The Killer in My Eyes by Giorgio Faletti Page A

tell you? Is he great or what?’
    ‘Absolutely extraordinary.’
    ‘And there’s more – a little surprise. That’s why I wanted you to come. Guess where we’re going for dinner?’
    ‘Marta, I don’t think I—’
    ‘Maureen, your father owns one of the best restaurants in Rome, probably in the whole of Italy. You’re my friend, and by some incredible conjunction of the stars, this evening I even managed to persuade you to come out. In your opinion, where else could I take a brilliant American who’s hungry, in every sense of the word, for Old Europe?’
    Marta wouldn’t take no for an answer. She was in charge this evening, and that was it.
    They waited outside Connor’s dressing room for him to change, and after the introductions, Marta led them towards a dark Lancia Thesis waiting for them outside the theatre. She sat down next to the driver, leaving Maureen and Connor sitting side by side in the back. They had started talking and getting to know each other as they moved through the traffic of Rome towards her father’s restaurant in the Via Dei Gracchi.
    ‘How come you speak English so well?’ Connor asked her. ‘You sound more American than I do.’
    ‘My mother’s from New York.’
    ‘And she not only lives in Rome but has you as a daughter? What a lucky woman.’
    ‘Not exactly. She and my father are divorced. She went back to live in the United States.’
    From the front seat Marta butted into the conversation in her Roman-accented English. ‘You may have heard of her mother. She’s a very well-known lawyer. Her name’s Mary Ann Levallier.’
    Connor had turned to her. ‘
The
Mary Ann Levallier?’
    ‘That’s right.’
    From her tone of voice, Connor quickly gathered that this wasn’t a subject to pursue. He opened the car window a little, as if to relax the slight tension inside the car: a touch of sensitivity that made him rise in Maureen’s estimation. She had known other people in showbusiness, especially musicians, and had never felt especially attracted to them, coming to the reluctant conclusion that few of them were as good as their music.
    Connor smiled. ‘Well, you know what I do for a living. How about you?’
    In her excitement, Marta had tried to answer for her. ‘Oh, Maureen’s a—’
    From the back seat, Maureen had stopped her with a glance before she could launch into a sales pitch.
    ‘Maureen’s a . . . a really bright girl.’
    At that point, they had arrived at the restaurant, and all conversation ceased. Once inside, Maureen and her friends were warmly greeted by the head waiter, Alfredo, who had been there forever and had known her since she was a child.
    ‘Hello, Maureen,’ he said, embracing her. ‘What a surprise! Having you here is a real event. A pity your father is away. He’s in France right now, selecting wine. I hope you’ll accept this poor old man in exchange . . .’
    He led them to a table, and she and Connor found themselves sitting opposite each other.
    Over dinner, they had continued talking. As the conversation flowed and became increasingly intimate, Marta, bless her heart, had discreetly faded into the back ground. Maureen remembered the exact moment when Connor finally captured her heart. It was when she asked him what kind of music he listened to.
    ‘My own.’
    ‘Nothing else?’
    ‘No.’
    Maureen had looked at him, trying to read vanity and conceit in his eyes. And all she found was the serene gaze of a man who knew he had everything he needed.
    ‘But it isn’t easy music to listen to,’ she said gently.
    ‘Nothing’s easy. Maybe I’m not easy either.’
    ‘Then your success shows that people aren’t as stupid as we think.’
    Connor had smiled in amusement, as if at a joke he had been mulling over for some time. ‘They aren’t as stupid as we think – and they’re never as intelligent as we’d like.’
    Since that moment, they had hardly been out of each other’s sight.
     
    The telephone rang in the bedroom,