her lips and crossed the hall to the elevator.

  The lobby had a white marble floor and tall French windows. The walls were covered in raw silk and crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling. Floral sofas were scattered over Oriental rugs and ceramic vases held white orchids.

  Amelia hurried through the glass doors and walked down the hillside to the piazza. She smelled espresso and fresh bread and longed to have lunch at an outdoor café. She wished Philip were sitting opposite her, sharing a plate of calamari. Then she remembered the photo of her and Sophie outside Caffé Greco and shivered. She strode to the dock and approached a fisherman in a blue sweater.

  “Excuse me, do you speak English?”

  “Everyone in Portofino speaks English,” the man replied. “How else would we talk to beautiful women?”

  “Do you know if the Royal Yacht of Lentz is parked in the harbor?” Amelia asked.

  The man smiled and pointed to the end of the dock. “Of course, it is the biggest yacht in Portofino.”

  Amelia walked along the dock and saw a long white yacht with sleek windows. The deck had a round swimming pool and brown leather sofas. There was a marble bar with rows of glittering bottles.

  “Excuse me,” Amelia called. “Do you have a moment?”