Chapter 44

The next morning Mum disappeared for the day again, saying that she would be spending most of the time in work doing handovers, but would also be visiting the shops for some provisions.

I rode my bike to the museum. Dr Wells met me in the foyer after being summoned, and led me to his small private office upstairs.

After sitting down at his desk and doing some typing on his computer, Dr Wells said, “I expect we’re a bit early because Dr Giovanelli isn’t responding yet. While we’re waiting, if you give me your e-mail address, I’ll forward her e-mail to you. There’s an attachment, which I haven’t opened. I recommend you scan for viruses before opening it.”

We exchanged e-mail addresses and Dr Wells forwarded the e-mail to me. Then his computer chimed.

“Ah, that will be Dr Giovanelli,” he said. “Pull up a chair and squeeze in next to me.”

Dr Wells exchanged greetings with Dr Giovanelli while I manoeuvred a spare chair into position so I could see the screen.

“Good morning, Jon,” said Dr Giovanelli. “Have you received the e-mail I sent?”

“Not yet,” Dr Wells jumped in. “I’m afraid I didn’t have Jon’s e-mail address. “I’ve just forwarded it to him.”

“Thank you,” said Dr Giovanelli. “Jon, I understand you wanted to talk to me.”

“Yes. My Mum and I are coming to Rome. When we arrive, we’ll need to get in touch,” I said, pleasantly surprised at my lack of nervousness when talking to her.

“Should I leave my office for this part?” asked Dr Wells.

I thought quickly. “I think it’s okay,” I reassured him. “I’m not planning to discuss any criminal activities.”

“Good,” said Dr Wells.

“Dr Giovanelli,” I said, “I currently have the loan of a mobile phone registered to the legal practice where Mr Masson and Ms Edgeway work. Because the practice lends them to vulnerable people, it should be almost impossible for someone to get a judge to sign off on a warrant to find out who has been using it. Can you suggest a safe way for me to contact you with it when we get to Rome? Do you have a friend or neighbour you can trust?”

Dr Giovanelli thought for a few seconds. “I have a cousin living in the same block. I feed her cat when she is away so she owes me a favour. Tell me the number of your phone and, if she is amenable to acting as a go-between for us, I will text you from her phone this evening.”

I gave Dr Giovanelli the number of Ms Edgeway’s phone, but warned her the number had a limited shelf-life because I would have to return the phone to Ms Edgeway in the not too distant future.

That concluded my business, so we said our goodbyes and ended the call. I thanked Dr Wells for setting it up, then raced home on my bike to check my computer.

Mum was still out when I got home. I accessed my mailbox and found a new e-mail, forwarded by Dr Wells. I virus-checked the attachment and got the all clear. Then I downloaded the attachment and opened it. Dr Giovanelli was gorgeous when wearing work clothes, but when she was wearing nothing but a blue bikini she was absolutely breathtaking. Even though it wasn’t a salacious picture, my dick saluted it more proudly than any soldier during passing out. She would be a more than adequate substitute for Alex Ferguson as masturbatory fodder. I felt gutted that I’d promised to delete the photo after it had served its purpose.

Mum and Dad had a colour printer in their study. I snuck in and printed the picture of Dr Giovanelli, which I folded and hid between the pages of the third Russian doorstop novel. Dad had been present when Dr Giovanelli had promised a photograph; I just hoped he wouldn’t ask about it.

When Mum got home, she confirmed she’d gone into work for a few hours to tidy up a few loose ends then do a hand-over of what she’d been working on. Then over dinner, she said preparations for the trip were going well and she’d booked tickets for the ferry and a cabin for the overnight sailing leaving Friday evening. We’d need to leave Friday lunchtime because it was a longish drive to Harwich. “And tomorrow, young man, we’re going shopping for some lightweight Summer clothes. We need to be careful not to buy clothes that overtly mark us as English. We ought to be safe, but there’s a small minority who relish attacking British tourists, especially football fans.”