Carter went into the living room and took his seat at the little round coffee table, upon which he found an open bottle of red wine and two glasses. While he waited for Giancarlo to return, he looked about at the books and the piano and the musical instruments still all strewn about the room. It all brought back to mind that nervous day in May when he came to this house for the first time. It seemed so long ago now, and the memory of it brought a smile to his face.

Giancarlo soon returned carrying a plate holding a stick of dry abruzzese sausage, a wedge of cheese, olives, and some sliced bread.

“L’ultima cena,” he joked as he set the plate on the table and sat on the couch. “The last supper, for the last lesson.” He nodded for Carter to help himself, while he took the bottle and began to pour, explaining as he filled their glasses that the wine was a typical one from the Abruzzo region. He passed a glass to Carter and raised his own. “Salute,” he said.

“Salute,” replied Carter, as he had been taught, raising his glass before taking a sip. Carter had always had a preference for beer—and a decidedly uneducated taste in wine—so he was pleasantly surprised to discover that he quite liked the taste, and found that it complemented well the flavors of the sausage and the cheese.This, he reckoned quite rightly, was not a coincidence.

Giancarlo took a sip from own glass and settled back.

“So,” he said after a moment’s contemplation, “you have come at last to the end of your lessons, and it’s almost time to fly. Are you excited?”

“I guess so,” said Carter with a shrug. “I just hope I don’t forget everything next week before I go.”

“Don’t worry,” Giancarlo assured him, “you won’t forget anything. Trust me, it’s better that you finish your lessons now and take a few days to rest your brain. This way you will have a clear head when it’s time to leave.”

“A tabula rasa?” said Carter.

“Esatto,” nodded Giancarlo. “For as much as you might have learned from me, you will learn far more once you are in Italy, things that I cannot possibly teach you.” He paused to take an olive and a piece of cheese. “So,” he asked, “do you have any plans for what you will do when you arrive in Rome?”

“Nothing definite,” Carter admitted. “I thought I would knock around the country for a while, you know, just to get my feet wet. I thought I’d see some of Rome, maybe go to Florence or some other places . . . that is, before I go to Roccasale.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Giancarlo nodded sagely, “where at long last you will go in search of your Beatrice, I presume.”

Carter gave him a curious look.

“You mean Elena,” he said.