Forbes soon stopped listening. From what he gathered the subject of the novel was incest. He didn't think he would be tempted to read it. For a little he leaned back and closed his eyes. When he opened them he was surprised to see that the blonde girl had come in and taken a seat at the end of the row in front of him. She wasn't apparently listening either, for she now took a book from the shoulder-bag she had placed on the seat beside her and began to read. It might of course be the great work under discussion. Forbes couldn't see the cover.

At last it was over. People began to drift away. A handful approached the author with books to be signed. The chairman approached Forbes.

"That was good, didn't you think? It's going well, isn't it?"

"Absolutely," Forbes said. She was a nice woman after all, he had decided.

"Kyle's quite an act."

"Hard to follow," Forbes said.

"Are you all right for tomorrow?"

"Yes, but, if you don't mind I'll skip the next session this afternoon. I'm feeling a bit tired. The heat, you know. Not accustomed to it these days."

"That's all right. We'll see you at dinner then."

"Is it the same restaurant as last night?"

"No, the other one in the piazza. It's essential to move them around. For goodwill, you know. See you then. I know Kyle wants to meet you."

Forbes doubted this, nevertheless returned her smile.

Back at the bar in the other piazza the waitress greeted him as if he was already a regular customer. He asked for a beer and lit a cigar. Late afternoon was a sad time, but he felt all right. Melancholy, yes, but still content merely to be where he was, back in Italy and in the shade of the parasol erected above the table, watching life go idly by and the sun striking pink on the tufa stone.

"You're Adam Forbes, aren't you?"

To his surprise it was the blonde addressing him. The accent was American, but he could no longer tell one American accent from another.

"Mind if I join you?"

The waitress brought him his beer, and the blonde asked for an ice-cream.

"Strawberry," she said. "What's strawberry in Italian?"

"Fragola," he said, but the waitress had already understood.

The blonde took a book from her bag and placed it on the table in front of him. It was an old edition — actually the only edition — of his first novel written almost 40 years ago. She opened it at the page where he had dedicated it to his mother, and pointed to words written there:

"And for Lindy, in memory of the Borghese Gardens and what came after. Love, Adam."

"Surprise you?" she said.