“That’s okay,” I said.

He had bright, quick eyes, like a bird of prey’s, and long, sinewy, probing fingers. He was sunburned, and was wearing only a skimpy swimsuit with white and red flowers on it. His knees bore the marks of old wounds, those unmistakable scars left by childhood battles. I was surprised that someone like him could ever have been a child. When he sat down he pinched his thighs, the gesture of someone who’s not used to sitting down without his pants on. If I’d wanted to, I would have laughed. “What was the weather like in Rome?” he said.

“August.”

“I know what you mean,” he said. “Very hot. I don’t know why Arianna wants to go back. She’s so unpredictable,” he said, choosing just the right adjective. “I assume you’re great friends. Is that right?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Just friends?” he said. I looked him in the eyes, and he laughed, if only halfheartedly. “She told me you’re a journalist. At the Corriere dello Sport, I think. Do you like it?” he said hurriedly, “because I have lots of friends who are journalists and I think I could do something for you.”

“I like it a lot.”

“Better that way,” he said, opening his hands wide. Then he looked around. “Better that way,” he said again. “Would you like a drink?” I said no, and he smiled. Then he excused himself, saying he still had a little work to do but that I should make myself at home. If I wanted to take a dip, I just had to ask Giacomo for a swimsuit. Besides, the others shouldn’t be much longer. Anyway, he really had to go. He apologized again and walked away, whistling for the dogs. Soon afterward, the music of a Bach chorale wafted down from the tower.

It was four when a throbbing came from the sea. A boat appeared, gradually revealing itself as a large cabin cruiser. It moored at the jetty below the cliff and a few people disembarked, all in the same white and red flowered swimsuits. Among them was Arianna, her hair hanging loose on her shoulders. Her harmonious, touchingly girlish body was dark and shiny. She looked very happy. I heard her voice as they climbed the steps carved into the rock. She was saying something about how tired she was, and a blond young man wearing a necklace of shells put an arm around her shoulders. They vanished into the coastal vegetation and when they reappeared their voices were very close. All at once, they were on the terrace.

Arianna was amazed to see me. “My God! It’s over! It’s over!” she cried theatrically and kissed me on the cheek. “How’s Graziano?” she said.

“Fine.”