2
One evening in late June, after almost two months in Italy, I found myself in a small café overlooking the lazily flowing Arno. It was a warm and beautiful evening and sitting on the sunny patio, for a moment I forgot what had recently happened and thoroughly enjoyed this moment of peace, smoking and drinking a cup of coffee.
I must have dozed off slightly because I had not seen the young man arrive and only when he spoke to me, was I aware of his presence.
"Scusi, Sir! Averi fuoco?" he asked, dictionary tucked into his pocket. I glanced around to see if he meant me and realised, I was the only other person there.
"Yes," I answered, handing him my packet of matches.
"Grazie."
"You are welcome."
"No need to speak English on my account, io parlare suo lingua per la quale."
"Sir, I am afraid, your Italian is far better than mine, so if you don't mind, I'd prefer to stick to English."
"You are an Englishman!" he cried out in surprise. I had to stop myself from nodding and instead gently shook my head.
"Actually, I am Norwegian, but my parents have moved to England when I was but a small boy. Hendrik Sigerson is the name."
"Pleasure. Henry Bertram." he held out his hand and I took it.
Sitting down opposite of me he ordered a cappuccino as well and lit his cigarette.
"So, how long have you been here, then?" he inquired curiously, but with an undertone of worry which was hard to miss.
"A few weeks," I answered evasively.
"Hm!" for a moment he only sat opposite of me, smoking, and then, with the arrival of his coffee, he seemed to have made a decision.
"I arrived three days ago. If you've been here a while, you did not happen to come across an English girl named Mary Bertram?"
"Your sister?"
He nodded. "Yes, my sister. So you did meet her?" he asked eagerly.
"I cannot recall that I did." I looked at the young man with sudden and instinctive interest.
He was not a tall man, 5'8 at most but muscular, obviously a sportsman. His face was sunburnt and covered in freckles as is quite common in people with red hair like his. He was clean-shaven and wore silver-framed glasses. I estimated his age at around twenty, rather a little under, than above. He was a neat fellow, his light linen suit flawless, aside from the bulge of his dictionary and an inconspicuous stain of ink on the inside of his left sleeve and on the side of his hand, indicating him as being left-handed. A small medallion, sporting an opened book and three crowns positioned around it, dangling from his watch chain, showing he was written in as a student at Oxford. I had to bite my lip not to blurt out with my deductions.
His expression had darkened with my answer and in an exasperated tone of voice, he remarked: "No-one seems to have seen her. We were due to meet here in Florence and now I end up looking for her whereabouts!"
"Do you think something has happened to her?" I enquired and could have kicked myself.
I got the feeling I was venturing into dangerous waters there, revealing too much about my person if I let myself be dragged into an investigation.
"Yes." he simply stated. "I tried the police, but they did not seem very interested. Said I should have a thorough look-around first myself, before bothering them."
Now he looked angry.
"So she arrived here before you? On her own?" I burst out, desperate to be of some use at last.
I was not meant to sit by idly when there were problems to be solved.
"Yes, they left England five weeks ago. She came here with a friend of hers from school and a teacher on an educational tour."
"And where are they?"
"That is the very thing, I do not know."
"Have you tried to contact the school?"
"You think I should do that?" he looked at me in amazement.
"I think you should do so straight away, Mr Bertram. They might know, where they are and why your sister did not meet you as promised. After all, there might be a very simple solution to the mystery."
For some reason, I did not believe in what I was saying myself. If it were this simple the school would have contacted the girls family and her brother would not be running through Florence now, searching for her. I looked at the youth and almost regretted giving him this much hope. But then again, it was what he had needed to hear and it was unlikely, we would ever meet again. He soon had finished his drink and went to the next post office to do as I had suggested. And I? I put the matter out of my mind wondering if I should stay any longer in this stunning city or whether it was time for me to move on.
Almost dreading my lonely room at the hotel I walked on for another hour, strolling first along the river and then along the ever busy streets. I was tempted to remedy my loneliness at least for this one night but refrained from it in the end. It had never been a habit of mine to pay for the tenderness of a woman and I was not about to start. A friendless home and an empty bed it would be once again for me.