“Go back to the Curia and keep your head down for a couple of days. I’ll contact you when I have something.”
“Actually, I was wondering whether you and Chiara might be free tonight.”
“We were planning to go back to Venice.”
“Is there any chance I can convince you to stay? I thought we might have dinner at a little place near the Villa Borghese.”
“Will anyone be joining us?”
“An old friend.”
“Yours or mine?”
“As a matter of fact, both.”
Gabriel hesitated. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Luigi. I haven’t seen her since—”
“She was the one who suggested it. I believe you remember the address. Drinks are at eight o’clock.”
9
Caffè Greco, Rome
“What do youthink?” asked Chiara.
“I definitely think I could get used to living here again.”
They were seated in the elegant front room of Caffè Greco. Beneath their small round table were several glossy shopping bags, the plunder of a costly late-afternoon excursion along the Via Condotti. They had traveled from Venice to Rome without a change of clothing. They both needed something appropriate to wear for dinner at Veronica Marchese’s palazzo.
“I was talking about—”
Gabriel gently cut her off. “I know what you were talking about.”
“Well?”
“All of it can be explained rather easily.”
Chiara was clearly unconvinced. “Let’s start with the phone call.”
“Let’s.”
“Why did Albanese wait so long to contact Donati?”
“Because the Holy Father’s death was Albanese’s moment in the spotlight, and he didn’t want Donati interfering or second-guessing his decisions.”
“His overinflated ego got the better of him?”
“Nearly everyone in a position of power suffers from one.”
“Everyone but you, of course.”
“That goes without saying.”
“But why did Albanese take it upon himself to move the body? And why did he close the curtains and the shutters in the study?”
“For the exact reasons he said he did.”
“And the teacup?”
