They arrived at the spa hotel late in the evening after an incongruous Neapolitan dinner in the centre of Cuneo. The big town had had an airy French feel, complete with tree-lined boulevards, yet was situated firmly on the Italian side of the Alps. It was windy in the parking lot and cool compared to the heat and humidity of the afternoon. Tall, thin beeches wafted their fronds overhead and there was the sound of rushing water.
And a strong, almost unpleasant, whiff of sulphur. Now that was a place for a vacation, Judy thought, something to tell her friend Patti about on their mornings off. This place โ under-lit parking lot, weird smell, this huge blank-facaded old hotel with its dingy red carpet up uneven concrete steps, flower-beds crammed full of untidy tiger-lilies framing the entrance โ this was all decidedly odd.
But they were here for Abe. They had a little difficulty in making themselves understood at the desk. His stuffy uniform seemed to belong to one of the sepia photographs of ladies in white and men with big whiskers that hung on the walls of the reception.
In a corner of the vastness, beneath some great, arched windows, a few old folks were playing cards at green baize-covered card tables. Actually playing cards, could you imagine! Judy texted Patti later. They saw Abe to his room first.
As he rolled his weight onto the rudimentary bed with a great creaking of springs, Judy hoped it would last their stay. The room was spartan with a very high ceiling and plainly-whitewashed walls.
