The Lost Prince by Michael Mewshaw

Author:Michael Mewshaw
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781640091504
Publisher: Counterpoint
Published: 2018-11-14T05:00:00+00:00

12

In June, before I decamped to Florida to cover the Benson murder trial, the Conroys landed in Rome in time for a farewell dinner and the next day helped carry our luggage down to the taxi for the airport. They had rented a duplex penthouse on Piazza Farnese, and from the rooftop terrace they had commanding views of the Campidoglio in one direction and in the other the dome of St. Peter’s, which French author Henry de Montherlant called “the candle-snuffer of western thought.” Pat savored that quote.

The front windows opened onto the piazza embossed like a silver medallion on the centro storico’s breast. Two Egyptian fountains, pilfered from the Baths of Caracalla, babbled as pleasantly as brooks. Off to the left loomed the Palazzo Farnese, a sublime example of Renaissance style, its upper facade designed by Michelangelo. Currently it housed the French Embassy.

The scene enjoyed by the Conroys was seldom static; it altered by the hour. In the morning, the Caffe Farnese set out tables, unfurled its umbrellas, and sold the best cornetti in town. Then an old man in a peaked hat pretended to be a parking lot attendant, pocketing a few lire from each motorist. By evening, weather permitting, young couples congregated on the ledge in front of the French Embassy. At first they confined themselves to kissing and caressing. But as darkness fell, they stretched out full-length, convinced of their impregnability under the watchful gaze of armed guards and surveillance cameras.

In an adjoining piazza, Campo dei Fiori, Lenore did the daily shopping, undaunted by her comic-opera Italian. She spoke to merchants with great brio, and even though she suspected what she said was not just ungrammatical, but obscene, she generally brought home what she needed. She was devoted to an establishment she called Fratelli Ladri, the Robber Brothers, where the owners scolded her for pawing at the produce and smudging her fingerprints on the canned goods. She didn’t care. She liked that they remembered her name and sang out, “Ben tornata,” as if she were a family member.

While I was in Florida, we corresponded regularly, and to my dismay, Pat’s and Lenore’s letters sounded no less anguished than those they had sent from Atlanta.

“I believe having hit rock bottom,” Lenore wrote, “with no place to go but up, we are on the mend. The biggest problem has been the frustration of dealing with our rotten two-faced landlord, but today the SIP people made a live appearance in our apartment to deliver 2 (count ’em!) new telephones. I’m confident that by the time we do have [a working phone] we will have fully adjusted to not having one and most of our friends’ telephones will be guasto.” (broken)

Some of her unhappiness, Lenore revealed, derived from the news that Steve and Joan Geller intended to divorce. Because life in Rome often resembled a marriage afflicted with hysterical shouting matches and passionate reconciliations, the last thing anyone could abide was for the turmoil in the streets to invade a home.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.