“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“You know the Chapel of the Madonna di Vitaleta near Val d’Orcia?”
Aida reached for a thin breadstick from the cup in front of her and began to unwrap it. “Yes, remember, I recorded it not long after I came to Italy.”
“It was destroyed this morning in an earthquake.”
She dropped the breadstick. “What?”
“I can’t believe it. It’s literally one of the most iconic Italianimages. The pictures are horrible. It’s just rubble now.” He handed her his phone.
“Diomio.” As Aida scrolled through the photos, the same grief welled up within her as when she saw the empty space where the Hatch Shell had once stood.
“They’ll rebuild it, I’m sure. But what a tragedy,” he said.
They talked a bit more about the earthquake, and how no one was hurt, so that was a saving grace. Then Aida told Felix about the Goethe museum.
“How odd is it that twice in one day I find that places I’ve researched are gone.”
“Coincidence, I’m sure,” Felix assured her.
Their conversation turned to other news of the day: the impeachment of Donald Trump; endless Meghan and Harry Royal Family controversy; devastating bushfires in Australia; and the Arctic experiencing record-breaking high temperatures, pushing the thawing of permafrost, which was releasing carbon dioxide and methane at rates faster than the earth could compensate.
“This is depressing,” Aida finally said, realizing that she didn’t want to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders that afternoon. “It’s a dogpile of awfulness. Let’s talk about art instead.”
But underneath the discussion about the Caravaggio in one of the nearby churches, Aida couldn’t shake her sadness that places she had cataloged were changing and disappearing.
That evening at dinner, Aida asked Trista if she had heard about the tragedy of the little Tuscan church.
“I have.” She deftly swirled her pasta with her fork.
Aida wanted to shake her. Despite Trista’s often somber appearance, she seemed curiously detached from most emotions. Aida had grown used to these peculiarities, but sometimes, like at this moment, they just made her angry.
“It’s really awful. It’s one of the most iconic images of Italy.”
“You mean it was.” Trista sipped her wine.
Aida couldn’t stop her jaw from dropping. “You don’t care at all?”
Trista wiped at the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “It’s not that I don’t care. It’s just that it doesn’t affect me, and I can’t do anything about it, so it does me no good to give it much thought.”
“That sounds like you don’t care.”
Trista raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing.
Aida could no longer control her exasperation. “It’s two terrible things that have happened to places we’ve cataloged. It baffles me that it doesn’t bother you.”
“It’s a coincidence, Aida. Nothing more.” Trista set her napkin down on the table and stood up. “You shouldn’t let this get to you so much.” She took her half-full wineglass with her when she left the room.
After she was gone, Pippa came over and refilled Aida’s wine. “She’s right about one thing, luv,” the sous-chef said to her. “Don’t go lettin’ ’er get under yer skin.”
Aida sighed and took a big gulp of her wine. “I just don’t understand her at all. Two MODA projects gone in one day? How can it not affect her?”
“She ain’t got no bleedin’ ’eart, that one. But listen, I reckon yer onto somethin’. Always thought there’s summat dodgy goin’ on, like there’s somethin’ rotten in the state of Denmark.” Pippa gave her a little wave good-night, then slipped off into the kitchen.
That night, as Aida settled into bed, she tried to calm her mind by focusing on how much her life had transformed. MODA had opened doors she’d only ever dreamed of, giving her a generous salary, a beautiful home in the heart of Rome, a new book deal, and endless inspiration for future projects. Professionally, she had never been in a better place.
Still, a faint unease tugged at her, Pippa’s mention ofHamletflickering in her thoughts. But for now, Aida brushed it aside. If something truly was rotten in the state of Denmark, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
