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every
wish would be their command. He assured her the hotel was honoured
and privileged beyond mere words by her singular presence.
    He showed her
around the huge suite on the top floor, its bedroom and sitting
room both opening on to a small terrace that overlooked the Via
Veneto. He absolutely refused to take the tip she offered him
explaining, in the florid language he seemed to favour, that it had
been entirely his pleasure.
    Stephanie
unpacked the few clothes she had brought and wandered downstairs
again. She dismissed her driver and wandered aimlessly across the
street to Harry's Bar where she ordered a glass of dry spumante -
the Italian version of champagne - and a large café nero, and sat
quietly on the wide pavement to watch the people go by.
    She attracted
admiring glances from passing Italian men, but did not notice them.
Her mind was full of her plans for Gianni. She had no doubt her
plan would succeed. Gianni was the sort of man who believed he was
absolutely irresistible to women. It would not be difficult to
convince him that, despite the way he had treated her in the
cellars at the castle, she had conceived a great passion for him, a
passion she had to satisfy. And then...
    An Italian man
sat down opposite her at the small circular table.
    'You are
English?' he said.
    'Go away.'
Stephanie remembered the way Roman men had harried her when she was
a student here. She had disliked it intensely then and that had not
changed.
    'Hear what I
have to say.'
    'Fuck
off.'
    'Language. For
a respectable English woman, I think you have much fire.'
    Stephanie
looked around for a waiter. They were all inside the bar.
    'I give you
what you want.'
    'I told you to
get lost.'
    'Anything you
want. I can get you anything.'
    The waiter
came out of the bar with two cups of cappuccino on his tray.
Stephanie waved her hand. She was determined not to have to get up
and leave. Why should she?
    'I know,' the
man was saying. 'I know about you. You want a party. I get you a
woman. Two men. Anything you want. I can get anything.'
    The waiter
delivered his order and saw Stephanie's hand. He walked over
towards the table and the man immediately got up. He smiled a
leering, ogling smile.
    'Pity,' he
said. 'You are a very sexy lady. I know. Very sexy. Molto
caldo...'
    Before the
waiter had covered the ground between the five or six tables the
man was gone, disappearing as rapidly as he had appeared. Stephanie
heard his rather whiny, high voice, 'Molto caldo...' Well, he had
been right about that. She could not suppress a flicker of a
smile.
     
     

Chapter
Four
     
    Stephanie had
ordered breakfast for nine and it arrived precisely on time. She
had it taken out to the balcony and, climbing into a pink silk
dressing gown, she drunk her coffee and blood-red orange juice as
she watched Rome coming to life in the streets below. The street
cleaning trucks spewed out water to clean the gutters, the delivery
vans restocked the restaurants and bars with crates of aqua
minerale, wine, beer and, inevitably it appeared, with crates of
Coca Cola.
    After spending
an hour on the terrace, enjoying the sun and the sights, she
dressed in a light, plain cotton dress which buttoned down the
front - and was therefore easy to get in to and out of in the
innumerable changing rooms she planned to visit - and selected a
pair of low-heeled shoes that would be comfortable to walk in.
Armed with the credit cards, store account cards, and thousand
Swiss Franc notes she had found in Devlin's safe, she walked out of
the hotel and into the sun. It was no longer the height of summer
but, though the nights were colder, the days could still be
uncomfortably hot.
    She walked to
the Spanish steps and stood surveying the terracotta-coloured city,
before descending to the Piazza and the Via Condotti, at the heart
of commercial Rome. As yet there were few people about. In the
Piazza the flower sellers were busy setting up their stalls. The
narrow streets were effectively shaded from