Pietro remained in the cafe. He had ordered a hot chocolate and waited for it to cool, enough for the slightly bitter film to form on top. Scooped it up with the spoon then dunked the two butter biscuits that Alice had brought on the side. He ate them as he drank, and as he drank he watched the condominium through the window. The Martinis had yet to return.
He paid at the register. As Alice gave him his change, she said, ‘I feel bad for that boy Fernando. I never know how to act.’ The concierge put the money in his pocket without counting it and went out. He crossed the street and passed into the courtyard of the condominium. A plaster Madonna in its alcove stood out against the ivy. The lawyer Poppi had asked to have it removed, but the residents refused. It had been there since the Second World War, a gesture of thanks for having spared the building from English bombs.
Pietro stepped up onto the rim of the mosaic-tiled basin and checked the ivy in the vicinity of the plastic halo. The snails were gone. He looked down. They had fallen near the plants that the residents had entrusted to him. He gathered up the snails and deposited them beneath a lemon tree and a flowering cactus.
‘My gardenia is all dried up, I can feel it.’
Pietro turned around.
Viola Martini was at the entrance to the courtyard, toying with a lock of honey-blonde hair and awaiting the verdict on tiptoe. ‘It’s dried up, isn’t it?’
‘Good afternoon,’ said the concierge, attempting to smile. ‘Give it a few more weeks and it will pull through.’
‘You’re a miracle worker, you are.’ She bit her lip and came forward. ‘How is it going, Pietro?’ She winked at him and he smelled the scent of vanilla that lingered on the stairs each night.
Dr Martini stood further back, their daughter in his arms. Set her down and the child skipped over to the gardenia. Poking from her pocket was a pencil that was a magic wand. She drew it out like a small sword and touched Pietro on the head.
‘What have you turned me into?’ asked the concierge.
Sara scrunched up her coal-black eyes and slipped her head among the leaves of the gardenia, disappeared and reappeared on the other side of the plant. Laughed from her gap-toothed mouth and stared at the snail in the pot. Touched the magic wand to its horns and the snail retreated. The child’s face darkened.
‘He’s gone back into his shell to have a snack, honey,’ said Dr Martini as he picked her up. Blew gently against her neck as his phone began to ring. Checked the display and immediately passed the girl to her mother. ‘Hello, I’ll call you back in five minutes.’ Listened a moment. ‘I said I’ll call back in five minutes.’ Hung up.
‘Who was it?’ asked Viola.
‘The hospital.’
‘You’re going in tonight as well?’
The plants covered Pietro. Through the leaves the doctor’s face was a sliver of sparse beard chewing gum. ‘I’m not going, don’t worry.’ Then he turned to the concierge. ‘Is there any post?’
Pietro went into the lodge as mother and daughter started up the stairs, leafed through the envelopes. ‘There’s a package and a registered letter. I’ll need your signature.’
The doctor scribbled his name. ‘My daughter adores you.’ Held the gum between his teeth for a moment before returning to chewing. ‘If you have this effect on all children, come and see me in the ward.’ Screwed up his face in a grimace, the same as in the photograph on the Vespa. Drummed his fingers between an ashtray and the radio that the concierge had brought with him from the coast. Turned it on. His mobile phone rang again and he turned up the radio. The phone persisted and he picked it up. Before responding he stuck the chewing gum in the ashtray. ‘Hello.’ The doctor left the lodge. ‘We agreed that I would call back.’ He paused. ‘Tonight I can’t.’
The concierge turned off the radio. The doctor said, ‘No, tonight I can’t. I’m on tomorrow night at the hospital. I’ll come over before, around seven. Yes, tomorrow. Don’t call any more, it’s risky. It’s risky, I said.’ The doctor was an attenuated shadow on the wall of the entrance hall. He put away his phone and rested a moment with a hand over his eyes. ‘See you, Pietro. I’m going.’
‘Have a good evening.’ The concierge waited for him to go up. Then went to the ashtray. It’s risky, I said. Snatched up the doctor’s chewing gum and went into the bedroom. In the suitcase there was also an old matchbox. He stuck the gum inside, beside another, rock-hard piece of gum.