He took his hand away and started talking with Arianna again. About Eva, of course, and her store, which is where we were headed.

It was a store only in a manner of speaking, actually a little apartment near the top of the Spanish Steps, not overflowing with trinkets like most places selling antiques, but with just a few pieces of old furniture on display. It was obvious from the start that you only needed to sell one item to have enough to live on for a month, and I remembered my father’s shop, with its tiny, patient trade in stamps—the thick catalogs, the magnifying glasses, the tweezers, and that sweet smell of glue that stayed on him even when he was at home.

“Oh my God, is that the time?” Eva said when we walked in.

Sitting in small armchairs were the young, left-wing journalist, the humorist, and the haute couture model. She was very tall, a lot taller than the fashions called for that year. They were all drinking aperitifs, and Arianna stole two olives from a saucer.

“We’re not staying,” she said, handing me one. Eva objected, saying that we were all supposed to be having dinner together. When we left, she didn’t even say good-bye. “What a bore,” Arianna said as we were leaving. “Why don’t you like each other?”

We went to a cellar, near Piazza del Popolo, its walls covered with bottles. Arianna ordered a sherry, but was nervous and couldn’t make up her mind to drink it. “How wretched I am,” she said. “I never know what to do!”

“Why not play a game of solitaire?” I don’t know why I said that, and in that tone. I know all those bottles around us were giving me the urge to drink and I was feeling argumentative. But she didn’t react. She didn’t say a word. Her courageous face trembled a little, and she put her glass down on the counter. Then she gave me a curious nod and walked out. I didn’t move. I took her glass and finished the sherry, slowly, trying to calm down. After a while, I gathered my things and also walked out, stopping at the door to watch the people streaming along the sidewalk.

“Hey.” She was behind me, in the shadow of another doorway.

“Listen,” I said, “I think I’m in love with you.”

“Please don’t say that!” she said.

Just then, something happened. There was a soft thud, and a soft sound of rolling, while a woman raised her voice in surprise as the contents of a plastic bag full of oranges rolled across the sidewalk. The woman asked me for help and I mechanically started to look between the feet of the passersby, with much meeting of hands and a lot of laughter.