outstretched hand with the bun full of Italian goodies. Food was love. All the while I studied her portrait of me. It was better than the first one and yet it was still miles wrong. She had romanticized my features. I was staring at someone else, a Hollywood mirror of myself.

"Still not satisfied?”

"Yes, more. Distinctly better."

"You're a hard man to please. You'll come up to my pensione and I'll do a real portrait of you.”

"You're very talented . . .”

.

"Thank you," she whispered, almost too quickly, as if she were afraid I might take it back.

The crackling of thunder interrupted our awkward pause. We hadn't noticed the sun had gone. The sky had darkened with late afternoon clouds. We were about to have a squall. We threw all our things into her all-purpose bag and darted for cover under the arched fountain we had explored earlier that afternoon. We stood protected from the elements, surrounded by the drumming of cascading waters. She held my hand tightly. We were two little children facing the storm, eager and bright-eyed, hiding in a shelter. The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started. A tiny rainbow radiated across the waters of the fountain.

"Look," she said, and kissed me, furtively on the cheek, muttering something which I figured out later was "Baby face."

I kissed her on the mouth and held her. She pretended to be surprised. Then she looked up at me gratefully. Finally she allowed herself to relax and be there, next to me, without a mental reaction. For a moment we allowed our instincts to take over for us and forgot our awkwardness. We heard the voice of an approaching couple. We laughed and wended our way slowly back to the train. The din of cascading water echoed in our ears all the way back to Rome.

Later that night we were back at the same restaurant. We had had a devil of a time finding it. In my dreams, ever since, I am walking along those side streets in Roma antica, searching with my mind's eye for the little courtyard which leads to the sprawling restaurant imperceptibly, as if it had sprung up there over night for the pleasure of itinerant passers by. We managed to get the same table with the splendid view of the narrow streets below a noble Roman sky. The waiter brought soave without our asking for it. The boy who sang was there and winked to both of us as if sharing some secret with us. The excitement of seeing him added something to the pleasure of being there. If I had been there alone, it might have been the beginning of a skirmish. But Joanna was there and I felt protected. When he picked up my lavish tip, he gave me one of those smouldering looks Italians can muster for money when it has an overtone of sensualita.

"Are you all right?" she asked, bringing me back to her.

"Of course. Aren't you?"

"You know, we've known each other for about a week and we've never told each other about ourselves."

"I know. That's one of the nicest things about knowing you. We've not been bogged down by facts."

"How long will you be staying in Rome, Roy?"

"As long as I need to."

26