And Thereby Hangs a Tale Read online

  He’d only read a few more pages of Malgudi Days when the waitress reappeared and placed a large bowl of spaghetti and a glass of red wine in front of him.

  “Grazie,” he said, looking up briefly from his book.

  He became so involved in the story that he continued to read as he forked up his food until he suddenly realized his plate was empty. He put the book down and mopped up the remains of the thick tomato sauce with his last piece of bread, before devouring what remained of the olives. The waitress returned and removed his empty plate before handing him the menu.

  “Would you like anything else?” she asked in English.

  “I can’t afford anything else,” he admitted without guile, not even opening the menu for fear it might tempt him. “Il conto, per favore,” he added, giving her a warm smile.

  He was preparing to leave when the waitress reappeared carrying a large portion of tiramisu and an espresso. “But I didn’t order—” he began, but she put a finger to her lips and hurried away before he could thank her. Melanie had once told him it was his boyish charm, which made women want to mother him—a charm, which clearly no longer worked on Melanie.

  The tiramisu was delicious, and Richard even put his book down so he could fully appreciate the delicate flavors. As he sipped his coffee, he began to think about where he would spend the night. His thoughts were interrupted when the waitress returned with the bill. As he checked it, he realized she hadn’t charged him for the glass of house red. Should he draw her attention to the omission? Her smile suggested he shouldn’t.

  He handed her a ten-euro note and asked if she could recommend somewhere he might spend the night.

  “There are only two hotels in the village,” she told him. “And La Contessina” she hesitated—“might be . . .”

  “Out of my price range?” suggested Richard.

  “But the other one is not expensive, if a little basic.”

  “Sounds like my kind of place,” said Richard. “Is it far?”

  “Nothing is far in Monterchi,” she said. “Walk to the end of the via dei Medici, turn right, and you’ll find the Albergo Piero on your left.”

  Richard stood up, leaned over, and kissed her on the cheek. She blushed and hurried away, bringing to his mind Harry Chapin’s sad lyrics in the ballad, “A Better Place to Be.” He threw his rucksack over his shoulder and began to walk down via dei Medici. At the end he turned right and, as the waitress had promised, the hotel was on his left.

  He stood outside, uncertain if he could still afford a room now he was down to his last eighty-six euros. Through the glass door he could see a receptionist, head down, checking the register. She looked up, handed a waiting couple a large key, and a porter picked up their bags and led them to the lift.

  When he saw her for the first time, he didn’t dare take his eyes off her, for fear the mirage might disappear. She had flawless olive skin, long dark hair that curled up as it touched her slim, graceful shoulders, and large brown eyes that lit up when she smiled. Her dark tailored suit and white blouse had an elegance that Italian men take for granted and English women spend a fortune trying to emulate. She must have been round thirty, perhaps thirty-five, but she was graced with the kind of ageless beauty that made Richard wish he hadn’t only just graduated.

  Even if he couldn’t afford a room, nothing was going to stop him speaking to her. He pushed open the door, walked up to the counter, and smiled. She returned the compliment, which made her look even more radiant.

  “Vorrei una camera per la notte,” he said.

  She looked down at the register. “I’m sorry,” she replied in English, revealing only the slightest accent, “but we’re fully booked. In fact, the last room was taken just a few moments ago.”

  Richard glanced across at a row of keys dangling on hooks behind her. “Are you sure you don’t have anything?” he asked. “I don’t care how small the room is,” he added as he peered over the counter at a short list of upside-down names.

  Once again, she glanced down at the guest register. “No, I’m sorry,” she repeated. “One or two guests haven’t checked in yet, but I can’t release their rooms because they’ve paid in advance. Have you tried La Contessina? They may still have a room.”

  “Not one that I can afford,” said Richard.

  She nodded understandingly. “There’s an old lady who runs a guest house at the bottom of the hill, but you’ll have to hurry because she locks her door at eleven.”

  “Would you be kind enough to call her and ask if she has a room?”

  “She doesn’t have a phone.”

  “Perhaps I could spend the night in the lounge?” said Richard hopefully. “Would anyone notice?” He tried out the boyish grin Melanie had once assured him was irresistible.

  The receptionist frowned for the first time. “If the manager were to discover you were sleeping in the lounge, not only would she throw you out, but I’d probably lose my job.”

  “So it will have to be the nearest field,” he said.

  She looked at Richard more closely, leaned across the counter, and whispered, “Take the lift to the top floor and wait there. If any of the bookings don’t show up before midnight, you can have their room.”

  “Thank you,” said Richard, wanting to give her a hug.

  “You’d better leave your bag in reception,” she added without explanation.

  He took off his rucksack and she quickly placed it under the counter. “Thank you,” he repeated, before making his way across to the lift. When the door opened, the porter stepped out and stood to one side, giving Richard a warm smile as he entered it.

  The little lift whirred its way slowly up to the top floor and when he stepped out into a dark corridor that was lit by a single, uncovered bulb, Richard couldn’t believe he was still in the same hotel. As there wasn’t a chair to be seen, he hunched down on the well-trodden carpet, his back against the wall, already regretting that he hadn’t taken the book out of his rucksack. For a moment he considered returning to the lobby to retrieve it, but the thought of coming face to face with the manager and being thrown out onto the street was enough to convince him to stay put.

  After a few minutes he stood up and began to pace restlessly up and down the corridor, frequently checking his watch.

  When midnight struck on the town hall clock, he decided he’d rather sleep in the open air than hang round in that corridor a moment longer. He walked across to the lift, pressed the button and waited. When the doors finally opened, she was standing there, looking even more seductive in the half-light. She stepped out of the lift, took him by the hand, and led him along the corridor until they reached a door with no number. She placed a key in the lock, opened the door, and pulled him inside.

  Richard looked round a room that wasn’t much larger than his college study, and was almost completely taken up by a bed that was neither a single nor quite a double. The family photographs dotted round the walls suggested that this was where she lived. As there was only one small chair, he wondered where she expected him to sleep.

  “I won’t be a moment,” she said, and gave him that disarming smile again before disappearing into the bathroom. Richard sat down on the wooden chair and waited for her to reappear, not certain what he should do next. When he heard a shower being turned on, a hundred thoughts began to race through his head. He was thinking about Melanie, his first real girlfriend, when the bathroom door swung open. He hadn’t looked at another woman for the past two years. She stepped out, dressed in a bathrobe, the cord undone.

  “You look as if you need a shower,” she said, leaving the door open as she brushed past him.

  “Thank you,” he replied, and disappeared inside, closing the door behind him. Richard enjoyed the feeling of the warm water cascading down on him, and with the assistance of a bar of soap he slowly removed the dirt and grime of a long, hot, sweaty day. After he’d dried himself, he once again regretted leaving his rucksack downstairs, as he didn’t want to put his dirty clothes