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become livid. She hid them behind her back and the doctor returned to the car.
    â€˜Stubborn woman. She’s really set on bringing him home.’ Dr Martini started the car and released the hand brake, thumped a hand against the steering wheel and set off. Passed a car and turned onto the boulevard they had come from, abruptly pulled his foot off the accelerator. ‘The person whogave you the note today …’ He stared at Pietro. ‘Did anyone else in the building see her?’
    â€˜I was the only one there.’
    They stopped at a stop sign. The doctor faced his side window as he spoke. ‘If she comes back, don’t listen to her. Don’t let her in. And the same goes for the old man that you saw earlier at the hospital. Understood?’
    â€˜Understood.’
    â€˜If they do show up again, please let me know.’
    Pietro nodded, cleared his throat. ‘Do you have anything to do right now, Doctor?’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜Do you have anything to do right now?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Will you come with me somewhere?’

14
    Anita’s shop was a cupboard ten feet square in the city centre. It was her, two lamps in the style of old English gas lights, two and a half rows of hand-sewn clothing. In Rimini people said that the T’massons’ daughter, Anita, after her parents died, had made her fortune in Milan and never came back.
She’s a seamstress for rich people now but she’s still not married.
    Dr Martini parked almost directly opposite.
    â€˜What do you need to buy?’
    â€˜A scarf.’
    â€˜Let’s get this scarf, then.’
    Pietro had been at the shop in the four days prior to his becoming a concierge. He kept Anita company as she opened, leaving as soon as the first customer arrived. From the shop’s neighbourhood, a sort of village restored by wealthy Milanese, he would push on as far as the Duomo, whose pallor and pigeons, if nothing else, recalled Rimini’s cathedral, then stay to watch the people in the piazza and the lead sky that never turned blue. Only on the day before beginning the concierge job did he approach the condominium. He sat in the blue armchair at Alice’s cafe and ordered a coffee, then waited. Caught a glimpse of the doctor almost immediately. Knew it was him from the photograph in the envelope with the Salgari stamp.
    â€˜Good afternoon.’ The concierge led the way into the shop.
    Anita was at the counter, with four pins in her mouth and a nude mannequin to be re-dressed.
    â€˜Look who’s still alive after all …’
    The doctor appeared behind Pietro.
    She pulled the pins out of her mouth, smoothed down her jacket and came forward. A fabric flower was pinned to her lapel.
    â€˜Good afternoon.’
    â€˜May we take a look around?’ Pietro removed his jacket.
    â€˜Of course.’
    Dr Martini set to browsing, went up to the skirts, to the hats, glanced at the necklaces hanging from glass bottles. They were made of bamboo coral and amethysts, of gemstones and freshwater pearls.
    â€˜Please take them off the bottles if you like.’
    The doctor lifted off the amethyst necklace and held it in his hand. The stone shone violet under the light. He replaced the necklace and walked over to where Pietro was searching through the shirts. He searched as well, chose one that was pastel red. It had a French collar and blue buttons except for the lowest one, which was grey.
    â€˜Nice,’ he said and held it up to his chest. ‘But I don’t have the right character.’
    Anita came over. ‘And what is the right character?’
    â€˜Red requires a certain personality.’
    She drew aside the changing-room curtain. ‘Let’s see this personality.’ She motioned for him to enter.
    The doctor shrugged his shoulders and obeyed. ‘Perhaps she’s sincere?’
    â€˜Pitiless,’ Pietro said.
    He closed the curtain behind him.
    On