“Cataloging happiness?” Aida was bewildered yet intrigued.
“Yes. Lady Ozie is keenly interested in how certain people, objects, and places have brought the world happiness, levity, glee, euphoria, joy.”
“Will I ever meet her?”
“She’s never visited. Don’t expect that to change.”
“But you’ve worked here nearly eight years and she’s never come? Isn’t that odd?”
Trista shrugged. “I don’t ask questions. I’m well compensated; that’s what counts.”
Aida found this unsettling. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
“Curiosity killed the cat, did it not?”
That sounded like a warning.
Trista took a sip of her tea and then stood. “Feel free to explore and familiarize yourself with the palazzo. I’ll set up meetings with you if needed, but of course, I’m always at your disposal. Once you log on to your laptop, you’ll find information from me in your email, and you’ll see that your calendar is already populated with various meetings in the next few weeks. I’m here to help you manage all that. If you need anything done,simply ask, and I’ll take care of it. Your job is to focus on the research.”
Trista departed through the door to her office and Aida was left alone in the vast library. She polished off a couple more of Chef Ilario’s delicious treats, then took a cup of tea to the window to stare at the garden while pondering her new assistant’s strangeness. Finally, she turned to her desk, sitting in the elegant and ergonomic chair. She wondered how much it cost, then realized that if she questioned that about everything she encountered in this house, she wouldn’t have room for any other thoughts.
It occurred to Aida she hadn’t let Yumi know she had arrived. She’d called Graham as soon as she landed, but she should let her best friend know she was in one piece. Plus, Yumi would undoubtedly have something witty to say about the place’s weirdness. Aida pulled her phone out of her pocket to dash off a quick message, but cursed when she saw there was no signal.
She set her phone aside, turned to the MODA laptop and phone, and followed the steps to connect to the Wi-Fi and set up fingerprint and facial recognition. Aida looked at her own phone again. She could understand not connecting to the Wi-Fi, but it was strange not to even have a cell signal. She attempted to reset it by turning it off and on, but that proved to be useless. Trista hadn’t been kidding about being unable to use her own devices. There must be some sort of jammer in the palazzo that prevented her from connecting. Clearly, MODA had no intention of letting her communicate with her own technology.
Irritated, she used the MODA phone to text Yumi.
Hey Bestie. Sending from my new work phone. Made it to Rome in one piece. The palazzo is breathtaking and the job sounds amazing, if strange. I hope you aren’t having any more 404 issues. I’ll check in with you later to find out.
Aida hit Send. When she and Yumi were in college, they established 404 as a code to signal that their conversations weren’tprivate. It began as a joke to cover up talking about people that she and Yumi didn’t like, relating the http error code to the idea that the conversation had crashed because someone might overhear. She trusted Yumi would understand that her communications were being monitored, given all the emphasis that had been placed on secrecy and NDAs. Aida would find a way to call her from her personal phone tomorrow if she could.
Yumi must have been looking at her phone because the response was nearly instant.
Gotcha. I can manage the 404, just glad you are there and ok.
Aida spent a little time familiarizing herself with the MODA setup on her new laptop and phone, but it wasn’t long before fatigue overtook her, despite the infusion of caffeine from the tea. Somehow, she managed to find her way back to her room. Dante had set out her luggage on racks next to the walk-in closet, but she passed them by and collapsed on the plush velvet couch that looked out toward the courtyard.
She fell asleep, caught between disbelief that this palace was her new home and the unsettled feeling that all her communication would be monitored. She didn’t have anything to hide.
But MODA clearly did.
5
January–February 2019
The work began right away, starting with Aida taking stock of Goethe’sItalian Journey. “As you go through the book, please record a reading of the passages that refer to joy, happiness, and pleasure,” Trista explained. “Note if anything makes you particularly joyful. If you delight in his phrasing or his description. This will be an important part of your work in general.”
It was a strange instruction, but it matched the idea of cataloging what makes people happy about an object or place. But now, as Aida thumbed through the volume, she realized she would be reading about a third of the book aloud. She loved a good book, and Goethe’s memoir was full of gorgeous scenes. It was no wonder—Italy wasn’t calledil belpaese, the beautiful country, for nothing. Aida pressed the record button and began reading aloud:
“‘As evening draws near, and in the still air a few clouds rest on the mountains... I feel at home in the world, neither a stranger nor an exile. I enjoy everything as if I had been born and bred here and had just returned from a whaling expedition to Greenland... The bell-like tinkling noise the crickets make is delightful—penetrating but not harsh... Every evening is as calm as the day has been... I have the pleasure of feeling this happiness which by rights we ought to be able to enjoy as a rule of our nature...’”
Aida hit Stop and set the microphone aside. It was strange to record her notes verbally, her voice echoing through the library she now called her office. Yet, having spent so much time in Italy during her three-plus decades, she felt a kinship with Goethe. His joy at the simple beauty of an Italian evening was something she knew well. It was the kind of happiness that crept up on you—the quiet joy of being perfectly at home in the world. It was a happiness that readers could relate to, those fleeting moments when the world seemed just right, even if only for a moment.
Dante appeared in the doorway. “Your friend Felix Goodman is here to see you.”
“Wonderful! Please send him in.” Aida was grateful for the interruption. As much as she enjoyed getting to know Goethe, it wasn’t how she preferred to do her research.
Felix took a moment to pause at the doorway to the library, his breath sucking in with the wonder of the scene. “Oh, my giddy aunt,” he exclaimed in a faux British voice, sending Aida into a fit of giggles.
