“Bush,” he again growled into the cell.
“Dona Maria, Abelard,” her voice as seductive as ever, “I hope you can forgive me for the misunderstanding, my men just jumped to the wrong conclusions,” she tried.
“Meet me at the bottom end of the Piazza del Campo at noon, tomorrow,” he said without any room for negotiations and hung up. The Piazza was a huge sea shell shaped space, cobble stoned, with the medieval buildings housing City Hall at the very top, shops and cafes along the sides which sloped gently down towards a large exit at the bottom end. Under the afternoon sun the Piazza took on a distinctly pinkish colour.
*
“They’re meeting tomorrow at noon, Piazza del Campo. This just might be the moment,” the woman behind the screens and sound equipment hushed into the microphone hovering close to her lips. “Yes I’ll keep on monitoring his calls.”
*
The Perfect Human: An Abelard Chronicles Book Page 82