by Jules Wake
Swallows darted and danced, wheeling across the brilliant blue sky, flashy and exuberant, racing across the front of the balcony and up beyond to the eaves, before peeling back out in swift formation. A frisson of excitement danced low in her belly. Rome. Today she could explore worry-free. By tomorrow, Giovanni would have spoken to his friend and she’d have to think about addresses, rings and family.
Across the way, the grand villa slept, the blinds at its many windows pulled like blank stares and no sign of life anywhere. The lights which last night had lit up its glorious façades had been switched off and, with a fanciful thought, she imagined the house like Sleeping Beauty, waiting to be awoken by a prince racing up the stairs, running his hand along the elaborate balustrade alongside.
Her daydreams were interrupted by the sudden whiny buzz of a scooter, which whizzed up the driveway. Bright scarlet with its single headlight and antennae-like mirrors, it reminded her of fierce red ant. As it came closer, she saw that the driver was a woman, wearing navy Capri pants, a white shirt and a natty, colourful scarf, which she recognised as having a definite touch of Missoni about it. Siena had taught her well. The girl on the scooter pulled to a stop below, cut the engine and stepped off before lifting off her helmet. Lisa could have predicted the clichéd fall of glossy brunette hair that came tumbling down. In her big sunglasses and chic clothes, the woman looked like some movie starlet and the scene was straight from some Hollywood film in the sixties.
With practised ease, the woman hung the helmet on the handlebars and then sauntered out of view, her footsteps crunching on the gravel, the sound of which was quickly followed by the peal of a bell somewhere in the flat. Lisa straightened.
Was she a friend of Giovanni’s? What sort of state was he going to be in this morning? Checking the time on her phone, she realised it was quite early. Seven-thirty. Should she answer the door? Was anyone else up?
Then she heard the slam of the front door. Muffled voices and the squeaky drag of a chair on the kitchen floor. She looked at the time again, relieved that someone had saved her the indignity of the job of answering the door to the glamorous starlet, wearing her skimpy plain cotton bum-skimming t-shirt and a sleep-worn face. This woman probably wore silk peignoirs in bed, whatever they were.
The smell of coffee, dark, rich and beguiling lured her down the corridor, where she could hear Will in the kitchen, chatting with ease, interspersed with light melodic laughter.
She paused for a second before stepping into the kitchen.
‘Morning.’ She took in the scene. Will sat at the table, leaning back, his chair tipped on two legs, opposite the woman from the scooter.
‘Lisa, you’re up early. Coffee?’
Even before she’d nodded her head, he eased himself to his feet, rising with his usual languid grace that never failed to stop her in her tracks. She couldn’t even define why. Though he was long, lean and loose-limbed he was also broad in the shoulders and had a dusting of hair on his well-muscled chest. She might have had only the one night with him, but the shape of his body without his clothes on was indelibly etched into her memory.
As he lifted the silver pot from the stove, she stared at the dark-blonde hair on his forearms, the memory of its unexpectedly silky feel bringing an unwelcome burst of … something, she didn’t want to think about.
Will poured her what looked like a thimbleful of coffee in a tiny cup, without any milk.
She liked her coffee with plenty of milk. There wasn’t even room for a splash in this doll-sized cup.
‘This is Gisella.’
The girl rose and put out her hand. ‘Buon giorno.’
Lisa shook the proffered hand, ‘Buon giorno.’ Her first Italian words. Maybe she should learn Italian. ‘Is that the proper way to say it?’
The girl smiled, her wide, pink-painted lips suddenly dominating her face. She was gorgeous, but Lisa winced at her own uncharitable thought, that she did have one hell of a big all-the-better-to-kiss-you-with mouth.
‘I’m not sure I’m very proper.’ She flashed a charming, confident smile. ‘My brother is always complaining about my behaviour, but he is, as you say, a stuffed shirt.’
Lisa hadn’t ever used the phrase stuffed shirt in her entire life. This girl’s command of English was flawless and virtually accentless.
‘Wow, your English is amazing.’
Gisella tossed her hair over her shoulder, sending a waft of definite night-time perfume Lisa’s way. ‘I spent six years in London.’
‘Is that how you know Will?’ asked Lisa, glancing to where he sat at the table, sipping from a tiny cup of espresso, frowning down at a list on a sheet of paper in front of him, a pencil held in the other hand.
‘No, I never met him before today.’ The mouth curved with cat-like satisfaction as she shot a glance at him.
‘Her Aunt Dorothea is a friend of my mother,’ Will chipped in. ‘I needed an Italian-speaking guide.’
Gisella beamed at him. ‘We’re going to,’ she rattled off a name quickly. Lisa didn’t catch it but she did spot the appraising once-over the other woman gave her. ‘I didn’t realise someone else might be coming.’ With a rueful smile, she added, ‘I only have transport for one.’
Gisella’s frank look was a head-on question. Lisa rather liked her honest approach. It was clear they were agreeing territorial rights.
‘No worries, we’re not together. He’s my … boyfriend’s boss.’
Will lifted his head and shot a sharp stare at her before going straight back to his list.
Lisa clenched her fist out of sight. How she described Giovanni was nothing to do with him. Besides, Gisella’s face had lifted and the big, wide grin was far friendlier suddenly. You didn’t need to have Sherlock Holmes’s powers of detection to work out why.
Well as far as Lisa was concerned, Gisella was welcome to him. In fact, she seemed just his type. Posh, glamorous bird with bags of self-confidence.
‘Right.’ Will jumped up. ‘Enough of this chatting. We’ve got work to do.’ He tucked his notes into a plastic wallet and waved it at her. ‘Have a good day, Lisa. See you later.’
Lisa looked up, pen in hand, literally about to write the first line, when Giovanni finally emerged, his dark hair damp and a cloud of aftershave, like an aura, around him.
‘Bellissima. Buon giorno.’
‘It’s almost buon pomeriggio,’ she retorted, waving her guide book at him, with a teasing smile. It had been put to excellent use in the last hour and half. ‘I’ve been waiting ages for you. I bet your head hurts this morning.’ She eyed him, but apart from looking a little bleary-eyed, he showed no overt hangover symptoms. In fact, he looked handsome. Very handsome. He was a nice guy. Good boyfriend material. The absolute opposite to bloody Will with his stupid ponytail and tall, lean grace. Giovanni was a lot sturdier – no, not that much sturdier. Muscly. It might run to fat later, but that was it. Broad in the chest. And dressed beautifully. Smart. Neat.
‘No, we Italians are brought up on Grappa. No headache.’ He shook it. ‘See.’
‘Hmm, well it’s a good job you’re up now. I was about to leave you a note and go out without you,’ said Lisa, almost bouncing on her tiptoes with anticipation, her bag was all packed with the day’s essentials, a hat, sun-cream, a bottle of water, plasters and a book and she’d painstakingly planned her route for the morning. ‘Painstaking’ being the operative word. She and maps didn’t see eye to eye. Top of her list was the Colosseum.
With an apologetic smile, Giovanni took her hand. ‘I will make it up to you. But Roma versus Lazio. It was life or death.’
‘I didn’t see anyone dying last night,’ teased Lisa, unable to stay cross with him. He was charming. A genuinely nice guy. ‘Sleeping perhaps.’
Giovanni gave her a boyish, slightly chagrined, smile. ‘I’m a bad boy. It’s football. It’s Italy.’ His mouth turned down in a pretty good impression of hangdog, which might have worked if Lisa hadn’t seen the hopeful twinkle in his eye.
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br /> ‘Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before.’ Lisa shook her head, a smile playing around her lips. How could you get cross with someone who always had a ready smile?
‘This morning, I will take you to the best bakery in Roma.’ He puffed his chest out slightly like a proud pigeon and announced, ‘Pasticceria Regoli.’ She almost expected him to sweep down into a courtly bow, brushing a feathery plumed hat across the floor. ‘Breakfast Italian style. Pastries and cakes. Not a sausage or a bacon in sight. You will love it.’
‘Done, I’m starving.’ She headed towards the door, determined not to give him a chance to delay her any longer. ‘But you owe me big time. I’m going to need a serious sugar fix and a proper coffee.’
Old-fashioned blue lettering on a white background proclaimed the bakery name, with extravagant curlicues on the P and G, as if promising that bit extra. Old and young stood in a very long queue, heads peering ahead in happy anticipation of the goodies to come.
At last they were inside the narrow brick-walled shop and the sight of the long counter, filled with delectable-looking pastries, made it almost worth the wait.
She let slip a greedy moan as her eye caught the icing-sugar-dusted star-shaped pastries, the puffed layers almost buoyant, filled with a generous filling of cream and strawberries, that filled the bottom level of the glass-fronted cabinet. Rows of glossy fruit tartlets, laden with kiwi fruit and huge strawberry slices, nestled next to cream and raspberry mini tarts as well as familiar choux pastry-style éclairs and horn-and-cream puffs, all of which were arranged in beautiful symmetry.
‘I don’t know where to start,’ said Lisa, amazed at the cornucopia of sweet delights on offer, although slightly concerned by the unfamiliar-looking cakes further along, particularly the alien-looking white creamy pastries that looked as if they were topped with snow and labelled with exotic names, faggotini di ricotta, maritozzi con la panna, bavarese, cannelloni Sicilian. Ricotta was cheese, wasn’t it? She didn’t fancy that in a cake at all.
‘What about this one? It’s one of my favourites.’ Giovanni pointed to a dumpling-shaped choux-pastry puff with a sage-green topping.
‘Er … what’s the green?’ It looked rather bilious to her.
‘Pistachio icing.’
‘Hmm, I’m not sure.’ She looked around. ‘What about that one? What’s that?’ She pointed to a nearby confection, which had all identifiable elements, including puff pastry, cream and glistening strawberries.
‘Tortine fragoline di bosco. It’s very good.’
Will would have loved it in here. No doubt he’d have bought up half the shop and insisted on trying them all and making her try them too, but she was more than happy with a strawberry pastry.
With their cakes tied up in pretty blue-wrapped parcels and a steaming coffee from the bakery’s sister shop next door, Giovanni led them down the road to a nearby park, where they perched on a bench.
‘My Nonna used to bring me here when I was a small boy and she would always buy me one of these on the way.’ He held up a white confection, which she didn’t fancy the look of and was rather grateful he didn’t offer her a bite.
‘Although I was never allowed to eat it in the park, that would have been … volgare, I think it’s the same as vulgar?’
‘Yes. It sounds lovely, though. And Nonna, that’s your grandmother? Yes?’ Giovanni nodded. Lisa smiled and took a bite of her strawberry pastry, enjoying the juicy sweetness offset by the light, crisp pastry.
‘She liked to spoiled me. She brought me here to Regoli and the park every week. We would do two …’ Giovanni indicated a circle with his finger, ‘around the park and then home to eat cake.’
Lisa had a sudden image of a rather regal woman.
‘My nan used to take me to work with her.’ Lisa squinted up at the sun, remembering vividly sitting in the kitchen helping peel potatoes along with Will as her Nan whizzed around like a tiny whirling dervish, setting the place to rights. ‘And we’d stop off at the Co-op on the way home and get a pack of doughnuts.’ She laughed. ‘Not quite the same. They probably went down just as well, although Will was always pissed off he didn’t get one.’
‘I didn’t know your grandmother had worked at the pub.’
Lisa laughed. ‘You’re joking. This was years before. My nan was Will’s parents’ daily.’
Giovanni frowned.
‘A cleaner-come-housekeeper. She went there every day to keep the house tidy. Clean up after them.’ Lisa gave in to impish mischief. ‘Like a servant.’ His Nonna sounded as if she might have had a nan of her own. ‘A long time before the pub.’
‘Ah.’ He frowned harder. ‘But I thought the pub was a family business. I thought it had been in Will’s family for generations.’
‘That’s what Will’s parents would like everyone to think. They own, or rather owned, a lot of land in the village, including the pub, which was leased to a brewery. Over the years they’ve had to sell quite a bit.’ Lisa paused, feeling slightly disloyal. Will never mentioned his parents. She knew more than most because Nan had worked for the family and was well aware Will’s father had run through the family money.
‘Will persuaded them to hang on to the leasehold of the pub and let him have a go at running it.’ That made it sound quite straightforward, as if they’d done Will a favour, not that he’d had to beg his father. While she had a fairly dim view of Will’s dealings with the opposite sex, she couldn’t deny that he’d worked his socks off to make the place a huge success. She pulled a face. Although his parents had made him pay for the privilege. He’d never said anything, but she often wondered if it was Will who’d kept the family afloat the last few years and ensured that his much-younger sister stayed at her expensive boarding school.
And why the hell were they talking about bloody Will? It was bad enough that he’d hijacked her holiday.
Lisa turned the map on its side and took another look, tilting her head almost side on to try and get her bearings. Nope, none of it made sense. It was almost as if some kind of dyslexia set in the minute she tried to make sense of the jumble of roads, but she refused to give in.
‘You don’t need the map. Today I will be guide,’ said Giovanni, trying to wrestle it from her.
Lisa flapped his hand away. ‘But you don’t know where I want to go.’
‘I know all the best places in Rome.’
‘You might do but I have a list.’
‘A list? You can’t do Rome by list. You have to live and breathe it. I will show you what you need to see.’
‘As long as that includes this lot,’ she showed him her guide book marked with yellow sticky notes, ‘that’s fine.’
‘Hmm,’ He looked at his watch. ‘I want to take you to a nice place for lunch.’
‘Sounds nice. Presumably we can see some things on the way. Where are we going? Show me on the map and we can work out a route.’
‘I know my way.’
Lisa put her hand on her hip, her eyes sparkling. Typical male – thought he knew better. Well, she wasn’t going to get cross with him. Not on her holiday.
‘You might know the way, buster, but I want to get my bearings. See where I’m going. It’s not the same … without the map and knowing where we are.’ Okay, that was a big fat lie as even with the map she would never know where she was going, but she liked to dream.
He nudged her and put an arm around her shoulder and firmly removed the map from her grasp. ‘But we look like tourists.’ His face filled with mock horror and he looked left and right back over his shoulder.
‘We are tourists.’ Lisa laughed and snatched the map back and held it up out of reach, dancing forward a few steps. It was heaven to feel so light-hearted and free. Nowhere to be. No one expecting you. No one to look after. Today she could please herself.
‘But I am not a tourist.’ Giovanni wrinkled his nose, the faintest of pouts touching his lips. ‘It’s not cool.’
Lisa laughed and poked his arm. ‘I’m not cool. I don’t want
to be cool. I’m on holiday and a tourist.’ She linked her arm through his and gave him a squeeze, with a happy grin. ‘You’ll have to hide behind your sunglasses.’
‘Okay, for you, Bellissima.’ He gave a deliberately tragic sigh.
Lisa stopped and turned the map again, so that it faced the same direction as they were headed, even though it was now upside down. ‘Where are we? Do we go this way?’
‘Here,’ he pointed and turned the map the right way up.
‘Oops. Show me.’
He traced the route with his fingers. ‘If we walk along here, it takes us into the heart of the city, where many of the sights are.’
‘Brilliant. Look, I can see the Trevi Fountain. We can go there first.’ She felt him shift, next to her. ‘Don’t sigh again.’
‘Everyone goes there. It will be very busy. And hot. Very hot. We could go tomorrow. Start early.’ He shrugged with a disarming tilt to his mouth. ‘Okay?’
‘Giovanni, I know it will be busy, but I only have five days left and …’ She left the words hanging.
‘Okay, okay.’ He held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘For you, Bellissima, I will face the hordes, battle through the crowds, all for the fair Lisa and the ridiculous fountain.’
‘Now, you’re being mean,’ she swiped her map at him. ‘The fountain is famous. It can’t be ridiculous if everyone wants to see it. I saw it in a film.’
‘La Dolce Vita,’ said Giovanni, with a world-weary sigh. ‘Everyone …’
‘No, not that one, it was … I can’t remember, but it was a rom-com and it’s top of my tourist list, well after the Colosseum, of course.’ She smiled at him. ‘I think I’m developing a bit of an obsession about it?’ What she’d read in the guide book to date had fascinated her. And then, of course, she had seen that film.