The Venetian lamp cast a dim bluish light across the room. At the other end of the hall – a large hall that once hosted up to thirty men in tailcoats and an equal number of perfumed women – a large lampshade with a white silk cover was still lit. The sparse lighting made the objects cast large, distorted shadows on the walls and seemed to submerge everything in a thick silence.
The two women had been sitting since the beginning of this meeting in a corner of the hall, next to the window overlooking the sea, and every now and then one of them – or both together – would get up from their seat, take a few steps, leave or take something from the table – a cup, a glass, an ashtray – open and then close the window again, pull the curtains or arrange them so that nothing could be seen from outside – or from inside, depending on their mood – talk incessantly or sink into their thoughts and memories.
It was the hour when the thickest darkness prevailed, since the stars had long since faded and the night was taking a deep breath and then, as if exhaling from its depths, would gradually dissolve the black color. Dawn was not far off. Nor was it in a hurry to come. Because the day it would bring would not be an ordinary day for any of the people in our story.
– My husband…, Ilaria said somewhat hesitantly. The other waited. Could this be the moment?
