have a good time, understand?'
'Of course/ the waiter replied in a robotic tone.
'We may eat, we may not, but we want the best of everything. Good stuff, prompt service, no bullshit. If the evening's a success, we won't forget you.'
'Even less if it isn't/ added Gesualdo.
The waiter nodded rapidly.
'Don't worry, sir. I'll take care of everything myself.'
He departed rapidly into the elegant converted villa on the hillside behind them containing the bar and the internal dining room. Gesualdo sighed loudly.
'That's going to cost us another Caravaggio.'
Sabatino flashed his wallet, bulging with 50,000-lire banknotes bearing the likeness of this artist.
'What else would I spend it on? Nothing's too good for Filomena. She deserves the best there is.'
From a side pocket of the wallet, he took a strip of photographs, much creased with wear.
'God, she's adorable!' he sighed.
Gesualdo raised an eyebrow. Reaching into his jacket, he produced a studio photograph framed in cardboard and enclosed in a plastic slip-case.
''She deserves the best there is,' he says, and then drops a whole two thou at a passport machine. This cost me a hundred thou, but it's worth every lira.'
He turned the photograph towards his friend.
'Doesn't she look lovely?'
Sabatino smiled wryly.
'If anyone had told me a year ago that we'd be sitting here mooning over a couple of girls' snapshots, I'd have said he was crazy/ Gesualdo nodded.
'I never expected this to happen to me. I never really believed it happened to anybody, except in the movies.'
'And just think, if their car hadn't broken down that time, we would never have met them.'
'Or if we hadn't taken that short cut because the traffic was so bad. You didn't want me to make that illegal left turn, remember? And I said, 'If we get arrested, it won't be for a traffic violation!''
'Well, you didn't want to stop and help them change the tyre. 'It could be a trap,' you said. 'They get tourists that way all the time/'
Gesualdo sighed.
'Yet the moment I got out of the car and saw her standing there, I knew that was it. For life.' 'Me too/ agreed Sabatino.
The exalted look abruptly drained from Gesualdo's face.
'Except that their mother will never consent to the idea of them marrying the likes of us.'
'It must be awful for them, having to sneak out every time they want to see us.'
'And it's horrible for us having to lie to them the whole time, not being able to introduce them to our families and friends. It's almost enough to make me want to chuck the whole thing in.'
Sabatino looked at him in astonishment.
'The girls, you mean?'
'Of course not!' Gesualdo replied indignantly. 'This line of work, I mean. Pack it in and apply for a regular job.'
Sabatino smiled at him.
'You'd go out of your mind with boredom by the end of the first week. And then there's the money/ Gesualdo nodded.
'I suppose you're right. Another few years and we can go straight.'
'Filomena said she'd marry me now, even without her mother's consent/ 'Orestina told me the same. But you know we can't.
Not with the risks we run every day.'
'And which they'd have to share. The opposition can get pretty vindictive when things don't go their way.
Remember when Don Fortunato's brother fell from grace? They couldn't get to him, so they killed his sister, his wife and his eldest kid.'
'The only thing to do is stick it out and hope they wait for us.'
He glanced at his watch.
'Where are they, anyhow? They should be here by now/ As if on cue, there was a sound of voices from inside the restaurant building. The two men turned round hopefully, but the lone figure which emerged from the garden door of the villa was a man. With a purposeful but unhurried stride he crossed over to the table where Gesualdo and Sabatino were sitting.
'Good evening, gentlemen/ His accent was harsh and alien. The two men looked up at him warily.
'Signor Gesualdo?' the man asked, looking at Sabatino.
Gesualdo got to his feet.
'That's me/ he said shortly.
'Ah, excuse me! And you must be Signor Sabatino/ the man exclaimed. 'Allow me to introduce myself. Alfonso Zembla, a friend of the Squillace family. May I?'
He sat down. After a momentary hesitation, Gesualdo followed suit. The newcomer held up his hands apologetically.
'I'm sorry to force myself on you like this/ he said in a tone of embarrassment. 'I don't mean to intrude, but…
It's difficult to know where to begin. You see, your girlfriends … I'm afraid I have bad news.'
Gesualdo reached over the table and clutched the stranger's arm.
'Are they dead?'
'No/ 'Injured?'
'No/ 'Pregnant?' breathed Sabatino.
'Not that, either. The fact is, they've just heard that they've won a scholarship to study English at a school in London. Two other students had to cancel at the last minute, and Orestina and Filomena were next on the list.
But they have to leave tonight.'
'Tonight?' both men cried together.
Aurelio Zen nodded sternly.
'They have to register for the course tomorrow morning.
That means catching the last flight out tonight.'
Utterly lost for words, Sabatino looked helplessly at Gesualdo, then back at Zen.
'You mean they've left already? Can't we at least say goodbye? Where are they?'
'They're waiting outside in the taxi that's to take them to the airport. They were afraid to break the news to you themselves — they were afraid you'd be angry — so they asked me to do it.'
He consulted his watch.
'There's still a few minutes to spare. I'll have them come in, shall I?'
Without waiting for a response, he turned and signalled to the waiter, who had been hovering at the entrance to the restaurant. Zen got to his feet and withdrew discreetly. As he reached the doorway to the building, Orestina and Filomena appeared, soberly but expensively dressed in the military-style greatcoats which were currently in fashion.
'Not a word about our bet, now!' Zen murmured.
The two women swept past without a word. Zen took a seat at the bar inside and ordered an aperitif which he sipped while watching the brightly lit scene outside on the terrace.
Side by side, the women approached the table where their lovers were sitting. They seemed nervous and hesitant.
The two men got to their feet and confronted them with expressions of confusion, dismay and self-pity. For a moment no one said anything, then each couple started speaking rapidly, the men questioning and complaining, the women explaining and justifying. The occasional phrase drifted in through the open door, wafted on the breeze
