a Ferrari, now a factory full of Maseratis. You’re coming up in the world, Westbrook.”
“Could be,” he muttered under his breath as he reclaimed both his seat and his coffee. “Most definitely could be.”
Kate didn’t catch the low comment. His mention of Bologna had triggered something in her memory cells. The city hadn’t made her must-see list. Not surprising, with everything Rome and Florence and Milan had to offer a first-time visitor, but it might be worth a short visit.
“You order breakfast,” she instructed Travis, “while I check out what else there is to see in Bologna and Modena besides Maseratis.”
A bunch, she discovered after a quick search on her iPhone. The city of Bologna dated back more than three thousand years. With its central location smack-dab in the middle of the Italian boot, it had survived and flourished under subsequent waves of Etruscans, Celts, Romans and medieval lords.
“Bologna’s home to the oldest university in the world,” she informed Travis, “founded in 1088.”
“Beats UMass by about eight hundred years.”
“It’s also famous for its arched walkways,” she read. “They run for more than thirty-eight kilometers, connecting the largest historical city center in Italy. The porticoes are actually included on the UNESCO World Heritage list of significant historical, cultural or geographical landmarks.”
“Who knew?” Travis commented with a grin.
Certainly not Kate. Fascinated, she Googled away while he ordered an omelet for himself, a fresh fruit cup and a toasted bagel for her.
The order stilled her flying fingers. He knew her so well, she thought with a gulp. Her breakfast routine. Her love affair with classical music, which he’d struggled so valiantly—and unsuccessfully—to share. He also sympathized with her ferocious battle to keep the ten pounds she’d gained since their first meeting from inching up to fifteen, twenty. Not that he’d minded the extra padding. That time in Vegas, when he’d peeled off her bra and panties and slicked his tongue over...
Whoa! This wasn’t the time or the place to think about where his tongue had gone. Heart hammering, Kate went back to working the phone’s tiny keyboard.
“Aha!”
“Aha?” Travis echoed, shooting up a brow. “Does that carry the same connotation as ‘gadzooks’?”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t read comic books, like some people do.”
“More than some. Google ‘manga’ and see how far back that cultural tradition goes.”
“Do you want to hear this or not?”
He surrendered gracefully. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Bologna is home to Cassa di Molino, one of Italy’s largest banks. It was organized back in the 1800s by a commission of wealthy patrons to manage the city’s poorhouses. The commission also encouraged better-off citizens to save by offering them a safe place to deposit funds they could draw on in emergencies or old age.”
Her fiscal interests fully engaged, Kate skimmed the article describing the minimum deposit—not less than six scudi—and loans tailored to craftsmen and merchants to stimulate the local economy.
“Back then the bank allocated all profits to helping young entrepreneurs, depositors who fell on hard times and women with no dowries.”
“I’m guessing it’s not as philanthropic these days.”
Ignoring the sardonic comment, she worked her thumbs. “And I think... Yes! Here he is, Antonio Gallo. The bank’s new president.”
She angled the phone to display a photo of a distinguished gentleman with a genial smile and a full head of silver hair.
“I met him at a conference last year. He mentioned then that he was being considered for a senior position. I didn’t remember where until just now, when you mentioned Bologna.”
“Sounds like a useful contact.”
“Very useful.”
“Since we’re heading in that direction anyway, why don’t you call and see if he’s available for a courtesy call?”
She hesitated for only a second or two. She hadn’t factored any business calls into her vacation schedule. Then again, neither had she planned a visit to Bologna. As Travis indicated, however, this was too good an opportunity to let slip.
So much for their carefully reconstructed agenda, she thought, as she Googled the number for the headquarters of Cassa di Molino. After speaking to several underlings, she reached Signore Gallo’s executive assistant, who advised that his boss’s schedule was quite full but a short visit at 11:20 a.m. might be possible if he juggled some other appointments. Could he call Signorina Westbrook back to confirm? And in the interim, perhaps she might email a short bio?
“Certainly.”
She gave him her contact information, then zinged off a copy of the bio she kept stored in her iCloud documents file.
“We’re tentatively set for eleven twenty. Can we make that?”
He checked his watch. “Shouldn’t be a problem if we hit the road within the next half hour.”
“I need to change. Can you get my bagel to go?”
“Sure. Or...”
“What?”
“Rather than drive up and back, we could check out here and go on to Venice after our meetings. Stop over in Florence on the return leg.”
He was right. It didn’t make a lot of sense to drive a hundred kilometers north, come back, then retrace the route a few days later on the way to Venice and Aviano. Conceding defeat, Kate mentally shredded their much-amended and totally useless itinerary.
“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed.
“You go change and pack. I’ll get our breakfast to go, throw my stuff together and meet you in the lobby.”
Upstairs, she hurriedly sorted through her limited wardrobe. The slinky caramel-colored pantsuit she’d worn for dinner at the Cavalieri was her most viable option. It would do for a business meeting if she dressed it down.
The chunky wooden necklace she’d brought to wear with the cotton tanks and sweaters was a little too down, though. What she needed was a scarf, she decided. One that could perform the double duty of adding a touch of sophistication to her wardrobe and keeping her hair from whipping free of the plastic clip during the drive. Remembering the many street vendors she’d seen set up close to the hotel last evening, she shimmied out of her jeans and into the knit slacks.
Signore Gallo’s assistant called to confirm the appointment as she was pulling on a pearly tank. Flinging an emergency makeup repair kit into her purse, she hurried down to the lobby. Travis was already there, holding his leather carryall and a cardboard tray with two to-go cups and a bag she assumed contained their breakfast. He was wearing the gray suede sport coat and jeans again but had paired them with a very European-looking
