one?’
‘Oh. Yes. Thanks.’ I normally didn’t drink alcohol during the day. Even one glassmade me want to sleep away the afternoon, but what the hell, this was a holiday. Besides, it was the convivial thing to do, and I was interested in finding out a little about Annita.
She poured us both a beer and joined me at the table. ‘I do not put this on the bill,’ she said and smiled conspiratorially. I smiled back, I liked the woman.
We toasted each other with our beers and dived into the sandwiches. She ate vigorously and healthily, and I liked that too.
When I complimented her on the food, Annita nodded. ‘Yes, it is very good,’ she agreed and we munched together companionably.
‘How long have you been at the Hotel Visconti?’ I asked when I’d finished my first bread roll and decided that I couldn’t possibly manage another.
‘Four years. I like it here.’ She took a swig of her beer and picked up her second sandwich. The woman could certainly eat.
‘You work very hard.’
‘Yes.’ She smiled as her jaws worked overtime. ‘What would Umberto do without me, eh?’ My consensus was so obvious that she hastily added, ‘Oh, I do not mind,’ in case I had misunderstood. ‘Umberto, he is so …’ She searched fondly for the right words. ‘Innocent … so … naive. He was left the villa by his aunt, and he knows nothing of hotels.’ She shrugged modestly. ‘I help him as much as I can.’
I decided it was better not to voice my views of her employer. Neither ‘innocent’ nor ‘naive’ were words I would choose to apply to Umberto.
‘Have you lived in England?’ I asked, safely changing the subject. When she looked quizzically at me, I added, ‘Your English is perfect, I wondered whether perhaps –’
‘Ah. Yes …’ She took another large bite of her sandwich and kept talking. She was one of those women who could do so with style. ‘Many years ago I was hostess for Alitalia. It was necessary that I speak good English.’ Then she added, as if for my instruction, ‘Thehostess is now called “air steward”.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘I was senior hostess,’ she continued. ‘I was in charge of the cabin crew, I was very good.’ It was no boast, simply a statement, and I wasn’t in the least surprised. It certainly explained her air of authority.
‘Why did you leave?’ I asked.
She put down the remains of her sandwich and, in the silence that followed, finished chewing, swallowed, leaned across the table and announced solemnly, ‘I was hijacked by terrorists.’
I didn’t know what to say. ‘Really?’ I managed.
‘Yes.’ She was staring steadfastly at me and I found myself, mesmerised, staring back. ‘Terrorists hijacked our aircraft. I was kept hostage for three days. It was terrible.’
Again, I didn’t know what to say, but my eyes remained locked with hers.
‘They let many people go, but not me. The pilot and the co-pilot and several of the crew, they would not let us go. They kept us prisoner. For three days and nights.’
I waited with bated breath for her to continue, but she looked away, glancing towards the door, as if she feared someone might overhear, and when her eyes returned to mine, they held a haunted look. ‘For a whole year after, I had therapy,’ she whispered and again she glanced away, this time in all directions, clearly fearing the walls may have ears, ‘and now my personality is different.’ When she looked back the haunted look had gone and there was sheer madness in her eyes. ‘I like the Hotel Visconti. Here is safe for me.’
We sat in silence for a moment. Then she rose smartly from the table. ‘You do not want another sandwich?’ I shook my head. ‘I will clear the table.’ The madness had vanished as quickly as it had manifested itself and, within seconds, Annita had efficiently cleared the table and disappeared.
I took the glass of beer up to my room, lay on the bed and tried to read The History of the National Theatre ,
‘Oh. Yes. Thanks.’ I normally didn’t drink alcohol during the day. Even one glassmade me want to sleep away the afternoon, but what the hell, this was a holiday. Besides, it was the convivial thing to do, and I was interested in finding out a little about Annita.
She poured us both a beer and joined me at the table. ‘I do not put this on the bill,’ she said and smiled conspiratorially. I smiled back, I liked the woman.
We toasted each other with our beers and dived into the sandwiches. She ate vigorously and healthily, and I liked that too.
When I complimented her on the food, Annita nodded. ‘Yes, it is very good,’ she agreed and we munched together companionably.
‘How long have you been at the Hotel Visconti?’ I asked when I’d finished my first bread roll and decided that I couldn’t possibly manage another.
‘Four years. I like it here.’ She took a swig of her beer and picked up her second sandwich. The woman could certainly eat.
‘You work very hard.’
‘Yes.’ She smiled as her jaws worked overtime. ‘What would Umberto do without me, eh?’ My consensus was so obvious that she hastily added, ‘Oh, I do not mind,’ in case I had misunderstood. ‘Umberto, he is so …’ She searched fondly for the right words. ‘Innocent … so … naive. He was left the villa by his aunt, and he knows nothing of hotels.’ She shrugged modestly. ‘I help him as much as I can.’
I decided it was better not to voice my views of her employer. Neither ‘innocent’ nor ‘naive’ were words I would choose to apply to Umberto.
‘Have you lived in England?’ I asked, safely changing the subject. When she looked quizzically at me, I added, ‘Your English is perfect, I wondered whether perhaps –’
‘Ah. Yes …’ She took another large bite of her sandwich and kept talking. She was one of those women who could do so with style. ‘Many years ago I was hostess for Alitalia. It was necessary that I speak good English.’ Then she added, as if for my instruction, ‘Thehostess is now called “air steward”.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘I was senior hostess,’ she continued. ‘I was in charge of the cabin crew, I was very good.’ It was no boast, simply a statement, and I wasn’t in the least surprised. It certainly explained her air of authority.
‘Why did you leave?’ I asked.
She put down the remains of her sandwich and, in the silence that followed, finished chewing, swallowed, leaned across the table and announced solemnly, ‘I was hijacked by terrorists.’
I didn’t know what to say. ‘Really?’ I managed.
‘Yes.’ She was staring steadfastly at me and I found myself, mesmerised, staring back. ‘Terrorists hijacked our aircraft. I was kept hostage for three days. It was terrible.’
Again, I didn’t know what to say, but my eyes remained locked with hers.
‘They let many people go, but not me. The pilot and the co-pilot and several of the crew, they would not let us go. They kept us prisoner. For three days and nights.’
I waited with bated breath for her to continue, but she looked away, glancing towards the door, as if she feared someone might overhear, and when her eyes returned to mine, they held a haunted look. ‘For a whole year after, I had therapy,’ she whispered and again she glanced away, this time in all directions, clearly fearing the walls may have ears, ‘and now my personality is different.’ When she looked back the haunted look had gone and there was sheer madness in her eyes. ‘I like the Hotel Visconti. Here is safe for me.’
We sat in silence for a moment. Then she rose smartly from the table. ‘You do not want another sandwich?’ I shook my head. ‘I will clear the table.’ The madness had vanished as quickly as it had manifested itself and, within seconds, Annita had efficiently cleared the table and disappeared.
I took the glass of beer up to my room, lay on the bed and tried to read The History of the National Theatre ,
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