Giancarlo had known all along of course that the question would come up sooner or later that evening. It was another of the reasons he had dreaded coming to the reception.

“Which concert was that, Henry?” said Giancarlo, feigning ignorance.

“Now, we’ll have none of that,” replied Sheffield, wagging a finger at him.“You know exactly which concert I’m talking about. And the two of us will talk about it a little more later on. But first I have to go finish making the rounds.You know how it is. Don’t want anyone feeling miffed that I didn’t say hello. We’ll chat later, so don’t disappear on me.”

With that Sheffield went on his way to mingle with the crowd. Giancarlo was just making for the sanctuary of the far corner of the room when he felt someone touch his arm. He turned around and found himself face-to-face with Patricia.The summer, he saw, had treated her well, for she was looking as tanned and lovely as ever. Her face had a marvelously healthy glow to it that made the blue of her eyes that much more vivid.

“Buona sera, Giancarlo,” she said with a coy smile. “Where are you off to? You’re not leaving already, are you?”

“Patrizia, it’s nice to see you again,” said Giancarlo in a less-than-convincing voice. It truly was nice to see her again. Just the same he had hoped against reason that he might avoid encountering her on that particular evening. He simply was not ready for her yet.

“You know, you’re really not a very good correspondent,” she pointed out straightaway, confirming his rationale for wishing to avoid her.

“Yes, um, I suppose I must apologize for that,” said Giancarlo contritely, staring into his drink. “Honestly, I would have sent you a postcard or something of my own, but you see I never went anywhere this summer, so there really wasn’t much to keep in touch about.”

Patricia responded by fixing him with a skeptical gaze.

“I see you’re starting to let your hair grow back out,” he noted quickly, hoping the change in subject might get him off the hook. It didn’t.

“So, tell me,” she asked, “what did you do with yourself all summer, Giancarlo? I know you didn’t spend it writing letters.”

“Not much,” he said, “other than a little teaching.”

“Teaching?” said a surprised Patricia. Then her face lit up. “Wait a minute, don’t tell me. The boy who came to you for Italian lessons in the spring, the one who wanted to go to Italy because he was in love, right?”

“That’s the one,” admitted Giancarlo.

“How nice!” gushed Patricia. “Oh, I’m so glad you did it, Giancarlo.What made you change your mind?”

Giancarlo gave a shrug as if to say he was not quite sure himself of what the reason had been.