“A little,” Ross said, though more as a matter of courtesy than truth. His Italian was as good as the man’s English.

“How long of a lease do you wish to make?”

“I plan to live here indefinitely, but I might decide to change apartments after I know the city better. A one-year lease would be good.”

“That is not a problem. When would you be available to see something?”

“I’m living in a hotel right now, so the sooner the better. I could go today.”

“Yes, well, I only have my scooter today and I will need to make some arrangement. But I am free tomorrow. If you like, I could get my car and we could see a few places.”

“Tomorrow would be fine.”

“I must talk to the people with the apartments, of course, but early afternoon would probably be the best time.”

“How about three o’clock?”

Luigi looked at a calendar on the wall. “Alle tre, yes, three o’clock would be good. Do you have a phone number where you can be called?”

“Yes.” Ross wrote down the number and handed it to him. “That’s my cellular.” The agent looked at the number then slipped it into his front pocket.

“I will only call if something comes up. Otherwise we can plan to meet here at three tomorrow. I will have a car to drive. Va bene?”

Ross stood. “Va bene. Grazie.”

“A domani.” See you tomorrow.

The next morning Francesca was nearly twenty minutes late for the tour, and Ross, sensing the group’s growing impatience, started without her, which simultaneously pleased and concerned her. When she caught up with him, she took him aside. “Don’t forget you are an abusivo,” she warned. “Some of the other guides will want to turn you in to the commune. If you are stopped, you must tell them you are only helping me and I am in the toilet or getting a coffee.”

“That’s how it works, huh?”

“Yes. Many are very jealous of me.”

Even before he finished the tour, Francesca had arranged for another—an American group from an active Dayton retirement center. He thought that he could fit the group in before his afternoon appointment, but found that they moved from exhibit to exhibit almost as if in slow motion. By the time they reached the second corridor, they were spending more time looking for places to rest than at art, so he abbreviated the last half of the tour.

Still, it was past three when Ross ran from the Uffizi, hailed a cab and arrived at the real estate office. It was another sweltering day and the front of his shirt was stained with perspiration. He wiped his forehead with a Kleenex as he walked in.

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

Luigi appeared relieved to see him. “It is no problem. I was only afraid you might not come. I have made us four appointments for today. Our first appointment is one in the country with a beautiful view, about twelve kilometers from downtown. It is a very small community near Greve in Chianti. There are many vineyards, you said you like vineyards.”