But there was so little I could do for him these days that the following morning there I was, yawning so much I almost fainted, standing with that little crowd of peaceful maniacs known as stamp collectors. Around ten, after I’d sent the stamps by registered mail, the beauty of the morning induced me to go read by the river. The area was deserted and I sat down on a deck chair with the book on my lap, but I couldn’t concentrate and in the end I closed the book and sat there listening to the soft murmur of the traffic as it rolled across the bridges and watching the rowers gliding over the surface of the water like large dragonflies. Around two, I started to feel hungry and went to Signor Sandro’s. The first person I saw was Annamaria. “Look at you!” she said on spotting me.

I hadn’t seen her since she’d been fired by the paper she was working for because in an item on the funeral of a local dignitary she’d included the dead man’s name among the names of the mourners. “What are you doing so far from home?” I said.

“I live around here now,” she said, “on Via Whatsit, Via…” There were times she gave the impression she could hardly even remember her own name, but we’d spent some great evenings together.

“What are you doing this evening?”

“No idea. Ever since I went on a diet, I’ve been a hit with men.”

“Only with men?” I said, remembering a fling she’d had with a very well-known theater actress.

She laughed. “What about you and girls, huh?” she said.

The pain I carried with me in my chest started to throb. So I made up my mind, asked for a telephone token, and went to make a call. The male voice that answered was very polite, and when I asked for the signora he hesitated in a professional manner. Soon afterward, I heard Viola’s voice. “This is Leo,” I said, and she gave one of her little laughs. “Stop laughing every time I get in touch.”

“I laugh when I feel like it,” she said. “Are we allowed to know where you’ve been? I’ve been trying to find you at that damned newspaper of yours for a week now. Don’t you ever work?”

“Sick,” I said. “I’ve been sick.”

“I don’t want to know about your problems. I want you to come over here today and keep me company. We’ll have tea and I’ll shorten some old skirts.”

Basically, it was what I’d wanted, and so at five o’clock, the very hour when the marquise orders her carriage and goes out, I went to see her.