washing that stretched across from building to building just added to the festive air of the place. Through the shutter-framed windows of their abodes, Romans could be glimpsed talking on the telephone, preparing food, chasing their children and just generally going about their business.
Family’s so important , Janey thought, determined to try and explain her side of the story to Celia the next chance she got. Celia really seemed to care about her, though she was willing to leap to the most awful conclusions about her character! And that hurt. A lot.
After an overload of ancient history, Janey headed for the busy café scene that centred on the Piazza di Santa Maria in Trastevere, its radiating laneways crowded with eateries. She’d just ordered a late afternoon tea at the bustling Sabatini, and was enjoying her coffee, when her mobile phone buzzed loudly. Janey dug through her bag with a smile on her face, thinking it had to be Luca texting to find out how her day had been. But she recoiled as she read the message in her inbox and suddenly felt ill.
Nver liked Trastevere in
summer. Too many tourists,
dont u think?
With a chill, she realised immediately who the text was from. Fellini!
The accompanying mobile number was a local Italian number that Janey didn’t recognise. It didn’t tally with any of the preprogrammed numbers in her phone for Celia, Luca, Freddy or Brandon. Signalling frantically to her waiter, Janey hastily cancelled her food order, fumbled out the right amount of change for the coffee and almost ran out of the piazza. As she hurried back towards the Ponte Sisto, she searched the faces of the people passing, wondering fearfully if any of them might be him . Because how would he know where she was unless he was somewhere nearby?
Once she’d crossed back over the bridge, she picked up her pace, because to get back to the Via Veneto area of Rome – which was the closest area of the old city to Celia’s apartment – she still had to cut through the Campo dei Fiori, Piazza della Rotonda and Quirinal districts. Suddenly, her aunt’s apartment seemed like a haven she couldn’t reach fast enough and she cursed herself for heading out at all that afternoon and foolishly believing Fellini didn’t pose a real threat!
She still had almost an hour of walking left when she came across a huge protest going on in the piazza she’d intended to take a short cut through on the Quirinal Hill. There were hundreds of people milling about in the square, holding placards she couldn’t decipher. The road blockades and heavy police presence meant that she, as well as about a thousand other tourists, was being redirected through surrounding laneways. Janey realised with frustration that this would take her well out of her way and back into the Piazza di Spagna tourist district, a place choked with people and impossibly hilly.
If I don’t see another hill in this lifetime , thought Janey – trying to puzzle out where she’d ended up, with the help of her guidebook – that would be too soon .
She found herself shuffling slowly up a street whose name she didn’t know, which was crawling with overheated and annoyed tourists and locals. She almost screamed out loud when someone grabbed at the back of her tank top.
‘Sorry! Tripped,’ said a woman in an English accent, before letting go of her hold on Janey.
Janey threw the woman a tight smile and threaded her way quickly to another part of the slowly moving throng, just in case she wasn’t someone fully random and harmless. Janey had just stopped by a newsvendor’s booth to take her sunglasses off and put her guidebook away when she saw something on a nearby side street – one that cut across the lane she was on – that sent a thrill of sudden irrational fear up her spine.
She saw Luca , in the embassy car, tooting his horn at the passing press of people, who wouldn’t let him through.
Janey, feeling chilled, watched as Luca finally slid the vehicle
Family’s so important , Janey thought, determined to try and explain her side of the story to Celia the next chance she got. Celia really seemed to care about her, though she was willing to leap to the most awful conclusions about her character! And that hurt. A lot.
After an overload of ancient history, Janey headed for the busy café scene that centred on the Piazza di Santa Maria in Trastevere, its radiating laneways crowded with eateries. She’d just ordered a late afternoon tea at the bustling Sabatini, and was enjoying her coffee, when her mobile phone buzzed loudly. Janey dug through her bag with a smile on her face, thinking it had to be Luca texting to find out how her day had been. But she recoiled as she read the message in her inbox and suddenly felt ill.
Nver liked Trastevere in
summer. Too many tourists,
dont u think?
With a chill, she realised immediately who the text was from. Fellini!
The accompanying mobile number was a local Italian number that Janey didn’t recognise. It didn’t tally with any of the preprogrammed numbers in her phone for Celia, Luca, Freddy or Brandon. Signalling frantically to her waiter, Janey hastily cancelled her food order, fumbled out the right amount of change for the coffee and almost ran out of the piazza. As she hurried back towards the Ponte Sisto, she searched the faces of the people passing, wondering fearfully if any of them might be him . Because how would he know where she was unless he was somewhere nearby?
Once she’d crossed back over the bridge, she picked up her pace, because to get back to the Via Veneto area of Rome – which was the closest area of the old city to Celia’s apartment – she still had to cut through the Campo dei Fiori, Piazza della Rotonda and Quirinal districts. Suddenly, her aunt’s apartment seemed like a haven she couldn’t reach fast enough and she cursed herself for heading out at all that afternoon and foolishly believing Fellini didn’t pose a real threat!
She still had almost an hour of walking left when she came across a huge protest going on in the piazza she’d intended to take a short cut through on the Quirinal Hill. There were hundreds of people milling about in the square, holding placards she couldn’t decipher. The road blockades and heavy police presence meant that she, as well as about a thousand other tourists, was being redirected through surrounding laneways. Janey realised with frustration that this would take her well out of her way and back into the Piazza di Spagna tourist district, a place choked with people and impossibly hilly.
If I don’t see another hill in this lifetime , thought Janey – trying to puzzle out where she’d ended up, with the help of her guidebook – that would be too soon .
She found herself shuffling slowly up a street whose name she didn’t know, which was crawling with overheated and annoyed tourists and locals. She almost screamed out loud when someone grabbed at the back of her tank top.
‘Sorry! Tripped,’ said a woman in an English accent, before letting go of her hold on Janey.
Janey threw the woman a tight smile and threaded her way quickly to another part of the slowly moving throng, just in case she wasn’t someone fully random and harmless. Janey had just stopped by a newsvendor’s booth to take her sunglasses off and put her guidebook away when she saw something on a nearby side street – one that cut across the lane she was on – that sent a thrill of sudden irrational fear up her spine.
She saw Luca , in the embassy car, tooting his horn at the passing press of people, who wouldn’t let him through.
Janey, feeling chilled, watched as Luca finally slid the vehicle
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