“I don’t know, Signora. Do you wish me to do anything for you?”
“Well—”
She had a wish to clear things up, to force her life, the lives of those few she cared for, out of mystery into a clear light. She had a desire to chastise thought by strong, bracing action.
“I rather want to send a note to Don Emilio.”
“Si, Signora.”
His voice did not sound pleased.
“It is too hot to row all the way to Naples. Couldn’t you go to the village and take the tram to the hotel—if I write the note?”
“If you like, Signora.”
“Or would it be less bother to row as far as Mergellina, and take a tram or carriage from there?
“I can do that, Signora.”