I, Spy? (Sophie Green Mysteries, No. 1) (Sophie Green Mystery)

the days of the low-cost airline, I always thought being an air hostess must be the worst job. Like being a waitress in a tin can.
    “Always,” I said with as much sincerity as I could muster. “Ever since I was a little girl. It always looked so glamorous.”
    “I guess it still does,” Harvey said. “So, do you get to fly long-haul? Weekends in Maui, that sort of thing?”
    Oh, the bliss. But your average Ace crew went to Belfast and back five times a day and slept nowhere but at home. Alone.
    “Well, not so far with Ace. But I have my sights set on BA and Malaysian. I just adore their uniforms.”
    Harvey gave me a quizzical look. “Don’t you have to be, um, well, Asian to do that?”
    Do you? I had no idea. “Well, this is the twenty-first century,” I beamed. “So tell me about you. What are you doing here in Rome?”
    “Oh, business,” Harvey said with an easy smile.
    “What kind of business?”
    “I work for a cell phone company.”
    “Oh, really? Which one?” That reminded me. I needed to get out my phone, start praying I got overseas coverage, call Luke, and give him hell.
    “It’s a division of Eurotel. We’re setting up links with Europe, wider coverage, that sort of…”
    I listened politely as the taxi sped at a truly alarming rate through the pretty Roman streets. I swear, they drove like lemmings. Put your foot down and aim for your destination. Ten points if you hit an old lady. It’s a good job this is the HQ of a world religion, so none of the prayers have to go too far. Our driver seemed to consider a red light to be an advisory signal. Shall I stop? Eh, no, don’t feel like it today.
    We swung round the Coliseum like something out of The Italian Job and roared past some rearing ancient columns.
    “Wow,” I said, like Pretty Woman in that hotel.
    “It’s cool, huh?” Harvey said. “I think that was the Roman forum or something.”
    “Where Caesar was killed?”
    “I think so.”
    “So where’s this hotel?” I asked as the driver took another bend at about a hundred and twenty miles an hour. My palms were nearly bleeding from digging my nails in.
    “The Piazza Trinità di Monti. Just off the Via Tritone?”
    I nodded like I understood.
    “It’s not far from the Trevi Fountain.”
    I nodded again.
    “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” Harvey said, laughing, and I blushed and shrugged.
    We pulled up and Harvey paid, which I was glad for, because I don’t understand Euros. I made a vague promise to pay him back and went rushing inside to the desk.
    It was all very grand.
    “ Inglese ?” I asked hopefully, and the immaculate woman at the desk nodded and smiled.
    “How can I help you?”
    “I’m looking for someone. A friend. He’s staying here… David Wright?”
    She nodded. “ Si . He has just checked in. Would you like to leave him a message?”
    I shook my head. “No, I just…” Damn it, Harvey was watching me and he’d be expecting me to hand over a camera. “Could you tell me his room number?” Probably I’d get told no, for security reasons.
    She flicked through her computer. “Twenty-seven.”
    So much for security.
    I nodded gratefully, then looked around for a second. I could never afford a place like this. There was marble everywhere.
    Harvey, meanwhile, was happily checking in, in fluent Italian, ordering English and American papers for the morning (I think, although he could really have been commenting on the weather. My Italian is pretty much limited to a Pizza Express menu), and taking his key. He glanced at me.
    “Where are you staying?”
    I shrugged. “I don't know yet.”
    “Don’t the crew have a hotel?”
    Actually, the crew were probably taking a return trip. Or possibly sleeping in the plane. Damn them. Damn Wright. Damn Luke.
    Yeah. It was all his fault.
    “Yeah, but I have to find my own. It’s a newbie thing, it’s like a, like a, an initiation thing.”
    He frowned. “What, are they like the Freemasons or something?”
    I gave a weak smile. “Yeah, something.”
    “Why don’t you stay here?”
    I’m afraid my eyes boggled.
    “I, uh…” I looked down at my rather shabby-looking uniform. How could I tell him there was no way on any of my salaries, real or fictional, that I could afford a place like this?
    “I can lend you some money,” Harvey said softly.
    It was a tempting prospect. But then how would I pay him back? I’d have to give him surety. I’d have to give him my address.