“You have a nice day now.” Lindsay intoned the West Coast mantra without obvious irony.

Now she’d confirmed her guess at what Media Masters did, she really needed that drink. Leaving the car where it was, she headed off into the heart of Soho and soon found a café bar where women who were enough like her for it to feel like home sat round a horseshoe-shaped bar drinking beer out of long-necked bottles. She ordered a Rolling Rock and savored the moment’s anticipation before the first swallow. She twirled the bottle, expecting to read through the drops of condensation the legend “Brewed in the glass-lined tanks of Old Latrobe.” Instead, she discovered it was brewed in the tradition of Old Latrobe somewhere in the south of England. She sighed so hard the woman next to her asked what was wrong.

“You know that saying, ‘You can never go home any more’?” she asked. The woman nodded, looking a little bemused. “Well, I think I just found out how true it is.”

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The memory banks of career waiters never ceased to amaze Lindsay. It must have been at least seven years since she’d eaten in the little family trattoria in Camden, but the waiter who had always flirted with her and Cordelia greeted her as if it had been only seven days. “Bella signorina, come sta?” he’d asked automatically, sweeping a deep bow in front of her that revealed his hair was starting to thin round the crown.

The exchange continued as it always had. She was fine, how was he? He was so-so, but what was the point of complaining, the government always got in. He ushered her to a familiar table at the back in a corner. The same bad paintings of Sorrento still hung in their identical positions. The walls had acquired some Italia ’90 memorabilia, but apart from that everything was the same. Without being asked, the waiter brought Lindsay a Peroni while she studied the menu. It was as if the door to the restaurant was a time slip. When the door opened next, Lindsay half expected to see Cordelia glide in. It was both a relief and a disappointment when Helen swept in instead.

She plonked herself down and mouthed, “Gin and tonic,” at the waiter. “God, what a day,” she sighed.