The Quest

She told him, “I’m not a writer, but I did write a sort of diary about what happened in Ethiopia.” She told him, “I also wrote about us in Cairo.”

“Can I see it?”

“Someday.” She added, “I’m still angry about losing all my photographs.”

“You can ask Getachu for them when we go back.”

She looked at him for a few seconds. “Are we actually doing that?”

“Well… that’s the plan.” He asked, “Are you still interested?”

“I am.” She added, “I’m surprised that Henry wants to go back.”

“I’m not, and neither are you.” He reminded her, “He believes he has been chosen by God to find… it.”

She nodded.

“And you?”

Again, she nodded, and asked, “And you?”

“My motives, according to Henry, are confused at best.”

“But you do want to go?”

“I do.” He informed her, “Henry is working on getting us press credentials with L’Osservatore Romano, then we need to get visas. If none of that works, we may consider jumping the border from Sudan.”

“That could be dangerous.”

“No more dangerous than trekking through Getachu territory to find the black monastery.”

She nodded.

He told her, “Good news. Colonel Gann has been released from prison.”

“Thank God. I thought… they’d kill him.”

“They would have, but they sold him instead.” He added, “I don’t know where he is now, but Henry got a telex from him and Gann says he’s willing to accompany us to Ethiopia.”

“That is insane.”

“He probably had the same thought about us.”

“But he’s… an enemy-”

“Maybe he’ll rethink that trip. In the meantime, he’s coming to Rome after the New Year, and if you’re up for it, all four of us will go to sunny Sicily for holiday. Berini.”

She smiled. “I would like that.”

He informed her, “There was a piece in the news… they shot Prince Joshua.”

“I saw that… that poor man… and all those other members of the royal family, and all the former government people…” She looked at him. “How can people do that to other people?”

“It’s been going on awhile.”

“I know… but… there’s such evil in the world…” She asked him, “Doesn’t it test your faith in God?”

“Father Armano-and Henry-would tell you it’s all part of God’s plan.”

“It can’t be.”

“The devil, then.”

She nodded, then looked at him and said, “I always meant to ask you… that night… when we were driving, why did you suddenly turn off the road?”

“I don’t know.”

“You went right through a wall of bushes. Right where the spa was.”

He’d thought about that himself, and he couldn’t recall what had made him suddenly crash the Jeep through those bushes. He smiled. “A voice said, ‘Turn right.’ ”

“Be serious.”

“I don’t know, Vivian.”

“But don’t you think it was beyond strange that you turned off the road exactly where the spa was?”

“Let me think about it.” He changed the subject. “Henry and I discussed the possibility that Getachu or someone else has already found the black monastery.”

“They haven’t.”

“All right…” He wanted their first night to be more romantic, so he asked, “Would you like dinner?”

“No. I want to take a walk.”

“Good idea.” He signaled the waiter for the bill, then asked her, “Where are you staying?”

“There is not a room to be had in Rome.”

“Sorry to hear that.” He inquired, “Where is your luggage?”

“In your room.”

He smiled. “How did you manage that?”

“Really, Frank. We’re in Italy.”

He asked, seriously, “How did you know this would go well?”

“It didn’t matter how it went. We’re sleeping together tonight.”

He didn’t argue with that, and he suggested, “Let’s get you unpacked.”

“I need a walk. It’s a beautiful night.”

“Okay.” He paid the bill while she got her coat, and they went down to the lobby and outside into the cool night.

The Roman rush hour had ended, and the streets were becoming more quiet, and pedestrians were strolling on the broad Via dei Fori Imperiali. The Christmas decorations, such as they were, were mostly of the religious type, and there was no sign of Santa or his reindeer.

They held hands and didn’t speak much as they took in the city and its people. Vivian said, “This is what I pictured when I received your romantic letter.”

“I didn’t know what tone to use.”

“So you wrote it as a news release. If it wasn’t for your P.S., I’d still be in Geneva.”

“I know.”

“Well, I don’t blame you for being angry.”

“Why should you?”

“I know I shouldn’t have left under false pretenses. And I’m sorry for that. But I couldn’t face you… and say…”

“Drop it.”

She squeezed his hand and said, “I kept thinking to myself, ‘Get thee to a nunnery, Vivian. Go think this out.’ ”

“Good. Let’s move on. Avanti.”

“I feel cleansed now, and pure.”

“We’ll take care of that later.”

She laughed and they continued on. She asked him, “What is the most romantic spot in the city?”

“My room.”

“Second most.”

“I’ll show you.”

They walked around the Vittorio Emanuele monument, then up the steps of the Campidoglio to the piazza at the top of the ancient Capitoline Hill where dozens of hand-holding couples strolled past the museums and around the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius.