From Rome with Love

by Jules Wake

  ‘No.’ Lisa burst out laughing. He knew her too well. ‘I saw it on the first day with Giovanni and was so intrigued. I looked it up. Those statues are amazing. It’s almost as if they might come to life at any minute.’

  ‘What? Like in Ghostbusters?’ teased Will, as she nudged him, giggling.

  ‘Now who’s the philistine?’

  ‘Come on, selfie time before we get back on the road.’ He lifted his camera above their heads to take a couple of shots.

  She grinned at the camera, unable to contain the happiness jumping out of every last pore and then made him take one with her phone. She wanted to hold onto this moment forever.

  As Will peered over the edge, she took her time studying his profile, trying to work out what it was that made him so damn handsome. She’d recognise it anywhere. Strong chin, wide mouth, well-defined cheekbones, perfect eyebrows that looked as if they’d been deliberately shaped that way, except they’d looked like that for as long as she’d known him. Her fingers itched to trace down his dead-straight nose and stroke that definite dip between his lips and chin. With a rueful smile, she wondered what he’d say if she told him it was rather cute.

  They stayed a while longer until their prime viewing position was usurped with Germanic efficiency when a coach arrived, spilling its load of octogenarians in shorts and walking boots on a determined mission to capture the best photographs.

  The tremor of excited anticipation, which had been sizzling all the way here, burst into an explosion of fireworks as they pulled up outside the Villa Liguria.

  Villa? It was more like a palazzo. Built in golden sun-drenched stone, the house, with its dark-green shutters, looked still and cool among the shady cypress trees that surrounded it.

  ‘Are you sure they won’t mind me tagging along?’ whispered Lisa, with a touch of awe, studying the gorgeous building.

  The villa had a central tower of three storeys, bookended by two square wings on either side. Each had a balcony bursting with colour as pots of geraniums, bougainvillea and other trailing plants filled every available spot, splashes of brilliant pinks, scarlets and verdant greens tumbling through the iron railings.

  Naked statues, which Lisa supposed were Venus or some other Roman goddess, marked the boundaries of a gravelled drive. This encircled a raised fountain featuring a stone dolphin balanced mid-leap above a plume of water spurting from a crown of stone flowers around the edge.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Will winked. ‘I keep telling you, Italians love blondes.’

  ‘They might not love unexpected guests.’

  ‘Don’t worry, there’s a campsite nearby if need be.’ Then he grinned. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t tease you. I think I told you already, the owners are very old family friends of my parents. She was at school with my mother and married Visconti Lanzia, but they lived in London for many years. Like my parents, they’re big into horse racing. Unlike my parents, they seem to believe in fidelity.’

  ‘Visconti!’

  ‘Allegedly,’ whispered Will. ‘Visconti Charles Giancarlo Lanzia. Born and bred in London.’

  Lisa folded her arms. He’d just told her this couple were old mates of his parents. But this wasn’t quite what she thought she’d been signing up for.

  ‘Lisa,’ Will nudged her, grinning like an idiot as he pulled two bags out of the boot of the car. ‘I rang before we left the apartment. Spoke to Dorothea. Explained I was bringing a guest with me.’

  ‘You toad!’ Lisa grinned back at him. ‘I was thinking I was going to be some unwanted guest.’

  ‘No, Dorothea was delighted. She’s never had kids of her own. She dotes on other people’s. And she loves entertaining. Although, maybe I should remind you that Gisella is her niece.’

  ‘Oh great! Let’s hope my reputation hasn’t arrived before me.’

  ‘Dorothea is nobody’s fool. I suspect she’s well aware what a man-eater Gisella is.’

  ‘Yoohoo!’ A tiny woman ran lightly down the stairs, which was quite some feat because she was very nearly as wide as she was tall.

  ‘You’ve arrived. How lovely.’ Without further preamble she launched herself at Will, giving him a hug and then turned to Lisa, her plump face glowing with delight. ‘Welcome, my dear. It’s lovely to see you. Aren’t you a handsome boy? Although you don’t look like your mother.’ Conspiratorially she said to Lisa, ‘And she’s one gorgeous lady, I’ll tell you. Have you met her?’

  ‘A long time ago,’ admitted Lisa.

  ‘Gosh.’ Dorothea widened her eyes, with coy salaciousness. ‘There’s a story to be had, I’m supposing.’ She was so over the top and arch that Lisa burst out laughing, at which point Dorothea linked arms with her and said, ‘I’m going to like you, I know it.’

  Will groaned and Dorothea chucked him under the chin as if he were no more than ten.

  ‘Come on, boy. Bring those bags in.’

  Dorothea, after instructing them to leave their bags at the foot of a rather grand staircase, led them through a light, airy hallway punctuated by wooden doors, to the back of the villa. A wide terrace flanked the building, filled with the sort of expensive garden furniture you only ever see in catalogues and tall urns with neatly trimmed topiary, cut in the shapes of chess pieces. A free-standing hammock swung gently, as if someone had just left it, and then Lisa spotted the Visconti. He was as tall and thin as his wife was short and wide, but had the same joyous bounce in his walk as he strode to greet them, his droopy tracksuit bottoms somewhat at odds with his elegant white linen shirt and Panama hat.

  ‘Will and lovely lady-friend. You’ve made excellent time.’ His flawless English made his accent almost undetectable.

  ‘Charles, nice to see you. This is Lisa Vettese.’

  ‘Welcome, my dear. We were about to open a bottle for lunchtime drinkies. Prosecco, alright? Or would you prefer something more manly, Will? I rather like the fizz myself, but it’s not for everyone.’

  Before Will could answer, he led them over to a vine-clad wooden arbour tucked out of sight, on a lawn as immaculate as a cricket square. Dorothea brought up the rear, clucking along behind them like a contented mother hen, muttering cheerfully, ‘Vettese. Vettese. Why do I know that name?’

  Charles waited for her, pulling out a chair before patting her with great humour on her very ample bottom. ‘Dottie, darling. You think you know everyone.’

  An ice-bucket wedged with not one, but two, bottles of Prosecco sat on an elegant cream wrought-iron bistro set of four chairs and a table.

  Lunch was served at one-thirty, when a smartly dressed Italian woman brought out a huge flat-bottomed basket.

  ‘Salami di Milano, Parma ham, Cacciatore, Capicola,’ trilled Dorothea. ‘And cheese, we have Provolone, Bel Paese and Caciotta as well as my favourite, Wensleydale. Poor Charles has to import it especially for me, but I couldn’t possibly live without.’ The rustic platter of salamis, meats and cheeses was placed in the centre of the table, along with a basket with a mountain of bread, sliced in good thick chunks. More dishes of colourful antipasti were unloaded, including tiny gherkins, a red and yellow pepper salad and a tomato and mozzarella salad.

  ‘Just a light lunch. And then this afternoon, you can visit the winery and taste the wines. Unfortunately, this evening Charles and I have a very dull party to go do, which we can’t possibly get out of.’ With a petulant sigh, she shook her head but then cheered up. ‘But no problem. Annunzia, here, cooks like an angel and had already planned dinner for this evening.’ She lowered her voice. ‘This way I don’t upset her for changing our plans. Honestly, she’s a wonder and I don’t know what I’d do without her, but it’s more than my life’s worth to mess up the menu plan.’

  ‘Oh, there’s no need,’ said Lisa. ‘We can go out.’ It seemed the height of rudeness to expect Dorothea to cater for them when she wasn’t even going to be in.

  Sitting sipping Prosecco with the Viscount and Viscountess Lanzia, in the grounds of what might as well have been an Italian palace, she wondere
d what on earth Nan would think. Even though she sat next to Dorothea, across the table from Will, that spark of awareness remained and every time she caught his eye, her pulse tripped.

  Will was talking to Charlie about his restaurant plans while Dorothea cross-examined Lisa with such blatant cheerful nosiness she was impossible to resist.

  ‘You’ll have to forgive me, dear, I’m not very up on these things, but shall I put you and Will in the same room tonight? It’s such a fag preparing two rooms and changing sheets, only for everyone to start playing musical bedrooms and tip-toeing down corridors in the middle of the night, which is what we had to do in my day. Although it is lovely to have your own space.’ Then she added with studied innocence. ‘Have you and Will been seeing each other long?’

  Lisa pressed her lips tight in a desperate attempt not to burst out laughing, knowing full well Will hadn’t informed her until this morning he’d be bringing a guest.

  Dorothea grinned unrepentantly. ‘I’m desperately intrigued. Especially when you said you knew his mother. You know I was at school with her.’

  ‘I’ve known Will since I was a child.’ Lisa lifted her chin as she added. ‘My grandmother worked for his mother. As a daily help.’

  Dorothea positively sparkled at this news. ‘Oh heavens. How delicious! Does Eloise know you and Will are stepping out? She’s such a crashing snob.’

  The words gave Lisa a brief qualm.

  With a hint of mischief, Dorothea added. ‘I ought to give her a call. I haven’t spoken to her in a while.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so.’ Lisa stiffened. ‘It’s relatively recent.’ Lisa couldn’t imagine that Will shared much information with his mother. Was Dorothea going to spill the beans?

  ‘But you’ve been friends for a long time. I can tell. You look at ease with each other.’

  Lisa’s eyes twinkled. ‘Really? We’ve been more like enemies for the last nine months.’

  ‘Ooh a touch of the Beatrice and Benedick. My favourite sort of romance. What made you change your mind about him? Apart from the obvious, I’ll give you that, he’s a handsome devil, and good in the sack, no doubt. Don’t look shocked, darling.’

  Lisa studied Will out of the corner of her eye, hoping he couldn’t hear. What had changed? He’d been nice to her, that didn’t sound like a good enough reason to fall in love with someone, but then she’d been a little bit in love with Will for a very long time. When Will was on your side, he was on your side. One hundred per cent reliable and supportive. She’d seen him in action at the pub, his employees, a motley bunch of eccentrics, all adored him, especially Siena, who he’d given a job to when on paper she was the last person to make a decent waitress.

  Even when he wasn’t being nice to her, like on the plane, he was, albeit in a backhanded sort of way.

  She liked the fact he didn’t stand on ceremony and treated everyone equally, despite the once-privileged background. She liked that he’d worked hard to make the pub such a success.

  And, most of all, she liked that he was honest. She particularly liked the line ‘I think I might be a bastard who’s in love with you.’ It said much more than a glib declaration. He was honest that it scared him. It scared the pants off her too.

  ‘Oh lord, I’ve put my foot in it. You haven’t slept with him yet. Pressure. Pressure. Perhaps I should give you the spare spare room.’

  Maybe Will could hear the conversation because he suddenly shot her a knicker-stripping-at-fifty-paces look that made knees tremble even though she was sitting down.

  ‘No, it’s f-fine.’ It took a while for Lisa to drag a breath up and out.

  Halfway through lunch Dorothea suddenly jumped up.

  ‘Don’t go anywhere. I’ve just remembered.’ And with that she scurried off, despite her bulk, looking like an agile squirrel, as she hopped over the thyme hedges of the herb garden. When she came back, beaming with delight, she flapped something in her right hand.

  ‘I knew I knew that name.’ Dorothea held up a photograph.

  ‘Vettese. Vittorio Vettese. I remembered. He knew Will’s parents too. Do you know him?

  ‘Yes,’ gasped Lisa. ‘My father.’

  Dorothea’s eyes gleamed with triumph and sudden prurient curiosity.

  ‘Really? He was our jockey.’

  The photo showed a group of five people, grouped together in front of a horse, on top of which was perched, quite literally, knees almost up to his chin, a figure in a bright-green silk shirt, with a group of four white stars in the centre, a matching riding hat and racing goggles.

  ‘That’s me.’ Dorothea pointed to a much younger and slimmer version of herself, wearing a cream-and-pink suit topped with a bright-pink hat with several feathery plumes cascading like a waterfall. ‘Charles.’ He wore a morning suit. ‘And your parents, Will. And Sir Robert. He owned the stables.’

  Lisa recognised both Will’s parents and, of course, Sir Robert, but her father could have been anyone behind those goggles and the brim of his helmet, except for the racing silk covering the helmet. Emerald green with four white stars: north, south, east and west. The silk sat on top of one of the posts of her dressing table. One of the few mementoes left by her mother.

  Dorothea pointed to the horse. ‘Going Loco.’ She shook her head. ‘Which is where our money went, I can tell you. The only person who made anything was Sir Robert. We must have been mad, investing in a horse. Never won a damn thing. That’s not true, it did win once. But it didn’t matter,’ she sat up with a bounce, ‘it was always oodles of fun. Going to races when you have a runner. More than exciting. And your father, such a charmer.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t remember him. He left my mother when I was two.’ Lisa touched the picture. ‘But I did know Sir Robert – my mother worked for him.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, my dear.’ Her plump fingers pleated her skirt. ‘You can keep the photo, if you like. I have another one.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s very kind.’ Taking it, she zipped it securely in the inside pocket of her handbag. Goggles or not, she didn’t want to lose this one.

  Dorothea sighed forlornly. ‘We had no idea how horrendously expensive the stable fees were going to be. The farrier’s bills alone were ridiculous and then the race fees. The feed bills.’ She perked up. ‘Fun while it lasted, though. Lord it was fun. Being an owner. Going into the owners’ enclosure. And your father,’ Will and Lisa exchanged looks, not quite sure whose father she was referring to. ‘He loved all the attention on race day. Handsome devil. Gosh we had some fun in those days.’ Her expression suddenly shrewd, focused on Will. ‘Before you were born, of course.’

  She frowned. ‘I always thought …’ Lisa saw her take in a sharp breath and her face crumpled slightly but then immediately brightened.

  She went to stand behind her husband, her plump hands gripping his shoulder. ‘We should let you young things get off to the winery. I’m sure you want to freshen up before you go.’

  Chapter 21

  ‘Well, this is rather nice,’ said Will, prowling around the bedroom, opening drawers and wardrobe doors, before stopping in front of a TV screen on the wall. ‘We can watch TV in bed.’

  ‘Great.’ Lisa put her overnight bag on the old-fashioned four-poster bed, noting her hand shook a little. She didn’t even know which side of the bed Will slept on.

  Not sure what to do with herself, she examined the high-ceilinged room. Two windows faced out over the gardens and she could see Charles’ feet poking out from the gazebo. She suspected he’d settled down for an afternoon snooze. A dressing table with three mirrors sat between the windows, reflecting the bed, which she couldn’t stop looking at. Twisting her hands, she wondered whether to unpack her overnight bag. Hang up the one dress she’d brought or put her underwear in the rather grand chest of drawers that guarded the entrance to the alcove of a separate dressing room.

  ‘Nice bathroom,’ called Will, his voice echoing slightly from the other room.

  She couldn’t join him
in there. Bathrooms were intimate. Couples shared bathrooms. What was the suitable adjustment time from … whatever they were to a couple? This was uncharted territory. They’d not even had a proper date. Although she supposed today might have been considered a date.

  Last time they’d spent the night together, it hadn’t been pre-meditated or planned. It just happened. A gradual deepening of intimacy during the course of the evening as the hours got later. It had seemed perfectly natural to finally give in to the tiredness they’d both been fighting because neither could bear to stop talking.

  Coming to Rome with Giovanni had been so much easier. She was in the driving seat and despite all his overtures, she knew she’d never intended to sleep with him.

  To her sudden horror, she realised Will was watching her in the mirror of the dressing table and had probably read her not-so-poker face.

  With a rush he crossed the room, rugby-tackled her to the bed, pulling them both down, and started tickling her.

  ‘Oy!’ She tried to push him away, but his fingers kept rippling up and down her ribs. ‘S-st-stop.’ Of course he didn’t.

  ‘As ticklish as ever,’ he grinned down at her as she lay gasping, trying to breathe again, her diaphragm aching from giggling.

  ‘Mean,’ she hauled in another breath, ‘trick.’

  ‘But effective.’ His pupils darkened and his head hovered over hers. ‘You were looking as terrified as a virgin bride on her wedding night.’

  ‘And now?’ Her voice dropped, husky with desire.

  They both stilled.

  ‘Something else altogether.’ He kissed her throat. ‘I think perhaps I should be terrified.’

  She swallowed and tilted her head back, breath stalling in her throat.

  Surely he could hear her heart pounding so hard in her chest that it almost hurt, as he lowered his lips to hers with slow, inexorable intent, like a deadly assassin with its target in view.

  She sank back into the feather duvet, anchored by the welcome weight of Will’s body, shifting to allow his leg to slip between hers and wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling him towards her, with a shocking and thrilling desperation.