Breakfast time was long past and I had to settle for an espresso. The proprietor’s mother-in-law was subjecting me, as she did every morning, to a rapid-fire burst of questions about my private life, to which I didn’t bother to respond. She had figured out that I was a good for nothing and wanted to prove the fact to that idiot son-in-law of hers. Her convictions about me suddenly began to vacillate when she saw a refined and elegantly attired lady walk in and head in my direction. “I decided it might be better to move our appointment up to lunchtime,” the Swiss woman said, skipping right over the conventional hellos. “How did you find me?” “Giannella took care of it. She got the address from a certain . . .” “Max,” I said, finishing her sentence for her while I wondered why the fat man was scheming to get me to talk to that woman at all costs. “I don’t understand why Counselor Marzolo doesn’t bother to protect my privacy,”
