thousands.
“Specifically, I’m looking,” said the professor, “for a statue of Cupid.”
5 “Could I get you something to drink?”
6 “Please, a real Italian coffee for my husband. A double espresso. And an American breakfast. Bacon and waffles.”
7 Punctilious.
Chapter Five: The Bohemian Loves of the Scapigliati
Gavin yanked the laptop from his travel bag. Normally, he never used his laptop when eating with others. He vastly preferred to listen to table talk. Gavin learned a lot about the future from people’s passing, unguarded remarks.
But this business about a mysterious bronze statue had the smell of a hustle to him. Gavin wasn’t the kind of guy who looked around for dishonest people. Still, the tech investment biz had plenty of crooks. Too many to miss.
Gavin felt sort-of okay about the cute, curly-haired Italian translator. Somehow, the translator had managed to marry him before breakfast. That was a freak occurrence. But, it wasn’t hurting anyone.
However, when an older woman also arrived — and these two women knew each other, somehow? They wanted to work together, searching for mysterious treasure statues of Cupid? How likely was a set-up like that? High time for a major fact-check.
“So, professor, I’m sure that Farfalla and I can help you out,” Gavin said smoothly, waiting for his computer to connect to the hotel’s wireless. “In Seattle, we have this Microsoft service called ‘Bing.’ In comparison tests, it works better than Google. Did you ever try ‘Bing,’ Farfalla?”
Farfalla shook her tousled head. Farfalla Corrado had intense, almost frightening dark eyes, but beautiful glossy, black hair. Splendid Italian fashion-girl hair.
“I never use computers,” declared Professor Milo, primly.
“Really? You don’t use computers?”
“I assure you it true, young man. I don’t even own a computer.”
“How do you even survive? How is that even possible ?”
“I have a typewriter. It’s a very nice Olivetti ‘Valentine.’ It has worked for me since 1968.”
“Okay, how do you spell ‘Amelie Rives Troubetzkoy?’”
Professor Milo spelled out the name of the female Virginian novelist. This effort took her quite a while. To his surprise, Gavin quickly discovered that the “Princess Amelie Rives Troubetzkoy” had been a real person. She was not a ghost, phantom, or Internet fake. Amelie Rives Troubetzkoy was an actual historical personage.
The Princess had once lived in historic Castle Hill, the home of the aristocratic Rives family near Charlottesville, Virginia.
Gavin tapped at the hotlinks and rapidly clicked on the resulting pop-up boxes.
“There was a soughing rain asweep that night,” Gavin read aloud from his screen, “with no wind to drive it, yet it ceased and fell, sighed and was hushed incessantly, as by some changing gale.”
“That’s the opening line of Amelie’s most famous novel!” said Professor Milo. She turned to Farfalla. “That novel was called The Quick or the Dead? With a question mark.”
“Well,” asked Farfalla, with a practical tilt to her glossy, tangled head, “was the princess quick or was she dead?”
“She’s dead,” said Gavin. “Born in 1863, died in 1945. Her books are in the public domain now. So, Professor, you’re saying this famous novelist once lived here on Capri? Along with this Russian prince that she married?”
“Yes. Amelie lived here, on Capri. But it’s not a simple story. Amelie was a princess, because she married a prince, but Prince Pierre Troubetzkoy was not just any Russian prince. Pierre was Russian and also American, because his mother was an American actress. The Prince’s father was Russian. But in his heart, Prince Pierre Troubetzkoy was Italian.”
Gavin thought this over. “So, this charming Prince was Italian, American, and Russian? A hundred years ago? How was that supposed to work? That’s unbelievable.”
Farfalla spoke up. “I’m an
“Specifically, I’m looking,” said the professor, “for a statue of Cupid.”
5 “Could I get you something to drink?”
6 “Please, a real Italian coffee for my husband. A double espresso. And an American breakfast. Bacon and waffles.”
7 Punctilious.
Chapter Five: The Bohemian Loves of the Scapigliati
Gavin yanked the laptop from his travel bag. Normally, he never used his laptop when eating with others. He vastly preferred to listen to table talk. Gavin learned a lot about the future from people’s passing, unguarded remarks.
But this business about a mysterious bronze statue had the smell of a hustle to him. Gavin wasn’t the kind of guy who looked around for dishonest people. Still, the tech investment biz had plenty of crooks. Too many to miss.
Gavin felt sort-of okay about the cute, curly-haired Italian translator. Somehow, the translator had managed to marry him before breakfast. That was a freak occurrence. But, it wasn’t hurting anyone.
However, when an older woman also arrived — and these two women knew each other, somehow? They wanted to work together, searching for mysterious treasure statues of Cupid? How likely was a set-up like that? High time for a major fact-check.
“So, professor, I’m sure that Farfalla and I can help you out,” Gavin said smoothly, waiting for his computer to connect to the hotel’s wireless. “In Seattle, we have this Microsoft service called ‘Bing.’ In comparison tests, it works better than Google. Did you ever try ‘Bing,’ Farfalla?”
Farfalla shook her tousled head. Farfalla Corrado had intense, almost frightening dark eyes, but beautiful glossy, black hair. Splendid Italian fashion-girl hair.
“I never use computers,” declared Professor Milo, primly.
“Really? You don’t use computers?”
“I assure you it true, young man. I don’t even own a computer.”
“How do you even survive? How is that even possible ?”
“I have a typewriter. It’s a very nice Olivetti ‘Valentine.’ It has worked for me since 1968.”
“Okay, how do you spell ‘Amelie Rives Troubetzkoy?’”
Professor Milo spelled out the name of the female Virginian novelist. This effort took her quite a while. To his surprise, Gavin quickly discovered that the “Princess Amelie Rives Troubetzkoy” had been a real person. She was not a ghost, phantom, or Internet fake. Amelie Rives Troubetzkoy was an actual historical personage.
The Princess had once lived in historic Castle Hill, the home of the aristocratic Rives family near Charlottesville, Virginia.
Gavin tapped at the hotlinks and rapidly clicked on the resulting pop-up boxes.
“There was a soughing rain asweep that night,” Gavin read aloud from his screen, “with no wind to drive it, yet it ceased and fell, sighed and was hushed incessantly, as by some changing gale.”
“That’s the opening line of Amelie’s most famous novel!” said Professor Milo. She turned to Farfalla. “That novel was called The Quick or the Dead? With a question mark.”
“Well,” asked Farfalla, with a practical tilt to her glossy, tangled head, “was the princess quick or was she dead?”
“She’s dead,” said Gavin. “Born in 1863, died in 1945. Her books are in the public domain now. So, Professor, you’re saying this famous novelist once lived here on Capri? Along with this Russian prince that she married?”
“Yes. Amelie lived here, on Capri. But it’s not a simple story. Amelie was a princess, because she married a prince, but Prince Pierre Troubetzkoy was not just any Russian prince. Pierre was Russian and also American, because his mother was an American actress. The Prince’s father was Russian. But in his heart, Prince Pierre Troubetzkoy was Italian.”
Gavin thought this over. “So, this charming Prince was Italian, American, and Russian? A hundred years ago? How was that supposed to work? That’s unbelievable.”
Farfalla spoke up. “I’m an
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