'There's nothing wrong, is there?' she pleaded over her shoulder, leading the way behind the terrace of stainless steel and bright cookers.
'Nothing that cannot be efficiently handled, signora.' I kept my Americanese variation of Italian going. 'A man's been taken ill after eating your cream cakes—'
'They are perfectly fresh—'
'Of course. I know that.' I smiled bleakly to keep some threat in the words. She trotted ahead into a neat pastel-blue office. Her name was on the door stamped in white on brown plastic. Signora Faranada was a pretty thing, understandably distrait but the most attractive manageress I'd yet seen in the whole Vatican. If I hadn't been terrified out of my wits I'd have chatted her up. She pulled the door to. 'Signora,' I said, instantly becoming terse. 'He is very sick. It looks like Petulengro's.'
'Petulengro's? A disease?'
I reached for the telephone, laconic and casual the way doctors always are when putting the boot into suffering innocents. 'You've heard of Legionnaires'? Similar thing.'
'Legionnaires' Disease?' she moaned. 'Oh my God! But-'
'Nothing that can't be handled quietly and efficiently,' I reassured with my wintry smile.
'You're lucky. I was just calling on you—courtesy visit. I'm from Communicable Diseases, Atlanta, USA. Currently with World Health, on loan to the Rome Ministry.
Here.' I passed her the receiver as if disgusted with the slowness. 'Get me an outside line.'
She frantically spun the dial.
'The Vatican has its own children's clinic and physicians. Am I right?'
'Yes, Doctor.'
Impatiently I dialled the number as if I knew it by heart, reading it off Anna's postage stamp I had stuck to my left wrist. 'But no resident epidemiologist expert in communicable diseases, right?' I barked the question, the old lawyer's tricks of two knowns followed by an unknown, all to be answered with the same word.
She hesitated. 'I don't think so, doctor—'
I turned away impatiently. Valerio came on the other end. A sweat of relief started to trickle down my collar. 'Doctor Valentine. Get me the epidemic section—fast.'
'Epidemic!' moaned Signora Faranda.
'Hello?' I made a conciliatory gesture to the lady as I spoke commandingly into the phone. 'Hello, Aldo? Great! There's a rather problematic issue here—Vatican Museum.
Cafeteria. Looks like a case of Petulengro's… No. Only one, a man. I've got him under control in the toilets… Of course I applied emergency treatment, brought him round…
No. The place looks really superbly clean…“
'We scour and disinfect every half-day,' Signora Faranada bleated, tugging my sleeve.
'Sure, Aldo.' I laughed reassuringly, the expert all casual in the presence of somebody else's catastrophe. 'No, I agree. We can't take chances… Look, Aldo. Can I leave it to your to…? Fine… No, no sirens. Quietly does it… The least noise the better. No sense in being alarmist…“ I smiled and nodded at Signora Faranda. 'So you'll send an ambulance…? Good… No. I'm sure the manageress can handle that… Agreed?'
I slammed down the phone.
'I'll get back to take charge,' I told the lady. 'I've arranged hospital transport.' I stilled her protests with a raised hand. 'Infectious diseases are always sent to a special unit because they are, erm, infectious.' I smiled a cut-rate Arcellano smile. 'You know how patients just love to sue places these days, I don't doubt.'
'Sue?' she gasped, the poor thing.
'It won't come to that,' I said smoothly. 'I promise.'
'What must I do?'
'Do you have a rear entrance to the cafeteria, where the ambulance can pull up?' She nodded anxiously and reached towards the top filing drawer. 'The gate will need notifying,' I said, ticking off the items. 'Aldo—that's Doctor Cattin of the Public Health Divison—said St Anne's Gate. Is that acceptable?'
'Yes, yes. I'll telephone—' She clutched feverishly for the phone.
'And the table. It may be contaminated. For taking specimens, and disinfection.'
'I'll see it's brought round—'
I snapped, 'Tell everyone it's in need of repair, wobbling or something. Use your discretion.'
'Yes, yes. Discretion,' she gasped, dialling frantically.
'Get your duty security man. I'll need that terrace quietly sealed from the public. It overlooks the drive-in, correct?'
'Yes! Yesl I'll get him right away—'
'Do you have a store room?'
She was gasping. 'Yes. By the loading bay.'
'Good. And I'll seal the lavatory cubicle until it's proven clear. Don't worry.' I rounded on her like I'd seen on the movies. 'Do as I say and people'll hardly notice. You have a beautiful clean restaurant here. We don't want to attract attention—'
'Thank you, Doctor!'
