Rome in Love by Anita Hughes Page B

cheese, a bunch of green grapes.”
    Philip picked out ricotta cheese and a rind of Gouda. He bought baskets of raspberries and apricots. He selected a warm baguette and thinly sliced salami and a jar of black olives.
    “Salami is okay as long as you both eat it.” Max trailed behind him, popping olives in his mouth. “Haven’t you ever been on a picnic?”
    “Daphne was more interested in dining at Per Se or Tribecca Grill, she didn’t like getting grass stains on her skirt,” Philip replied.
    “You’ve been in Rome for three years,” Max persisted. “Haven’t you ever taken a girl to the Borghese Gardens and spent the afternoon making daisy chains in the grass?”
    Philip added a bunch of white tulips to his basket. “There haven’t been any girls, except the KLM flight attendant. She was always in too much of a hurry to eat.”
    “No women?” Max gaped.
    “I’ve been trying to earn a living.” Philip frowned. “We can’t all trade on our blue eyes and blond hair.”
    “You need a vintage Bordeaux to start the conversation, a chocolate torte to whet her appetite, and a jar of whipped cream.”
    “Whipped cream?” Philip repeated.
    Max tossed the jar in the basket. “If you’re with a woman, you can always use whipped cream.”
    *   *   *
    Philip stood in his kitchen, gazing at the bottle of French wine and pancetta and soft cheeses. He took out his wallet and counted out notes. He had spent almost forty euros and didn’t know if Amelia would show up.
    He poured a glass of orange juice and pictured Amelia wearing his white shirt. He saw her eating muesli and sliced bananas and washing it down with milk. It was bad enough he was lying about his intentions; he didn’t want to pack a fancy picnic of foods he’d never tasted.
    He opened the fridge and took out a loaf of wheat bread. He sliced red tomatoes and thick strips of bacon. He rinsed a head of lettuce and opened a jar of mustard. He rolled up his sleeves and started to make a sandwich.

 
    chapter nine
    Amelia poured a cup of English breakfast tea and added milk and honey. She had never been a tea drinker but she loved the way the Hassler served it: on a sterling silver tray with a fresh lemon rind and a selection of scones and biscuits. She put the cup on the white Limoges plate and walked to the window.
    It had been raining for two days and Sheldon had to cancel production. Sophie asked Amelia to accompany her to the Vatican but she didn’t want to spend the day wrapped in a scarf and sunglasses, hiding behind a program. She decided to stay in the Villa Medici Suite, drinking milky tea and reading Audrey Hepburn’s letters.
    She sat on the ivory silk sofa and gazed at the stack of yellowed paper. She knew she should tell someone about the letters, a museum or Audrey’s family. But she couldn’t stop turning the pages. She picked up the top letter and read out loud.
    June 10, 1952
    Dear Kitty,
    Oh, Kitty! Today I was sure I would be fired; I was ready to call Gil and tell him I’d arrive in New York early. I could start rehearsing Gigi in August instead of waiting for the end of September. I pictured New York City in the summer, the heat rising from the sidewalk, the rehearsal room without air-conditioning, and I burst out crying.
    The last few days had been going so well. I was terrified of Gregory Peck at first, he is so tall and when his brow knots together I think I’ve done something wrong. But he is a gentleman, going over my lines and bringing me cheese Danishes.
    Even Mr. Wyler has been kind, complimenting me on my European accent. He said he didn’t know how Princess Ann should talk until I opened my mouth, and then he couldn’t imagine her sounding like anything else. I took his praise and wrapped myself in it like a blanket.
    But today something terrible happened. We were rehearsing the final scene where I say good-bye to Joe at the Roman Forum. I imagined the most terrible things, but I couldn’t shed a