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"Cheers to Miss Dora-Mona Lisa and Leonardo." he says and raises his gin and tonic. 

"Cheers to Paris with the sun." I say and raise my grapefruit.

"To the health of Paris that allows us to be together again, and to talk." He looks at his glass on the table, then says: "We talked well yesterday, didn't we partner? Difficulties, pitfalls, everything you need to avoid in writing. And I want to repeat to you that you write 'beautifully' in Italian (language I understand, even if I don't know how to speak it well.). The style is clean and good. You never get floral, except when I get angry. But I don't care when I get angry because I think about when I too was twenty and I was almost always angry. We talk well together, partner. "

"It's not difficult to talk about this with you, Papa" I smiled at him. "There is a rumor that you are a writer." 

"I try to be honest. It's not easy to always be honest in this area, believe me. Sometimes it costs a lot of work." 

"This too 'is part of the profession,' as you told me one day in Venice. But don't feel sorry: be grateful and happy to be a true writer."

"You are too, partner. You are a girl with a great, yet undisciplined talent and a lot of training still to be done. But you can do whatever you want and you should only want the best." 

"Oh Papa... you are always so encouraging! Maybe too much. You think of me like a howitzer while I could be at most a musket."

"Stop. It is forbidden to talk about war, with the sun. Not even as a joke. We have already talked about it too much and our wounds have reopened. You have many hidden wounds and I have some too. But at the bottom we are so happy that we succeed to hardly ever talk seriously together.