looked him in the face. It made her shudder slightly. He had very clear grey eyes; cold eyes. As cold as ice.
The young man doodled a little on the notepad provided. 'It's fine.'
'It's better if you write something, your name, whatever . . .'
'I said it's fine. I'll take it.'
He hadn't even asked the price.
Rita made out a receipt. The young man paid the money without demur and she handed him the pen. He left the shop.
'. . . and if you don't mind me giving you a piece of advice,' Massimo was saying, 'you shouldn't neglect the pagan aspect of those banquets and theatrical performances, the element of ritual and magic. The combination of the Dionysian and the sacred in Florentine culture in the sixteenth century is a constant source of surprise. Especially in popular entertainments, but not exclusively. Think of Machiavelli and his Mandragola, with a plot based on the idea of gullibility: the husband deceived thanks to the supposed miraculous properties of a herb!'
'It's true, I hadn't thought of that.'
'If you're interested, I might be able to make a small contribution to your thesis. Come.' He led her to the section where the antiquarian and second-hand books were kept.
'Have a look at this,' he said, taking a volume half-bound in leather from one of the shelves. The title was printed in gold: Common Book of the Dead and of Things Believed Lost. 'We can't be sure, but many people think it's the only existing Italian version, translated by Giulio Delmino in Paris in 1530, of the infamous Necronomicon. You know what the Necronomicon is, don't you?'
'No.'
'It's the oldest known treatise on black magic, written by an Arab named Abdul Alhazred. Here, take it.'
'No, I couldn't do that. I could never afford it. I told you, I'm only a student.'
'Don't worry, it's not old, it's just a photostat. Not worth much, but the contents are fine. And besides, you don't have to buy it. Just promise to bring it back, that's all I ask. I insist, and when a Sicilian insists ..."
The girl hesitated, but took the book in the end. 'You're quite something, you know? That thing about magic is a great idea — none of my teachers said anything about it.'
'Welcome to Florence, signorina,' he said, amused.
*
Once he got back in the car, the young man wrote a few words in block capitals on the sheet of writing paper he had bought, along with a ready-stamped envelope, from the tobacconist's:
i saw you today in greve. i know where to find you, you won't get away with it. whoever has inflicted torture deserves only torture in return. an eye for an eye: that is the true law of the Lord. I'll come and find you. Don't try and escape. i 'll still find you.
And on the envelope he wrote:
Father S ergio Rotondi Parish C hurch of S anta C roce Greve in C hianti (FI)
By the time the girl got back in the Porsche, he had already put everything in his pocket.
'How come it took you so long?' he asked gently.
'They couldn't find the books, they're not very organised. I only got three, in the end. But the owner's very nice, he even lent me a book.'
'Shall we go, then? It's nearly eight.'
All right, step on it!'
He didn't need to be asked twice. He set off with a squeal of tyres. After dropping the girl he returned home, undecided whether or not to send the letter.
'Pretty girl, wasn't she?' Massimo Verga remarked. 'Don't even think about it!'
'Come on now, you're not going to tell me she's too young for me!'
'That as well, if you want me to. But what I was thinking was, she's already taken. You saw him.'
'Good-looking young man. Daddy's boy, bit of a stud. Hot blooded, like all of them, but lacking experience.'
'He's certainly good-looking. The fair hair's fake, though. There's something weird about him. And that car! If he wasn't a foreigner, I'd say he was a pimp and she was a high-class call girl.'
'That's where you'd be wrong. She's a student. A whore she may be, but I don't think she's a professional.'
She