The Savage Garden

    'And Signora Fanelli?' asked Harry, fluttering his fingers in the air. 'At the Pensione Amorini?'

    Adam felt a hand clutch at his heart. How the hell did Harry even know her name? Then he remembered; he had told Harry to go to the pensione and ask for directions to the villa.

    'Don't be ridiculous.'

    'She's bloody gorgeous. And I reckon you're her type.'

    'Tell me, Harry, was it one or two minutes you spent in her company?'

    'Aloof. Like her. Two dark horses. Cavorting together. Yes, I can see it.'

    'Well, you're wrong. That famous sixth sense of yours must have deserted you.'

    Harry weighed Adam's words. 'Maybe. Yeah. Come to think of it, imagine . . . it'd be like screwing Auntie Joan.'

    'She's not that old.'

    He realized too late that he'd stumbled into one of Harry's well- laid conversational traps.

    'I knew it!' Harry trumpeted.

    'Keep it down, that's Signora Docci's bedroom.'

    Harry glanced up at the loggia. 'What, not her too!?'

    'Harry . . .' hissed Adam.

    Harry beamed. 'You little devil. She's gorgeous, dirty too, from the look of her.'

    Adam wasn't going to be drawn on this.

    'Come on—details.'

    'No.'

    'Something. Anything.'

    'Has it been that long?'

    Harry gave a short laugh. 'Quite a while, as it happens.'

    Harry was curious to know if Adam intended to tell Gloria. Not for the first time, Gloria was referred to as 'the girl who likes killing animals.'

    'Her family hunts and shoots.'

    'And yours lives in Purley, otherwise known as the arsehole of Croydon.'

    'So?'

    'So are you going to let her know?'

    'She ended it.'

    Harry nodded a couple of times. 'Well, I can't say I'm upset. I never liked her.'

    'I know. You told her.' 'Did I?'

    'You don't remember? She remembers.'

    'Well, who cares now? She's out of your life. And you, Paddler, have finally slept with a good-looking woman.'

    'Gloria was good-looking.'

    Harry heaved a weary sigh. 'It's like parents and babies. They're too close. They can't see just how ugly the little buggers are.' He lit a cigarette. 'Love isn't just blind—it blinds.'

    'That's very profound. Who said it?'

    'James Bond, I think.'

    'In a rare moment of melancholy.'

    Harry laughed, but Adam knew better than to relax his guard. Sure enough, Harry nudged the conversation back to Adam's other university friends.

    'Come on, Paddler, face the facts—you're not one of them. They're all so bloody . . . well, rich.'

    'They're still people.'

    'They're people who like people like them. Oh, it's okay now, you're a good-looking boy with half a brain and half a sense of humor. But that bloke you hang out with, what's his name? Big ears, windpipe like a fireman's hose, father owns half of Herefordshire ...'

    'Tarquin.

    'Right, Tarquin. Can't you see he's humoring you? You're his piece of entertainment, the middle-class boy made good.'

    'You met him once.'

    'I'm telling you, he'll drop you as soon as he's back in the real world, and you're selling insurance.'

    'I'm going to work at Lloyd's.'