“Oh, it’s not like that,” said Carter hurriedly, anxious, it seemed, that there be no misunderstanding. “She’s just a friend from the neighborhood who knows I’m going to Italy.”

Giancarlo looked up with an expression of feigned innocence.

“I was referring to the book,” he said with a smile.

“Oh, of course, “ said Carter.

“Have you had a chance to look any of these over?” said Giancarlo, sliding the book back across the table.

“I flipped through a couple of them last night,” said Carter, now more at ease. “I noticed they talk a lot about churches.”

“Oh yes,” nodded Giancarlo. “If you do any sightseeing at all, you’ll most certainly find yourself traipsing through plenty of churches.”

“Why’s that?” said Carter.

“Why?” replied Giancarlo with eyebrows raised. “Don’t you know that Italy has the most beautiful churches in the world? In them are some of the greatest works of art the world has ever seen.”

Carter shrugged in a way that conveyed that this was all news to him.

“I was a finance major, remember?” he said. “I was never big on art.”

Giancarlo shook his head sadly.

“Your education has been sorely lacking, my friend,” he said with a click of his tongue. “I think this trip to Italy will be a good thing for you.”

With that Giancarlo fell silent for a time and gazed out the window, his mind lost in thought while he tapped his pencil against the tip of his nose. Before long, though, he came back to himself and gave a little laugh.

“What is it?” asked Carter. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing really,” Giancarlo replied. “I was just thinking about Italy and all the churches. The country is over ninety-five percent Catholic, you know. Just about everybody is Catholic. They have churches everywhere, but just the same, hardly anyone ever goes to mass.”

“Really?” said a surprised Carter. “Why not?”