The Liberation of Alice Love - Abby McDonald [76]
She’d really done it.
Alice felt a thrill of disbelief. One minute, she’d been staring listlessly at the view from her office, and now, mere hours later, she was driving through the outskirts of Rome. Her whole life, travel abroad had been such a careful, lengthy endeavor: weeks spent searching online for reviews and bargains, then the bookings and confirmations. Even her big backpacking adventure with Julian had required vast amounts of planning to make the most of their precious funds. But all along, it had been possible to just toss a few garments in a bag and be gone? The revelation somehow seemed startling to Alice: people actually lived this way. And now, she did too.
“You pick good time—the weather is molto bene.”
They were deep in the city now, speeding past busy open squares. Fountains and statues were strewn on almost every corner, lit up and glowing in the dark. Alice leaned farther out of the window, absorbing the fleeting glimpses of storefronts and street life as they drove, breakneck, through the disordered jumble of streets until at last they turned down a narrow, cobbled road. The driver slowed, easing past tightly parked cars and careless pedestrians before coming to a stop in front of a tall, slim townhouse. “The hotel, is here?”
Alice checked the name against Ella’s postcard; this was the place.
“Sì. Grazie.”
She paid with notes still crisp from the airport currency exchange and paused a moment on the front steps. It was a quiet neighborhood, she could tell, a world away from the central districts of chain hotels and all-night convenience stores. Here, the buildings were flat-fronted, packed together and elegantly crumbling beneath the antique streetlamps. Farther up the street, a few busy restaurants overflowed onto the pavement, spilling thick linens and laughter out into the night. As Alice watched, a crowd of young people strolled past, their crisp shirts, glossy handbags, and relaxed smiles radiating a foreign kind of ease.
Yes, this was the place. Ella wouldn’t have picked somewhere self-important, dripping marble and chandelier fittings—Alice knew that much by now. She liked things luxurious, true, but with character. As she stepped inside the polished lobby, Alice looked around carefully, as if seeing through Ella’s eyes. The dark green tiles on the floor, the quaint artworks and tiny curios beside plush couches, the collection of bronze owl figurines perched above the reception desk—she approved. They both did.
***
Her room was on the second floor: a small but well-proportioned space decorated in deep shades of red, with vintage maps framed in gold behind the enormous bed. Alice gazed around happily while Pascal, the night manager, placed her case carefully in the middle of the dark wood floor and presented her with an old-fashioned key.
“Please excuse,” he apologized. “But you must see Carina tomorrow, to check in properly. The computer is crashing all day.”
“That’s fine.” Alice nodded, making a note to become friendly with this Carina. She’d hoped for immediate information about Ella’s stay, but Pascal had given her a large, leather-bound guest book to sign in, and a surreptitious peek at the previous pages revealed only sporadic entries. Clearly, the main reservation system was locked in that sleek, flat-screened system.
Pascal must have mistaken her silence for disappointment, because he quickly toured the room, proudly showing off the tiny, cobalt-blue bathroom stocked with exclusive bath products and the small balcony, its railings twisted with fragrant flowers. Alice followed, silently applauding Ella’s exquisite taste, until he exhausted the range of delights on offer and looked at her eagerly from under wire-rimmed spectacles. “You need directions, for food? There are many trattorias nearby.”
“No, thank you,” Alice assured him, already feeling tiredness settle in her limbs. “I’ll just rest now, after the trip.”
“Very good.” The