Diana closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. The sun on her face and the scent of the Italian coastal town—flowers and coffee, sweet fruit and savoury herbs, old stones in the late morning heat and the Mediterranean sea—make it easy to pretend that she's on a holiday in Sapienza.
She isn't, there's a lot of work to do, research on potential clients and targets, phone conferences with her team of analysts and the Board, booking ICA safehouses and hotel suites in more popular destinations in advance to avoid repeating what 47 still refers to as the "Miami Motel Misadventure"; but today is her birthday, and she promised herself a day off work, far away from her laptop and her work phone and the stack of manila folders and envelopes waiting on the coffee table.
A bumblebee is keeping her company for the remainder of her breakfast, lazily feasting on the flowers 47 planted on this safehouse's balcony while Diana finishes her coffee and the bowl of fresh strawberries.
Summer is almost over, but the sun didn't get the memo, much to Diana's delight. She closes the blinds to darken the room, knowing how nice it'll be to return to a cool safehouse after a day in town and at the beach.
Before she leaves the flat, Diana makes sure that the door leading to the roof is locked, just in case. She wouldn't want to explain to her higher-ups that sensitive information got lost while she was dozing on an inflatable crocodile.
Equipped with her beach bag, her sunglasses and her bikini underneath her flowery sundress she steps out to the road, immediately engulfed by the charismatic sounds of a busy coastal town.
She wants to visit the art gallery by the old town gate first. On the first day of her workation she spotted a painting she really likes, black and white with a sprinkling of red, and what is a birthday without presents, even if she has to buy them for herself?
The cool air in the gallery is delightful, even after her short walk, and the gallerist is polite yet flirty as always; offering her a glass of his favourite prosecco frizzante, just ideal this early in the day and easy on the stomach, while approving of her choice. It's his favourite painting too, he lets her know, and even though she's fully aware that it's part of his elaborate sales pitch, she enjoys the experience and plays along.
She'll have this painting shipped to England, not her real address of course, you can never be careful enough.
Elated from her successful purchase and the alcohol she crosses the plaza, picking up a newspaper on her way to her favourite table by the fountain. The waiter greets her with a big smile and brings her her usual order, freshly pressed orange juice, espresso and an incredibly soft cornetto with crema pasticcera.
There's an article in the newspaper that catches her attention, it's about the upcoming Sapienza Film Festival in honour of the late Dino Bosco, who tragically lost his life in an unfortunate accident on set of his final production. 47 will have a laugh when she shows him the snippet next time he drops by her office. The thought makes her smile. Maybe she could invite him to visit that festival with her, he deserves some time off work too. Of course that's just a daydream, he wouldn't want to go and she shouldn't ask him to. Some lines are better left uncrossed.
On her way to the beach she drops by the book store to maybe grab a beach read. How long has it been since she last read something just for fun? Diana can't remember, so she ends up buying a few interesting books to make up for it. She'll leave them in their safehouse when she departs, there's still more than enough space on the bookshelf and 47 likes to read about boring people's boring lives. He might enjoy the books she picked today.
The beach is surprisingly empty, most tourists have left Sapienza in late August, and the locals are too busy to spend their days doing nothing in the sun.
She settles down at her favourite spot close to the sea, a parasol protecting her very British skin from the sun. The sound of the waves lapping at the beach makes her sleepy, and with a content sigh she allows herself to close her eyes and doze off for a while.
Diana spends a few hours alternating between naps in the shade and refreshing dips in the sea, feeling just like the person she's pretending to be, a rich tourist without a care in the world.
Does it really matter that this is not the life she's living, that her day-to-day consists of deciding who may pay her and her agent large sums to have someone killed, that she constantly wades through the dark depths of the human psyche in search of the lesser evil, the necessary evil, trying to find justification and distraction, and maybe peace of mind?
She's aware of her responsibility to make the right decision, not only for herself but also for 47, who trusts her so deeply that it scares her sometimes, because it would be so easy to hurt him, even just by accident, and because that's what she wants to avoid at all costs.
Diana decides to try and shake off the bitter thoughts with a late lunch in her favourite restaurant. A table on the terrace with a beautiful view of the sea is waiting for her, and she can't resist ordering white wine to go with her fresh seafood and her book, to treat herself to a healthy dose of normality.
When she next looks up from her book, she realises that time has passed faster than she expected. The sun is about to set, her birthday about to end. Diana packs her bag and waves the waves goodbye.
She should get a bottle of her favourite red at Il Piccolo Mondo Del Vino before she returns to her safehouse, so she can watch the sunset from her sun lounger on the roof and celebrate herself. Yes, that sounds appropriate, a perfect ending for an almost perfect day.
Her key is buried under books and towels and sun lotion; she tries to balance everything while fishing for the key, not wanting to drop her bottle of wine. There it is, finally.
Diana smiles to herself. This has been one of her best birthdays in recent years.
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