The Whirling Girl by Barbara Lambert

must have quite a reputation among the Etruscan community, a community she was beginning to realize was very small.
    The direct ear of Harold Plank.
    She had to smile, recalling his ears. She’d spent a good two hours with them inclined towards her across the table at Simpson’s in the Strand, over their plates of oysters, rare roast beef, treacle pudding, wine and port — ears unusually large and turned forward (
the better to hear you with, my dear
), shell pink and shiny, as was his bald head. The most seductive memory of that extremely seductive lunch was the way the man listened — a gift surely rarer than anything he kept in that cabinet of curiosities in the Yorkshire Dales.
    How much direct-ear time did a case of Brunello imply? Clare had planned to write a polite note of thanks, figuring that was that. Now Luisa was telling her that what Sir Harold Plank must be made to understand was the great importance of William Sands’s work. Luisa suspected that such slow and painstaking excavation of a settlement was not the glamorous sort of project that Sir Harold wished his foundation to fund, even though it was revealing a picture of Etruscan life over a period of many hundred years. Plank would be hoping for Tindhall to come upon some more sensational discovery, such as artefact-filled tombs.
    â€œDo you think there are any undiscovered treasure-filled tombs?” Clare interrupted. “Ones that have not been rifled long ago?”
    Luisa laughed. “Treasure filled? We serious archaeologists never admit that this is what we hope.”
    â€œBut?”
    â€œMy dear. Here is what it is important for Sir Harold Plank to know. In Italy, the situation is a little unfair. It is not simple for a foreigner to get a permit to work at any Etruscan site. If Sir Harold has these dreams of glamorous exploration, he must put them away. William Sands has managed to get the permit for his work because of an early friendship with my father, who was a keen amateur archaeologist, and well-connected with the Soprintendenza. If the Plank Foundation is looking to help a worthwhile project, they should look no further than William’s excavation on Poggio Selvaggio.”
    She stepped back, a pretty laugh belying a look that was stern.
    â€œIt is a sin, truly, that in Italy the strict bureaucratic procedures are not quite as important as personal connections. But it is well to understand.”
    â€œAll the same,” Clare said, “I don’t see how I —”
    She stopped. She’d been about to explain that she did not have that sort of influence with Plank, but then she caught the grin of the silver goat’s head in the shop window. How could it hurt to have that little extra gloss?
    â€œLook, why don’t we go and have a coffee,” she said. “You can fill me in on the procedures over here.”
    Luisa glanced towards the clock tower on the city hall. “
Accidenti!
Now I am very late for an appointment with the Director of the American School. How busy they keep one; one hardly has time to breathe.”
    Clare felt a sting of foolishness at the picture she’d just formed of settling down with Luisa at a little table in the piazza, the two of them leaning close, easing into further intimate chat.
    â€œBut we are expecting you for tea.” Luisa took a card from her briefcase and pressed it into Clare’s hand. It listed degrees from Florence, Oxford and Bryn Mawr.
    She blew Clare a kiss. “I will be very cross if you do not come!”
    â€œOh, absolutely I’ll come,” Clare said. Then, glossing that fib with a second one, “About Harry Plank,” she called, “I will drop a word in his ear.”

ROMA 5984W
    AS CLARE WALKED BACK towards the piazza, she noticed pots of white daisies set out along the street. The woman in charge of the
profumeria
, who was tending the pot outside her shop, charmingly and fragrantly explained to Clare