Suddenly my eyes fall on a display of leather belts and wallets in the window of a nearby boutique.
Leather. Luke’s belt. This is what I’m here to buy. Focus.
I totter toward the shop and push open the door, still in a daze. At once I’m hit by the overwhelming smell of expensive leather. In fact, it’s so strong it actually seems to clear my head.
The shop is amazing. It’s carpeted in pale taupe, with softly lit display cabinets. I can see wallets, belts, bags, jackets… I pause by a mannequin wearing the most amazing chocolate brown coat, all leather and satin. I stroke it fondly, then lift the price tag — and nearly faint.
But, of course, it’s in lire. I smile in relief. No wonder it looks so—
Oh no. It’s euros now.
Bloody hell.
I gulp, and move away from the mannequin.
Which just proves that Dad was right all along — the single currency was a huge mistake. When I was thirteen I went on holiday to Rome with my parents — and the whole point about lire was, the prices looked like a lot but they weren’t really. You could buy something for about a zillion lire — and in real life it cost about three quid! It was fantastic!
Plus, if you accidentally ended up buying a bottle of really expensive perfume, no one (i.e., your parents) could blame you, because, like Mum said, who on earth can divide numbers like that in their head?
As I start to look through a display of belts, a stocky middle-aged man comes out of a fitting room, chomping on a cigar and wearing an amazing black cashmere coat trimmed with leather. He’s about fifty and very tanned, with close-cropped gray hair and piercing blue eyes. The only thing which doesn’t look quite so good is his nose, which to be honest is a bit of a mishmash.
“Oy, Roberto,” he says in a raspy voice.
He’s English! His accent is weird, though. Kind of transatlantic meets cockney.
A shop assistant in a black suit with angular black glasses comes hurrying out from the fitting room, holding a tape measure.
“Yes, Signor Temple?”
“How much cashmere is in this?” The stocky man smooths down the coat critically.
“Signore, this is one hundred percent cashmere.”
“The best cashmere?” The stocky man lifts a warning finger. “I don’t want you palming me off now. You know my motto. Only the best.”
The guy in black glasses gives a little wince of dismay.
“Signore, we would not, er… palm you off.”
The man gazes at himself in a mirror silently for a few seconds, then nods.
“Fair enough. I’ll take three. One to London.” He counts off on stubby fingers. “One to Switzerland. One to New York. Got it?”
The assistant in black glasses glances over at me, and I realize it’s totally obvious I’m eavesdropping.
“Oh, hi!” I say quickly. “I’d like to buy this, please, and have it gift wrapped.” I hold up the belt I’ve chosen.
“Silvia will help you.” He gestures dismissively toward the woman at the till, then turns back to his customer.
I hand the belt over to Silvia and watch idly as she wraps it up in shiny bronze paper. I’m half admiring her deft ability with ribbon and half listening to Mr. Cashmere, who’s now looking at a briefcase.
“Don’t like the texture,” he states. “Feels different. Something’s wrong.”
“We have changed our supplier recently… ” The black glasses guy is wringing his hands. “But it is a very fine leather, signore… ”
He trails off as Mr. Cashmere takes his cigar from his mouth and gives him a look.
“You’re palming me off, Roberto,” he says. “I pay good money, I want quality. What you’ll do is make me up one using leather from the old supplier. Got it?”
He looks over, sees me watching, and winks.
“Best place for leather in the world, this. But don’t take any of their crap.”
“I won’t!” I beam back. “And I love that coat, by the way!”
“Very kind of you.” He nods affably. “You an actress? Model?”
“Er… no. Neither.”
“No matter.” He waves his cigar.
“How will you pay, signorina?” Silvia interrupts us.
“Oh! Er… here you are.”
As I hand over my Visa card I feel a glow of goodness in my heart. Buying presents for other people is so much more satisfying than buying for yourself! And this will take me up to my limit on my Visa card, so that’s my shopping all finished for the day.
What shall I do next? Maybe I’ll take in some culture. I could go and look at that famous painting the concierge was talking about.