smiled smugly. Obviously, they didn’t know how much money he would earn at JW Corporation.
“That’s not a problem.”
Having booked the taxi for 8.30 p.m., he went back downstairs, where his mother was already preparing the last meal she would share with him before he left for the United States.
Marco stayed watching her for hours, fixing in his mind every single gesture, aware that he would not see her again for a long time, sharing in her sadness about their imminent separation.
They hardly spoke a word to each other during dinner, both busy thinking how much their life would soon change.
Suddenly, a car horn aroused them from their thoughts.
Lucia looked at her son with a questioning air, startled by that unexpected sound.
“What was that?”
“The taxi’s arrived. I’ll spend the night at the airport.”
At these words, Lucia threw herself into her son’s arms, deeply moved. “Promise me that you will phone me every day, otherwise you know I get worried. Especially knowing you’re far away.”
“You can count on it” he reassured her, returning her gesture.
After long seconds, Marco freed himself from her embrace and, collecting his suitcase from the living room, said goodbye to his mother.
Then he tapped with affectionate sadness on the bonnet of his Maserati, destined to remain unused for a long time, and sat in the back seat of the taxi, which left at a moderate speed onto the road made slippery by the snow which was still falling on the asphalt.
For a moment, his mother remained on the threshold of her house to watch the car go off, until it disappeared round a bend and she could no longer follow her son with her eyes.
The taxi-driver, in the meantime, was driving through places that had been the background to the life Marco was hurrying to leave, asking himself when he would see them again.
Calling on all his will-power, he banished from his head all those thoughts by starting up a conversation with the introverted driver, as professional as he was silent.
When, finally, the robotic voice of the Satnav announced their arrival at their destination, putting an end to the monotonous journey, Marco paid the fare and calmly got out of the taxi, wanting to be able to get some rest in anticipation of the long flight the next day.
Then he entered the airport dragging his bags behind him and, having also put behind him the emotional day of which he had been the protagonist, took a seat on a bench, thinking again about all that he was leaving behind and that he had always loved so deeply.
“At least I won’t have to see my dear friend Morgan again” he reflected in search of comfort, with a grimace that encompassed all his antipathy for that person.
In that moment, the image of his most hated acquaintance formed in his head.
About 6 feet tall, he had a pointed pale face, straw-coloured hair and brown eyes framed by spectacles with squared-off lenses, that didn’t however manage to give him an intellectual air, totally irreconcilable with his moronic expression.
His wide mouth often emitted expressions of hilarity with a hysterical sound, typical of those trying to hide the absence of other people’s laughter at the witty remarks with the auditory evidence of his own laughter.
This mix of odious features was added, moreover, to a rather unpolite behaviour towards Marco.
In fact, he remembered again, with extreme irritation, the evening on which, with his unmistakeable swaying walk, he had approached Francesca, showing off in a ridiculous attempt at courtship, ignoring Marco’s presence.
“Is it by any chance a crime?” he had asked presumptuously at Marco’s demand about the girl’s heart and his prompt urging him to go away.
“I don’t think so, and I would like to remind you that we live in a free country, or am I mistaken? Anyway I’m going, keep her for yourself” he had added, going away with the same walk.
From that moment on, deeply annoyed by his attitude, Marco had started to hate him and hope that the opportunities to encounter him would be very limited.
Anyway, this hope was duly dashed, in reality.
In fact, Marco was frequently forced to have dealings with him for work reasons.
Notwithstanding it sometimes happens that by getting to know certain people better, an instinctive judgement proves to be disproved, in that case the saying “the first impression is the one that counts” was prophetic and their relationship continued in a spirit of reciprocal antipathy.
Slightly reassured by these thoughts, Marco was overcome by tiredness and fell into a deep sleep.
Some hours later the cheerful shouting of a large crowd of people interrupted his brief rest.
Marco, with his vision still bleary from sleep, rubbed his eyes to make out the figures that surrounded him more clearly and noticed lots of families and youngsters intent on buying their final gifts Christmas, into which he hurried to participate, with great joy.
The young manager stopped a long time watching the babies running carefree alongside their mothers, who were attentive to not lose sight of them in the crowd of people walking along, looking in the shop windows.
Anyway, the atmosphere of the imminent festivities, which you breathed in the air and perceived clearly in the relaxed faces of everyone, contrasted with the state of mind of Marco, who thought of how different that 25th December would be from all the others.
In fact, he would not be taking part in the traditional lunch with his family at his mother’s house, but would spend that day with people he did not yet know, and that he might end up not liking very much.
When he woke up from these reflections, Marco got up from the bench, stretching himself, and went to the check-in desk, where the young and smiling woman in charge gave him his boarding card.
Then he found another bench and sat down next to an old lady.
Chapter III
Pedro Gonzalez
“Good morning”, the man greeted him cheerfully, with a slight Spanish accent.
“Good morning to you”, replied Marco to the unknown person.
He was a man of around seventy years old, as suggested by his short white hair, which gave him an aura of wisdom.
Although he was quite aged, the old gentleman gave an impression of exceptional vigour, both mental and physical, as shown by the vivaciousness which lit his face, and his slim figure, determined by be taller than normal and his body being slim, but with no semblance of fragility or weakness.
The fact that his exterior appearance was cared for in a fanatical manner, just like his elegant clothes, worthy of the most prominent of businessmen, caused Marco to believe with good reason that he had in the past held an important managerial role, like the
