I had prunes for breakfast, he added. Prunes.
Evelyn laughed.
Morgan! Morgan!
Mother, he mouthed.
You’ve been discovered, said Evelyn.
Indeed. I’d better go, he said, unfolding his limbs to stand.
I hope you find what you’re looking for, she said.
Thank you, Miss Skinner. Knowledge is a great liberator. Good day to you.
The day after their encounter, Evelyn watched him in the drawing room over a cup of tea. He was an innocent in many ways, intensely na?ve and hapless. He had the long slender hands of a pianist and many guests had commented on how well he played. And here he was, lost in Beethoven. At the end of his playing, Evelyn applauded （well, tapped her spoon against the porcelain）， and he looked intensely uncomfortable in the aftermath of her praise.
If one day you live as you play … she said.
He stood up from the piano and his body unravelled.
I’ve lost my Baedeker, he said.
Have mine, she said.
If only I could lose my mother, he said.
Andiamo, she said, and he followed her into the dining room where the Baedeker lay next to a teapot and a plate of shortbread biscuits.
It was at that moment – how beautifully – that Livia entered from the kitchen and was stopped abruptly, by an arrow shot to the heart. （Evelyn put down her bow.） Won’t you need it? said Forster, flicking through the pages of the Baedeker.
No, I have all I need here, said Evelyn, staring adoringly at her lover.
Suddenly, Forster found the violet pressed between the pages.
What’s this? he said, holding it up to the light.
A violet / Una viola, said Evelyn and Livia in unison.
His gaze went from one woman to the other. They were standing in the same pose, one hand on hip, the other held at the forehead.
There is at times a magic in identity of position, he said. He placed the violet back between the pages and missed the moment when the two young women squeezed hands as one passed in front of the other.
And you’re sure you’ll be all right today, Miss Skinner, without your book? he said.
Oh yes, said Evelyn. I’m about to retire to my Italian lesson that will take up most of the afternoon, and she wished him a good day, and he bowed and dropped the Baedeker onto the plate of shortbreads, scattering them across the floor.
Morgan! Morgan!
He left the room and walked into the hallway. He stopped momentarily by the stairs and looked up questioningly, the remains of Evelyn’s scent hovering. He shook his head and dismissed whatever crazy idea might be formulating there and loped defeatedly towards his mother’s demanding voice. She was mentioning something about a mackintosh square.
In a room two floors above reception, Livia was naked and spread-eagled on Evelyn’s bed. Evelyn was moving up between her legs enjoying a lesson in Italian pronunciation.
Evelyn kissed her ankle.
Caviglia, said Livia.
Her calf.
Polpaccio.
Kissed her knee.
Ginocchio. （She giggled. Ticklish.）
Evelyn licked up her thigh.
Coscia.
Last one, thought Evelyn, and she moved towards the juncture of her legs. Livia groaned quietly.
La mia passera.
Mi piace la tua passera were the last words Evelyn said before her mouth and tongue were employed in a far more enjoyable pursuit than talking.
A couple of evenings later as he followed Evelyn into the dining room, Forster said, I must say, your Italian’s improving momentously, Miss Skinner.
I have a good ear, Mr Forster. And I practise a lot.
By yourself? he asked.
Oh yes, occasionally. Livia the maid has been a great help on basic vocabulary. I find I’m much better when I practise with her, she said.
I think that’s what I might need. Someone to practise with.
Oh, I do too, said Evelyn. It’s much more fun. And you’ll see Italy in a very different light. It will open up a whole new world.
I might even be able to throw away my Baedeker.
Now wouldn’t that be something? said Evelyn.
When they got to the table, a folded piece of paper was tucked under Evelyn’s place setting.
Do you think it might be a billet-doux? said Forster.
I really couldn’t say, said Evelyn, unfolding it.
What is it? said Forster eagerly.
It’s a question mark, said Evelyn, holding up the note for him to see.
What do you think it means?
I have no idea, said Evelyn.
Do you think it’s sinister?
No, I don’t. Rather I think it may portend the great question itself.
As in, Why are we here? he said.
Exactly.
Obviously not in the Pensione Simi—