Italian-American-Brazilian.”
“You’re not believable, either.”
Farfalla tugged at a lock of her witch hair. “Well, I don’t think you are believable.”
“Come on, I’m believable! I’m plausible, even!” Using his Bing image search, Gavin found a picture of Amelie Troubetzkoy. He turned his screen around to his companions. “Look, here she is, your princess, big as life.”
Professor Milo pulled tortoise-shell bifocals from her handbag. “That tiny little picture isn’t as ‘big as life!’ I saw that painting at the National Portrait Gallery. The painting is four feet tall.”
“But this is a real image of Amelie’s portrait. I just found it on the Internet. This proves that she’s real.”
“The Internet is virtual,” said Farfalla. “The Internet isn’t real.’”
Gavin had to smile. It was fun to get a witty zinger from a pretty Italian girl. Italy was a pretty country, and the prettiest things in it were pretty Italian girls with their look-at-me attitudes.
He caught her eye. She looked back boldly as if to say, “ Yes, American guy, you’re looking me over now, so what?” This sexy little exchange woke him up all over. Suddenly, Gavin felt very alive. This was a smart cookie, here. The world didn’t bake any cookies smarter than a smart Italian cookie. Wait a minute, he thought, this is actually happening to me . I’m not at home any more. I’m nine time zones away on the other side of the world.
At last, something refreshing and fun to distract him. His suspicions about a rip-off melted away. That was not what was going on here, they weren’t trying to steal anything from him. Something weird was going on.
The fuel of black Italian coffee hit him. It sent Gavin’s jetlag fleeing headlong. He was in the zone, deep in the moment.
The dining room glowed with Capri sunlight, gleaming off silver and crystal. Life seemed glorious suddenly. Life was sweet, funny, entertaining, and full of the unexpected. The sense of adventure touched him.
“So,” he said, finding his voice, “what did they do, this Princess and her Prince, here on Capri? How did they live?”
“Well,” the professor allowed, “they did so many things! Painting, of course. They were both painters. Writing poetry, playing the piano, riding horses, sailing the Blue Grotto, and exploring all the ruins. Capri was half-abandoned then — very wild and free.”
“Wow!” said Gavin. “That sounds so idyllic.”
“Idyllic and romantic, ” said the Professor. “Romance was their way of life. Before they came here, Capri wasn’t romantic, but after they left, it was romance itself. And Capri’s been romantic ever since!”
Gavin glanced at Farfalla. “Do you ever do things like that?”
Farfalla shrugged. “Me? I came to Capri to work.”
“Same here,” Gavin said, glancing at his watch. “And I have an important session I can’t miss today, at half past ten.”
“I don’t work, not anymore,” said Professor Milo, “because they told me that I’m retired! For me, to hunt in Capri for some old statue, that must seem silly to you people, but I have to do it. I feel the obligation! No one else is looking out for it.”
“You could use some help,” Gavin decided. “We can help you out with your quest, can’t we, Farfalla? At least till our future gets started.”
“Maybe. Yes.” Farfalla dug into her chamois-leather purse and pulled out her iPhone. “We can try to help.”
The Professor picked at her bowl of muesli, which brimmed over with nuts, fruits and flakes. “I have to tell you two that the statue has been lost since 1911. The ‘Cosmic Cupid’ was a gift from Prince Troubetzkoy to his wife. They bragged to the press about it, so it’s in the historical record. But, quite likely, that statue never existed. It was all romantic talk. It was never a real object. Not in the real world.”
Gavin consulted his laptop screen. “Bingo! I just found your ‘Prince Pierre
“You’re not believable, either.”
Farfalla tugged at a lock of her witch hair. “Well, I don’t think you are believable.”
“Come on, I’m believable! I’m plausible, even!” Using his Bing image search, Gavin found a picture of Amelie Troubetzkoy. He turned his screen around to his companions. “Look, here she is, your princess, big as life.”
Professor Milo pulled tortoise-shell bifocals from her handbag. “That tiny little picture isn’t as ‘big as life!’ I saw that painting at the National Portrait Gallery. The painting is four feet tall.”
“But this is a real image of Amelie’s portrait. I just found it on the Internet. This proves that she’s real.”
“The Internet is virtual,” said Farfalla. “The Internet isn’t real.’”
Gavin had to smile. It was fun to get a witty zinger from a pretty Italian girl. Italy was a pretty country, and the prettiest things in it were pretty Italian girls with their look-at-me attitudes.
He caught her eye. She looked back boldly as if to say, “ Yes, American guy, you’re looking me over now, so what?” This sexy little exchange woke him up all over. Suddenly, Gavin felt very alive. This was a smart cookie, here. The world didn’t bake any cookies smarter than a smart Italian cookie. Wait a minute, he thought, this is actually happening to me . I’m not at home any more. I’m nine time zones away on the other side of the world.
At last, something refreshing and fun to distract him. His suspicions about a rip-off melted away. That was not what was going on here, they weren’t trying to steal anything from him. Something weird was going on.
The fuel of black Italian coffee hit him. It sent Gavin’s jetlag fleeing headlong. He was in the zone, deep in the moment.
The dining room glowed with Capri sunlight, gleaming off silver and crystal. Life seemed glorious suddenly. Life was sweet, funny, entertaining, and full of the unexpected. The sense of adventure touched him.
“So,” he said, finding his voice, “what did they do, this Princess and her Prince, here on Capri? How did they live?”
“Well,” the professor allowed, “they did so many things! Painting, of course. They were both painters. Writing poetry, playing the piano, riding horses, sailing the Blue Grotto, and exploring all the ruins. Capri was half-abandoned then — very wild and free.”
“Wow!” said Gavin. “That sounds so idyllic.”
“Idyllic and romantic, ” said the Professor. “Romance was their way of life. Before they came here, Capri wasn’t romantic, but after they left, it was romance itself. And Capri’s been romantic ever since!”
Gavin glanced at Farfalla. “Do you ever do things like that?”
Farfalla shrugged. “Me? I came to Capri to work.”
“Same here,” Gavin said, glancing at his watch. “And I have an important session I can’t miss today, at half past ten.”
“I don’t work, not anymore,” said Professor Milo, “because they told me that I’m retired! For me, to hunt in Capri for some old statue, that must seem silly to you people, but I have to do it. I feel the obligation! No one else is looking out for it.”
“You could use some help,” Gavin decided. “We can help you out with your quest, can’t we, Farfalla? At least till our future gets started.”
“Maybe. Yes.” Farfalla dug into her chamois-leather purse and pulled out her iPhone. “We can try to help.”
The Professor picked at her bowl of muesli, which brimmed over with nuts, fruits and flakes. “I have to tell you two that the statue has been lost since 1911. The ‘Cosmic Cupid’ was a gift from Prince Troubetzkoy to his wife. They bragged to the press about it, so it’s in the historical record. But, quite likely, that statue never existed. It was all romantic talk. It was never a real object. Not in the real world.”
Gavin consulted his laptop screen. “Bingo! I just found your ‘Prince Pierre
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