The Storytellers by Robert Mercer-Nairne Page B

waiting.”
    It was probably only a five minute walk to the hotel, but Harvey was determined to do this in style. The lobby was a crush and not much better outside and he was anxious not to lose his mother. As he looked around he found himself staring at a familiar face just as the face was staring at him.
    â€œLady Graham!”
    â€œMr Mudd!”
    He was surprised she had remembered his name.
    â€œWaiting for your driver?”
    â€œNo, a taxi.”
    â€œHow many are you? I have a car here somewhere I hope.”
    â€œI am on my own.”
    â€œWell you must certainly let us give you a lift. This car of mine, if I can find it, is costing me a fortune!”
    Frances Graham threw her head back and laughed. She was not used to being amongst people who were concerned about the cost of things, especially hired cars.
    As Harvey stared through the crowd at the traffic jostling for position in front of the opera house, their limousine came into view. The large tip he had already handed over was working its magic. Quite unperturbed by the cussing and honking, the driver got out and held the door open for his customers.
    â€œIn you go, dear,” Sylvia instructed and followed Frances, leaving Harvey to take one of the seats facing them. “This is fun!” she said.
    â€œAl Grand, signore?” the driver asked. “Hotel, yes?”
    â€œIf you don’t mind, dear. It’s been a long day for me.”
    â€œOf course not,” Frances told her.
    â€œSo where are you staying?” asked Harvey. “I am sure the driver would be happy to take you anywhere you wanted.”
    â€œA flat near the Piazza dei Volontari. I don’t think it is too far.”
    â€œNon lontano – not far,” confirmed the driver. “ Ed ecco il Grand Hotel . We arrive!”
    â€œMother, this is Lady Graham.”
    â€œFrances, please!”
    â€œWell it’s very nice to meet you, dear. Now, Harvey, you must see this lady home. I’ll be quite all right.”
    Harvey excused himself and took his mother inside. But she was unusually firm and told him to get right back out as she wanted to sit in the lobby for a bit and watch the people, and yes, she was quite capable of getting the key to her room without him.
    Harvey slipped into the back seat beside Frances and the driver moved off. He could smell her scent and felt intoxicated.
    â€œThat was a wonderful production,” she said. “I am told Carlos Kleiber is a hard man to work for, but what a perfectionist!”
    â€œI read that his family left Austria for South America in 1940, at the start of the Second World War. He was called Karl then.”
    â€œYes,” she answered. “Such disruption. None of us really knows what lies around the corner, do we?”
    â€œI suppose not,” he agreed.
    â€œPretty,” she said looking out of the window, “but not half as lovely as Rome!”
    â€œAh, but the Milanese make the money. The Romans only know how to spend it!”
    â€œA characteristic of the cultured class!” she laughed.
    â€œDo you often go to the opera on your own?” he questioned.
    â€œQuite often. David, my husband, does not really like it. So ratherthan have him next to me fidgeting, I prefer to go alone or with a girlfriend.”
    â€œAnd to Milan?”
    â€œThis is only my second visit. David had a meeting here, so I thought I would make the most of it.”
    â€œWhat does your husband do, if you don’t mind me asking?”
    â€œHe’s a soldier, mostly. But he and his friends always have some scheme on the go. I tend to stay clear of all that.”
    â€œSounds interesting!”
    She just shrugged.
    â€œYou’re a journalist, aren’t you, Mr Mudd?”
    â€œHarvey, please. Yes, with The Sentinel .”
    â€œThat’s George Gilder, isn’t it?”
    â€œYou know him?” Harvey asked, somewhat surprised.
    â€œYes, he’s