Dreaming of Rome

by Dreaming of Rome (retail) (epub)

  ‘Jo, excellent. Listen, I’ve been thinking. Talk to me about sea horses, would you?’

  Jo knew better by now than to express surprise. A few nights earlier his opening salvo had been to ask how to tell a sea lion from a walrus. Whereas most normal people would have turned to the internet for this sort of thing, he always picked up the phone and, increasingly these days, it was Jo at the other end. Suppressing a little sigh of frustration, she did her best to reply.

  ‘Sea horses belong to the genus Hippocampus. Their main distinguishing characteristic is that the female deposits her eggs into a pouch on the male’s body and he carries the young.’ She decided to risk a bit of levity. ‘Not sure how popular that would be if it applied to humans.’

  ‘Humans…? Oh, yes, of course.’ Humour had never been his strong suit. ‘Anyway, are they under threat?’

  ‘Ronald, all sea creatures are under threat these days.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  As head of a charity dedicated to conservation, particularly in the ocean, it was a surprising response, but Jo didn’t comment. It all became clear very swiftly as he continued.

  ‘Do they have sea horses in the Seychelles?’

  ‘Definitely, all over the Indian ocean, mainly in shallow waters.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  Jo began to get an idea where this might be leading.

  ‘Are you considering a visit, maybe? Some sort of research trip?’ This would not be the first time he had managed to combine what he described as business with a sunny holiday.

  ‘That’s what I was wondering. I’ve got a book up here on my shelves all about the islands. Just let me get it.’

  She heard movement at the other end of the line as he presumably reached for the book. There was a metallic creaking sound as if he was climbing a stepladder. However, seconds later there was a cry, a crash and a scream of agony. She pressed the phone closer to her ear.

  ‘Ronald, Ronald, are you all right?’

  There was a lengthy wait before she heard another voice that she recognised as belonging to Ronald’s wife, Deirdre. ‘Hello, is that you, Joanne? I’m afraid Ronald has had a fall. I’d better phone the emergency services.’ And the line went dead.

  Next morning when she got to work, she heard all about it from Melissa, his PA.

  ‘Ronald is in hospital. Deirdre just phoned. It appears he’s broken two bones in his leg. Nasty fractures, apparently. He’s going to be in traction for a while and they say he’ll be out of commission for at least four to six weeks.’

  Jo’s immediate reaction was that a four- to six-week period without Ronald would be almost as good as a holiday for her, but she kept her tone studiously sympathetic. ‘Poor Ronald. What a pain… literally. Have you spoken to him?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve just come off the phone with him now.’ She grinned at Jo. ‘As you can imagine, he’s not a happy bunny.’

  ‘Is there anything he wants me to do while he’s off?’ Jo’s current position meant that she sometimes had to deputise for Ronald, although, so far, she had only ever got the jobs he didn’t want. Visits to the UN in New York or formal dinners in Brussels never came her way. Over the past few months she had taken his place at a waste processing seminar in East London, a weekend in the coalfields of Belgium visiting decommissioned pits, and two days in Silesia learning about air pollution. For a moment she wondered if this might result in a trip to the Seychelles for her, but she doubted it. Still, she crossed her fingers that his accident might mean something a bit more exciting, although standing up in front of crowds had never really been her thing.

  ‘Yes, a few bits and pieces. If you can, would you be able to drop into the drinks do at the French Embassy this evening? It’s to raise awareness of the state of the oceans. You don’t need to do anything except be seen.’ Jo nodded. She had been planning a quiet night in, but a brief appearance at an embassy drinks party sounded rather appealing.

  ‘No problem. What time?’

  ‘From six to eight. He says the speeches will be around seven o’clock so all you have to do is to get there before that and leave again when they’re all over.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll do that.’

  ‘Great. I’ll email them with the change. They’re red hot on security these days for obvious reasons.’

  Jo nodded absently. ‘Anything else Ronald wants me to do?’

  ‘Yes, there is, actually. He asks if you could fill in for him at the “Save the Planet” conference in Rome later this month.’

  ‘Rome?’ Jo felt a thrill of excitement. ‘I’d love to, Mel.’

  Melissa looked relieved. ‘That’s great. And you’re sure you can go at such short notice? It starts a week on Monday and it lasts for five days.’ She caught Jo’s eye. ‘Sure nobody’s going to miss you?’

  Jo shook her head. ‘Nope. I’m a free agent these days.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t it work out with your oh-so-handsome boyfriend? You looked so good together at the Christmas party, I thought it was the real thing.’

  ‘So did I, Mel.’ Jo did her unsuccessful best to keep the note of bitterness out of her voice. ‘But I’m afraid it all fell apart in February. No, I’m on my own now, but I’m fine with it. So, what do I have to do at the conference?’

  ‘Just put in an appearance and be prepared to give his paper on some fairly radical proposals for eradicating plastic waste by the year 2030.’ Seeing the expression of apprehension on Jo’s face, Melissa was quick to reassure her. ‘It’s all right. That doesn’t mean standing up in front of the whole conference. Yours isn’t a plenary session, just a sideshow in a lecture theatre. It’s a PowerPoint presentation and it’s all prepared. All you’ve got to do is read from Ronald’s notes and run the disk. He told me to tell you that these sessions often only attract a handful of people.’

  Jo nodded. In fact, she knew almost all of it by heart because she was the one who had written it and prepared the slides for the PowerPoint presentation. One of Ronald’s less endearing traits was that, time and time again, when Jo or one of her colleagues came up with a bright idea, they would subsequently find it appear in academic or industry journals a month or two later with Ronald’s name on it. Although the idea of standing up in front of a bunch of academics, including a number of household names, was scary, it would feel pretty good to be able to present what was in effect her brainchild. And, anyway, she told herself, having to give a paper was a small price to pay for an all-expenses-paid return to the Eternal City.

  She had a sudden thought. It would be good to include in the presentation an update on progress towards finding replacements for plastics, so as to eliminate the problem at source. And the person to ask about this was, of course, Corrado. And if she was going to Rome, she would see him there and get the latest news on that subject from him. This was a very appealing prospect. Annoyingly, her subconscious immediately queried whether her interest in seeing the handsome Roman chemist again was purely professional, but she did her best to banish any such questions. He was the expert and that was all. It made sense to consult an expert. Nevertheless, her subconscious wasn’t convinced.

  ‘I’m sure the plastics lecture will be fine, Mel. Let me have everything as soon as possible so I can check it all through before I go.’

  How amazing to be going back to Rome! When she got to her office and turned on her computer screen, her eyes landed squarely on a close-up of a striking purple butterfly flecked with patches of white. The caption beneath it read ‘Purple Emperor, apatura iris’. The lecturer at the British Museum had been lamenting how rare these were becoming in Britain. He had, however, mentioned that they could be found in Italy. She found herself smiling. Now, if she could see one of those…

  At the end of the afternoon she dashed home for a quick shower and a change of clothes before the drinks party. Melissa had told her French embassy events tended to be on the dressy side, so she chose the newer of her two smart dresses. It was a bit short, but fairly conservative all the
same, and the light blue colour matched her eyes. She put on a pair of heels and checked herself in the mirror before deciding she would do. Before leaving, she called her sister in Italy to give her the news about her imminent return to Rome. Angie sounded pleased.

  ‘That’s great, Jo. Why don’t you try to get a flight out a day or two before the conference so as to be able to spend the weekend with us first? You can stay out here at the Country Club if you like. Mario or I can easily pop in to pick you up.’

  ‘Thanks, Angie, but accommodation’s already booked in a central Rome hotel from Saturday.’

  ‘Well, we’ll pick you up when you arrive and bring you out here for dinner that night and then you and I can do the sights of Rome on Sunday. Sound good?’

  ‘That sounds great. I did Piazza Navona and the Trevi fountain with Corrado last week.’ As she mentioned his name, she found herself wondering if she would see him again or whether he would be tied up with the girl who had greeted him in Piazza Navona, or another of the same ilk. She repressed the usual upsurge of annoyance with herself that inevitably followed thoughts of him and decided not to mention him to Angie. To her surprise, her sister then did just that.

  ‘He said you two got on well together. He’s very much your type, too, isn’t he?’

  ‘My type?’

  ‘You seem to have a habit of picking insanely handsome men after all. Like your male model, Christian, for example.’

  Jo felt the colour rush to her cheeks and was quick to knock that notion on the head.

  ‘Not any more, Angie. I’ve had it with handsome men. In fact, I’ve had it with any men, at least for now. They’re more trouble than they’re worth.’

  Then Angie said something unexpected.

  ‘That’s probably for the good. I was going to give you a little heads-up about Corrado, just in case, but if you’re not interested, that’s fine.’

  ‘What sort of heads-up?’

  ‘Oh, just… it’s a bit complicated. I’ll tell you all about it when you come over.’

  When Jo put the phone down she stood for a minute or two, turning over in her head what her sister had said, wondering what sort of revelation might await her in Rome. Finally, she gave a little snort and went out into the corridor, turning to lock the door. As she did so, Kevin from flat three opened his door and peeked out. As usual, there was a cheeky grin on his face.

  ‘Evening, sweetie. You’re looking ravishing. Is Prince Charming coming to pick you up in his glass coach.’

  ‘Hi, Kevin. You want to get yourself a life, rather than obsessing about your neighbours.’ She grinned back. He and his partner Justin had become very good friends of hers over the past couple of years. ‘And there’s no Prince Charming. You should know that by now.’

  ‘So where are you going all dolled up like that? A visit to the Palace maybe? I hear Prince Philip makes a real mean curry.’

  ‘The French Embassy for a drinks thing.’

  ‘Interesting… you never know who you’ll meet there. Some handsome Frenchman, I’m sure. Are you wearing your posh underwear, just in case you get lucky?’

  ‘Probably not as posh as yours, Kevin, and I have no intention of “getting lucky”, thank you. Now go back to your knitting and let me get on.’

  ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’ He hesitated, looking a bit more serious. ‘And you really do look a million dollars, you know.’

  ‘You’re so good for my self-confidence. Thanks, Kevin.’

  ‘Good night, princess. And remember to hang onto your glass slippers.’

  The drinks do at the French Embassy was surprisingly crowded. Jo got there well before seven as instructed and found the large function room already packed. She decided not to speculate whether this was entirely for the sake of the planet’s polluted oceans or because the French embassy was renowned for its excellent champagne and foie gras nibbles. She spotted a few faces she recognised from other animal and conservation charities, but most people were unknown to her. Following her instructions, she accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and started to ‘be seen’.

  She moved steadily around the room, sipping the very good champagne and smiling back at anybody who smiled at her. The name badge she had pinned to her chest would hopefully ensure that her presence would be noted. She stopped and spoke to a handful of people, among them a very tall American with a ponytail. He wasn’t wearing a name badge and told her his name was Ricky. He didn’t look a lot older than her and she was surprised to learn that he would be giving the keynote speech this evening. He was friendly and knowledgeable and she got on well with him. She wondered idly if he would be at the Rome conference, but didn’t have time to ask before he was led away.

  She had just reached the far side when she heard the unmistakable sound of a microphone being tapped and silence gradually spread over the room. A middle-aged man with what looked suspiciously like a jet-black hairpiece stepped onto a raised dais at one end of the room and welcomed the guests in French. Once he had finished there was a ripple of polite applause, after which he switched to excellent, if accented, English and did the whole thing again. Finally, he introduced the guest speaker as Professor Richard Paris from UCLA.

  Jo listened to Ricky speaking informatively about efforts being made to collect and dispose of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch; a gruesome floating island of detritus the size of Texas out in the middle of the northern Pacific. This wasn’t new to her, but it was interesting all the same, as was the speaker.

  As the speech went on, she became aware of a man standing to one side of her. His arm kept brushing against her bare shoulder and she got the feeling it was on purpose. She was hemmed in on the other side by an elderly lady with a walking stick and was unable to follow her natural instincts and move away, so she had to grin and bear it. The man was tall, wearing a dark blue suit, but she couldn’t see his face unless she were to lean forward and peer up at him. When the speech finished, he turned towards her and she saw him more clearly.

  She instantly warmed to him. Victoria would have realised immediately why this was; he certainly couldn’t be described as ‘gorgeous’ by any stretch of the imagination. It wasn’t that he was ugly by any means, but he was unlikely to be featuring on the cover of Vogue Hommes any time soon. His dark hair was already receding and his nose was a bit squint, as if he had received a hefty punch at one point in his life. He was wearing an immaculate dark blue suit, striped tie, and a smile on his slightly crooked mouth. Jo found herself smiling back at him. Evidently taking heart from her reaction, he leant towards her.

  ‘Good evening. Are you an academic, a financier or a freeloader?’ He had the sort of accent you normally only get after spending your youth in a very expensive private school.

  ‘If I can only pick one, I suppose it would have to be academic. I’ve got a degree in Zoology and a PhD in Conservation. But it’s not as straightforward as that.’ She indicated her name badge with the name of the charity on it and he leant forward and studied it, or her left breast, closely. Sensing that the old lady behind her had started to move away, she took a tentative step backwards. As she did so, he straightened up, presumably realising that his inspection had maybe been a bit too intrusive.

  ‘I see. So, you’re helping to save the planet, Joanne.’

  ‘I’d like to think so.’ He wasn’t wearing a name badge so she threw the question back at him. ‘And what about you? What do you do?’

  ‘If I can only pick one, I’d have to describe myself as a financier, but there’s a good bit of freeloader in there as well. Which reminds me, I see your glass is empty. Can I get us a couple of glasses of this lovely champagne?’

  As he posed the question, a waitress appeared with a tray and he expertly slipped his empty glass onto it and helped himself to two replacements.

  ‘If you don’t want the champers, I’m very happy to drink both of these, but it would be nice if you joined me.’

  Jo set down her empty glass and took a f
ull one from him. She found she was still smiling. He sounded like a fun sort of guy and the wonderful thing was that this was a normal-looking man hitting on her for a change.

  ‘And your name, Mr Freeloader?’

  ‘Markus. Markus Finchley. I’m very pleased to meet you, Joanne.’

  ‘Jo. Everybody calls me Jo.’ She took his hand and shook it.

  ‘Well, Jo, what are the chances of my being able to buy you dinner when this little shindig finishes?’

  She took a sip of wine and thought it over. He looked and sounded on the level and he certainly didn’t remind her of Christian, or Corrado for that matter.

  ‘What did you have in mind, Markus?’

  ‘I’ve got a car and a driver outside waiting for me. You decide. For such an outstandingly beautiful girl I should really whistle up a plane and pop us across to Deauville for oysters and lobster at Les Vapeurs.’

  Jo assumed he was joking. Besides, she had only the vaguest idea where Deauville was and she had never heard of Les Vapeurs, but she knew she wasn’t going to get into a car with him, let alone an aircraft, until she knew a lot more about him. Yes, he seemed okay, but, as she knew to her cost, looks can be deceptive. She kept her tone light as she replied.

  ‘Shame on you, Markus. Think of your carbon footprint. But if you’re serious about dinner, Knightsbridge is full of restaurants, and I’m sure there are a good number of French ones within walking distance.’

  He reached into his jacket and produced a phone. He spoke quietly into it for a few seconds before replacing it again.

  ‘Excellent idea. I’ve got one of my people onto booking us a table.’

  Chapter 3

  ‘Buonasera, Joanna.’

  ‘Buonasera, Vittoria.’

  Jo had been late getting to their Italian class and so they hadn’t had time to catch up on events since Monday when they had last seen each other. Now that the lesson was over, they filed out of the classroom and Jo caught Victoria’s eye. ‘Vuoi un Prosecco?’