Now, as he stood at the bathroom sink considering his unsteady hand, the anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach, and his pounding heart, Carter reflected that while it had been a most pleasant first night in Rome, he feared that this might be his last. He wondered if perhaps he was suffering from food poisoning, or maybe he had picked up some strange virus on the plane. He had read about such things happening. Whatever the case, he was seriously considering phoning the front desk and asking them to call for an ambulance, when suddenly he paused and looked at himself in the mirror, for something just then had jogged his memory. What was it Giancarlo had told him that rainy day back in June when he served him the biscotti?

Then he remembered, and suddenly it all made sense.

“The coffee,” Carter muttered, recalling the two full cups of the strong, savory brew he had consumed after dinner. “What an idiot.”

Carter realized at once that he was not dying, after all. He had simply overloaded himself with caffeine. Given that he rarely drank coffee, never mind the robust type Italians loved to drink, it was quite understandable that his body had reacted as it had that night. With understanding came a profound sense of relief, and Carter felt the nervous anxiety drain out of him like air from a balloon.

Carter might have laughed at himself for his stupidity, but at the moment he was feeling much too weary and spent, and so he staggered out of the bathroom and flopped on the bed. Sleep would be a long time in coming, but at least he now knew with certainty that he would live to see another day in Rome. As he closed his eyes once more and listened to his breathing and his still-racing heart, it occurred to Carter that his Italian professor had been right about one thing: There were some lessons he could learn only by being in Italy.

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 27

When Carter opened his eyes late the next morning, he was relieved to discover that his pulse and respiration had returned to their normal rates. He had survived the night! It had taken quite a while, but after tossing and turning for what seemed like hours on end, he had finally drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep. Still drowsy, he yawned, and rolled over to look at the little clock on the night table. He was surprised to see that it was almost eleven o’clock. The day was already almost half gone, and Carter reproached himself for letting it slip away by staying in bed so long. In truth, he was still exhausted and might have slept even longer if the cars passing back and forth on the street below his window had not awakened him.