The Quest: A Novel

were strolling on the broad Via dei Fori Imperiali. The Christmas decorations, such as they were, were mostly of the religious type, and there was no sign of Santa or his reindeer.
    They held hands and didn’t speak much as they took in the city and its people. Vivian said, “This is what I pictured when I received your romantic letter.”
    “I didn’t know what tone to use.”
    “So you wrote it as a news release. If it wasn’t for your P.S., I’d still be in Geneva.”
    “I know.”
    “Well, I don’t blame you for being angry.”
    “Why should you?”
    “I know I shouldn’t have left under false pretenses. And I’m sorry for that. But I couldn’t face you… and say…”
    “Drop it.”
    She squeezed his hand and said, “I kept thinking to myself, ‘Get thee to a nunnery, Vivian. Go think this out.’ ”
    “Good. Let’s move on. Avanti.”
    “I feel cleansed now, and pure.”
    “We’ll take care of that later.”
    She laughed and they continued on. She asked him, “What is the most romantic spot in the city?”
    “My room.”
    “Second most.”
    “I’ll show you.”
    They walked around the Vittorio Emanuele monument, then up the steps of the Campidoglio to the piazza at the top of the ancient Capitoline Hill where dozens of hand-holding couples strolled past the museums and around the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius.
    Purcell led her to a spot at the edge of the hill that looked out over the floodlit Forum below and at the Palatine Hill rising above the Forum ruins, with the Colosseum in the distance.
    Vivian said, “Breathtaking.”
    “We’ll come back here after Ethiopia.”
    “We will come back.”
    They descended the long flight of steps down the hill and walked back to the hotel.

Chapter 21
    P urcell picked up his room phone and called Henry at his office to inform him that Vivian was in Rome, though he didn’t say when she’d arrived, or where she was staying, and Henry didn’t ask. Had he asked, Purcell would have told him that Vivian was in the shower.
    Henry suggested lunch at a restaurant called Etiopia, which he thought would be a fitting place for their reunion. Purcell didn’t think so, but he took down the address, which Henry said was near the Termini. Henry further suggested that he, Henry, meet Vivian there at 12:30, and that Purcell join them at one—or even later.
    Purcell wasn’t sure he liked that arrangement, but he’d leave it up to Vivian.
    Later, as he and Vivian began a morning walk, he told her about his call to Mercado, and about lunch.
    He thought she might want to return to the hotel to change out of her jeans, sweatshirt, and hiking boots for lunch with her old boyfriend, but she said, “I’m all right with that. If you are.”
    “I’m okay.” He informed her, “It’s an Ethiopian restaurant.”
    “That’s Henry.”
    It was a warm and sunny morning, and it was the Saturday before Christmas, so traffic was light and the city seemed to be in a holiday mood.
    They walked through the Campo de’ Fiori, which made Purcell think of his advice to Jean, which in turn made him think of Henry sending Jean to his table under false pretenses. Henry Mercado, Purcell understood, was a manipulator and a man who knew how to compromise other people. But Henry was also a gentleman of the old school, and Henry would not mention Jean to Vivian. Unless it suited his purpose.
    They then walked to the Trevi Fountain, made their secret wishes, and tossed their coins over their shoulders into the water, which according to tradition guaranteed that they’d return to Rome someday.
    At 11:30, Purcell suggested they head toward Etiopia—the restaurant, not the country.
    Their route took them past the Termini, Rome’s central rail station, around which was Rome’s only sizeable black neighborhood, whose residents were mostly from the former Italian colonies of Ethiopia, Eritrea, and Somalia. The area around the Termini was crowded with African street vendors whose native wares were spread out on blankets.
    As they walked, Purcell asked Vivian, “Are you still all right with this meeting?”
    She nodded, but he could see she was apprehensive. The last time Vivian had seen Henry was when they’d gotten off Getachu’s helicopter in Addis Ababa. The flight from Getachu’s camp to Addis had been made mostly in silence, except for Gann telling them that as foreigners and journalists, the worst they could expect was a show trial, a conviction, and expulsion