“Did he say why?” Alice continued her innocent act. “Did another agency tempt him away?”
Vivienne shrugged. “No, he just said it wasn’t working out.” She peered at Alice, clearly looking for something in her reaction, but after another pause, she cleared her throat. “It, uh, happens, you know. Some clients can’t make the necessary sacrifices or see the agent’s vision.”
Alice nodded. “So which other client shall I be working with?” she asked brightly, as if she’d believed every word.
Vivienne looked uneasy. She obviously hadn’t thought this far ahead. “I, uh, haven’t yet found a suitable match for you. It’s important to pick just the right one, to get you started.”
“Of course,” Alice agreed. “What about Kieran Bates or Julia Wendall?” she suggested two younger clients, who’d yet to find a footing on the audition circuit.
“Perhaps.” Vivienne’s noncommittal smile was back. “I’ll…think about it.”
“Wonderful.” Alice felt anger rise again, sharp in her chest. It was clear that Vivienne never intended for her to do anything more than print neat, predictable contract terms up in her office all day long. She rose. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s fine for now.”
“Then I’ll get back to work.”
Alice withheld the urge to slam the door on her way out or stomp up the stairs like a petulant teenager, but as she stood in the middle of her office—surrounded by ordered stacks of paperwork, the pretty window box, and the threadbare rug she’d scouted in an antiques shop—she found herself shaking with an unfamiliar frisson in her veins. She wasn’t just angry, she was frustrated too; trapped up there with the intercom waiting to sound, and her inbox constantly refilling, and those bloody “final notice” bills still piling up from Ella’s sprees.
Ella.
Her gaze fell on the postcard, propped up against her overflowing inbox: a message from the woman who had never really existed. Ella had gone through the trouble of finding a convincing card, Alice noted with equal parts resentment and admiration as she reread the short, scribbled lies. The Italian scene was genuine, the elegant print along the top of the card declared it compliments of the Hotel d’Angelo, and even the postmark read “Roma.”
Alice stopped, staring at the postmark in the corner of the card. It was smudged, but unmistakable. Roma, l’Italia. Maggio 6.
The data never lie.
Her intercom sounded again with a fierce buzz, but instead of answering, Alice simply turned it off. She stared at the card, her mind already conjuring the vivid scene. Ella had been there, in Rome, herself. She had stayed at the hotel, found the card perhaps on the desk bureau, or tucked among the complimentary stationery; she had written and mailed it, before strolling off to sample the local frescoes or buy a cup of that wonderful gelato. Alice could see her, carefree and happy, as clearly as if she were there herself.
Before she could take a moment to reconsider, Alice reached for her computer keyboard. A few quick clicks later, she had the number.
“Hello, FlyMe Travel?”
“Yes.” Alice gripped the phone with fierce determination. “I’d like to book a ticket to Rome. Leaving today.”
Chapter Seventeen
Embarking on her hastily improvised travel plans, Alice waited for her voice of reason to appear and quell the reckless spark in her veins. To her surprise, it stayed silent. She booked a last-minute ticket to Rome leaving that evening, sped home, threw a handful of clothing and toiletries in her small case, and scribbled a vague note to Flora, arriving breathless at the airport as if she took off on spontaneous European jaunts every other weekend. It wasn’t until the plane made its descent and she emerged, blinking, from the chaos of Italian customs that it struck Alice just how irresponsible she was being. Flying all this way on a whim because of a single postcard? It was ridiculous; it was foolish.
It was thrilling.
“Hotel d’Angelo, per favore. Via San Antonia,” she instructed the taxi driver.
“Sì, signorina!” The short, wiry-haired man swerved away from the curb. “Your first time to visit?” he asked, as Alice quickly buckled herself in.
“No, no.” She smiled tiredly at him in the rearview mirror. “I’ve been before.”
“Ah, good.” He nodded approvingly, cutting into the main flow of traffic to a hail of horns and screeching tires. “Is such a city, you must see again!”
They sped into the dark, the neon lights of the industrial airport landscape soon giving way to black, open countryside and the gentle shadows of hills and farmland. The windows were all rolled down, and a pleasant breeze whipped around Alice as she gazed out of the car, the driver whistling along to the radio.
She’d really done it.
Alice felt a thrill of disbelief. One minute, she’d been staring listlessly at the view from her office, and now, mere hours later, she was driving through the outskirts of Rome. Her whole life, travel abroad had been such a careful, lengthy endeavor: weeks spent searching online for reviews and bargains, then the bookings and confirmations. Even her big backpacking adventure with Julian had required vast amounts of planning to make the most of their precious funds. But all along, it had been possible to just toss a few garments in a bag and be gone? The revelation somehow seemed startling to Alice: people actually lived this way. And now, she did too.
“You pick good time—the weather is molto bene.”
They were deep in the city now, speeding past busy open squares. Fountains and statues were strewn on almost every corner, lit up and glowing in the dark. Alice leaned farther out of the window, absorbing the fleeting glimpses of storefronts and street life as they drove, breakneck, through the disordered jumble of streets until at last they turned down a narrow, cobbled road. The driver slowed, easing past tightly parked cars and careless pedestrians before coming to a stop in front of a tall, slim townhouse. “The hotel, is here?”
Alice checked the name against Ella’s postcard; this was the place.
“Sì. Grazie.”
She paid with notes still crisp from the airport currency exchange and paused a moment on the front steps. It was a quiet neighborhood, she could tell, a world away from the central districts of chain hotels and all-night convenience stores. Here, the buildings were flat-fronted, packed together and elegantly crumbling beneath the antique streetlamps. Farther up the street, a few busy restaurants overflowed onto the pavement, spilling thick linens and laughter out into the night. As Alice watched, a crowd of young people strolled past, their crisp shirts, glossy handbags, and relaxed smiles radiating a foreign kind of ease.