‘I said I liked Irish accents, that’s all,’ Kate added. ‘We were talking about accents and I said I liked Irish. . . and Scottish too. . . ’cause, you know, most people like those accents. . .’ she trailed off hopelessly.
‘Thank you,’ the man replied, looking as confused and flustered as Kate felt, and to her unutterable relief, he took his order and left the shop with a polite nod.
Kate spun to face Jamie, but he had already lost interest in the proceedings and was now studying the contents of the glass case at the counter.
‘What the hell. . .?’ she hissed.
He turned to her. ‘He sounded good, and you’re single. You don’t get if you don’t ask.’ He shrugged. ‘It was no use anyway; he was wearing a wedding ring.’
Kate’s mouth fell open. ‘Couldn’t you have checked that before you said anything? Besides the fact that I would rather you said nothing full stop!’
‘You’re never going to see him again so I don’t know why you’re so hung up about it.’
‘Well. . .’ Kate began, but her reply faltered. Maybe Jamie had a point. She was so English, so used to keeping her opinions and feelings bottled up that she’d probably never spark up a conversation with an available man ever again. And you didn’t get to meet people without taking chances. Plus the Irish man had been attractive. And Kate would probably never see him again, so all that had resulted from the encounter was a compliment on his accent for him and an anecdote to take home to Anna and Lily for her.
‘These are on me,’ Jamie continued, interrupting her thoughts. He tapped the glass with a grin. ‘This right here. . . this is what Rome is about!’
There had been time to enjoy the gelato, which was creamy and dense, and so flavourful it was a world away from the supermarket ice cream Kate had served up every Sunday with strawberries to Matt for the past twelve years. Then Jamie had needed to get back to his hotel to make some client phone calls before he called it a day, and Kate had been eager to get back to her own room to change for dinner. Much as she had loved Jamie’s company and had been looking forward to more of it, a breather was a welcome prospect; he was funny and smart, but there was no let-up, not a single moment of gravity or introspection, and the day had been a long one where a quiet moment of one of those things for herself would be enough to help her recharge her batteries to make the most of the evening. So there had been a lovely hour of peace in her air-conditioned room while she got changed and organised her belongings for the week, and then she was out on the streets again with her trusty map to meet Jamie for dinner.
The trattoria Jamie had suggested was a great recommendation. It felt cosy and authentic, without the intimidating air of luxury that some of the others she’d passed had. Those were establishments where she wouldn’t have dared go in alone, let alone dine there. She had a feeling that at Trattoria da Luigi if she spilt tomato sauce on her dress, she wouldn’t mind and neither would anyone else.
As she stood uncertainly at the entrance, scanning the room and hoping that she’d got the right place, she saw that Jamie was already waiting at a table that was dressed in a traditional red cloth with a candle burning in a bottle, tucked away in a secluded corner of the restaurant. Mandolin music was piped in through strategically placed speakers, but while it added to the ambience it wasn’t so loud as to be distracting, and the aroma of warm bread and fresh herbs made Kate’s stomach groan in anticipation. He waved her over, and as she made her way across, relief flooded through her. Going to restaurants wasn’t a thing she did alone, and though she would have to get used to it if she was going to eat at all this week, she would have felt rather silly had he not been there.
‘Hey.’ Jamie smiled. ‘I thought you’d chickened out.’
‘I’m not late, am I?’ Kate asked, looking at her watch. ‘Oh. . . maybe a little, sorry. I got a bit side-tracked exploring. And I have to confess that I walked past this place three or four times before I decided it was the place you’d said to meet.’ She took a seat across the table. ‘Forgive me?’
‘Of course – how could I not? The most important thing is you’re here now and I’m not eating alone tonight. It makes a nice change.’
‘You eat alone a lot?’
‘In Rome, yes. One of the perks – or downsides – of business trips, depending on your view and how much you like the company of others. I happen to like it a lot.’
‘That’s got to be tough then.’
He smiled. ‘Sometimes I’m lucky enough to meet great people waiting for cabs who agree to come and keep me company over dinner and who don’t get too embarrassed when I try to hook them up with hot Irish guys.’
‘I’ve forgiven you for that. . . just about.’
‘But it was worth the trip for the gelato?’
‘Absolutely! But I’m starving again now. If I’m this hungry every day I’m going to go home looking like a whale.’
‘I’m sure you could never look like that. Your skin is the wrong colour for a start. . .’
Kate giggled. Then she raised her phone and pointed the camera at Jamie. ‘Hold still.’
‘Something to remember me by?’ he asked.
‘Something to send my sister. Remember you told me to send them a photo as insurance? I forgot to do it earlier.’
He raised his eyebrows as he broke a breadstick in half. ‘You don’t actually think I’m capable of kidnapping anyone, do you?’
‘No, but you did suggest it, and when I called her earlier, Anna said I was a nutter for agreeing to dinner with a man I’d just met whilst staying in a city alone where I don’t know anyone. I told her you seemed perfectly harmless when we went out for our walk but she said so did Hannibal Lecter to his victims just before he carved them up.’
‘Well, in that case I hope you got my good side.’
‘All your sides are good. Your boyfriend is a lucky man.’
‘Try telling him that when we’re disagreeing on. . . well, just about anything, actually.’
Kate started to laugh, but was distracted by her phone bleeping the arrival of a text. She unlocked it and read the message.
‘Anna says you’re hot.’
‘You can tell Anna she’s very kind. So she doesn’t seem too worried about me taking you out to dinner now?’
‘Apparently not. You must have a very inoffensive face.’
‘Well it’s been called a lot of things over the years but inoffensive is definitely a first.’ He picked up the wine menu as Kate tapped a brief reply to Anna.
‘I vote we get a nice bottle of Chianti.’
Kate raised her eyes from her phone. ‘I hope you’re not going to suggest fava beans with that and start making a weird slurping noise.’
‘I could see why that would be a worry for you,’ he said, laughing. ‘On second thoughts, let’s just get the house red and a nice pasta dish.’
‘Good plan,’ she said, locking her phone again.
They looked up at the arrival of the waiter. Jamie seemed to stiffen in his seat, and although it was a subtle action, it wasn’t lost on Kate. She subjected the newcomer to closer scrutiny. He was about twenty-five with dark hair and eyes, tall and slim, and his chiselled jaw was dusted with stubble. He shot Kate a wary glance but in the same instant he smoothed his features.
‘Buonasera. Would you like to order?’
Kate frowned slightly. How was it that everyone could automatically tell she was English? Was it that obvious just from the way she looked? She was pasty, and she was ginger haired, but surely other people in Europe had ginger hair apart from the British? But then the waiter’s gaze turning on Jamie again told her everything she needed to know. This time it wasn’t her who was transparent – it was Jamie. He had named the trattoria off the top of his head earlier, and she had to assume from that he was a regular. If he was, they’d likely know him and know he spoke English, although it still didn’t explain the uneasy feeling she got from the loaded glances exchanged by the two men. Something was going on here and
it wasn’t just regular dining.
‘Pietro. . .’ Jamie began, ‘I thought you were going to the Alps. . . What happened?’
Pietro shrugged. ‘I did not go. My father needed me here. . . He is old and he could not spare his son to go and waste his time skiing in the Alps.’
Jamie offered him a tight smile. ‘I’m sorry to hear that; I know how much you wanted to go.’
‘I am still young; maybe next year, eh?’
Jamie nodded. ‘I hope so.’ He gestured to Kate. ‘This is my good friend, Kate, and we’d like a nice bottle of red to celebrate her recent divorce.’
Kate felt the blush rise to her cheeks. She was learning fast that Jamie didn’t think any subject was taboo and that the idea of personal information was an alien concept to him. Perhaps she shouldn’t arm him with so much of it in the future if they were spending more time together.
Pietro gave her a little nod. ‘If you’ll permit me I know just the bottle.’
‘That would be wonderful,’ Kate said. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know much about wine so I’m happy to go with your recommendation.’
Pietro gave a stiff smile and then went off to get the wine. Kate turned to Jamie.
‘I may know nothing about Rome, but I know when something isn’t right. What’s the deal with you two?’
‘Huh?’ Jamie looked up from the menu he was now perusing.
‘You and that waiter? You know him?’
‘Sure, I come here all the time.’
‘I mean know him?’
‘You mean have I slept with him?’ Jamie looked offended and Kate immediately felt ashamed. It was a hell of an assumption, and she would have felt offended too had something similar been levelled at her by a virtual stranger.
‘I’m sorry. . . I didn’t mean—’
‘I know,’ he interrupted. His easy smile had returned. ‘He’s a handsome guy and I’m not too bad either. . . You know what they say: when in Rome. . . But in answer to your question, no, I haven’t and I know him because, yes, we have been out to a few bars during my previous visits. But it was as friends.’
‘Is he. . . you know. . .?’
‘Gay?’
Kate nodded, cursing the small-town mentality that seemed to prevent her from feeling guilty for asking what Jamie obviously considered a perfectly natural and innocuous question.
He let out a small sigh at this, but it seemed to be one of sadness, not frustration at her. ‘That’s a question he would have to answer.’
Kate frowned as Jamie returned his attention to the menu. It was a rather cryptic reply for him, considering he seemed to be open about almost everything else. But she supposed that knowing someone for a matter of hours wasn’t really knowing them at all, and what she thought Jamie might do and think about any situation wasn’t necessarily right.
‘The seafood linguine is really good here,’ he said.
It was clear that wide-open Jamie had closed this particular discussion and there was no point in pushing it any further.
‘I’m not sure I like seafood,’ Kate said, turning to the menu herself and trying valiantly to make sense of it. Would Jamie think she was really stupid if she asked him what some of the dishes were?
Jamie laughed. ‘How can you not be sure?’
‘I just don’t eat it much. Matt didn’t like it so we didn’t bother at home and what little I’ve had over the years. . . Well it’s like sushi, isn’t it? People who’ve eaten it in proper Japanese restaurants say it tastes nothing like the poor imitations on our supermarket shelves. So I might love sushi if I ate the proper stuff. The same goes for good seafood – I bet it’s not a bit like my occasional boil in the bag cod in parsley sauce.’
Jamie shook his head. ‘English people are weird.’
‘Probably,’ Kate said. ‘But we think you’re weird too.’
He prodded a finger at his chest. ‘Me personally or all Americans?’
‘All of you,’ Kate giggled.
‘Well that’s OK then. For a moment there I was almost offended.’
By the time Jamie had ordered their second bottle of wine, Kate was finding it hard to coordinate the journey of her fork to her mouth, and to make sure that the conversation coming from that same mouth was stuff she ought to be sharing. As her pollo pomodoro cooled in front of her, a great deal of her past poured out and a lot of it far more personal than the potted history she had shared so far that day, despite her resolutions not to tell Jamie any more secrets – from sex in strange places, to Matt’s restricted diet, his stuck-up parents and his refusal to commit to a family – it all got aired. But far from upsetting her, Kate was finding it all funnier by the minute, and she giggled uncontrollably as Jamie joined in the fun and added anecdotes of his own from an upbringing that sounded as colourful as hers had been secure, even though secure had meant ultimately dull. Because she was beginning to realise that the years with Matt had been very dull indeed. He was a good man, he was stable and sensible, but fun was not a word she would use to describe him, and she realised that fun was something she’d missed, something that had been so far removed from her everyday existence with him that she’d almost forgotten what it was. Sure, they’d had the odd DVD night with a takeaway, went to the pub from time to time with mutual friends, even ventured out to the local comedy club. There was the yearly trip to the seaside, birthday meals at the Chinese buffet and the annual poring over new Dulux paint-colour cards as they chose a new look for whichever room needed redecorating. But it was all terribly safe and certain and if she had ever proposed to Matt that they did something a bit out of the ordinary, she was quite sure he’d have keeled over from the shock. Kate now realised the only thing that had kept her sane was her dressmaking hobby, which gave her the chance to express herself as an individual, and not just as a perfectly sensible half of a relationship that made Matt happy but not necessarily her.
‘So. . . let me get this straight,’ Jamie said as he poured Kate another glass of wine. ‘You make vintage-style clothes? But that’s amazing! Are you wearing one of your own creations?’
Kate beamed as she cast a quick glance over the rose-print dress she had on. The cowl neck had been a particular fiddle and the full skirt had kept her busy many evenings, something that Matt had complained about, but she was proud of her handiwork and it remained her favourite dress. ‘It’s just a hobby,’ she said.
‘You’re in Italy! The Italians love fashion! You should be shouting from the rooftops about that dress and what you can do – it’s amazing! Get yourself a job in the industry here, move out and start a new life.’
Despite her lack of sobriety, Kate stared at him. ‘Get a job here? That’s crazy – I wouldn’t even know where to start! And I couldn’t leave my family.’
‘I bet I could find you contacts if you needed them. I have colleagues and clients who know people.’
Kate shook her head so vehemently she almost toppled off her chair.
‘You already told me you hate your job,’ he continued. ‘What is it again?’
‘Sales executive. Although that’s just a posh title for warehouse clerk that they gave me to make me feel more important.’ Even the sound of it made Kate feel dull and unglamorous against the dazzling individuality of Jamie. She wished dearly she had something else to offer, some other way of saying it, but there was no title she could invent that would make it sound any more exciting than it was. Which was about as exciting as watching static on the TV.
He sat back and regarded her with a wry smile. ‘I can tell by the look on your face that’s not your life’s ambition, and therefore, I rest my case.’
Kate giggled, but her reply was cut short as she noted his attention suddenly wandering. She turned and followed the direction of his gaze, but all she could see was the rest of the trattoria buzzing with customers and waiting staff.
‘Can you excuse me a moment?’ Jamie asked. His grin had faded and he didn’t wait for Kate’s reply before leaving her alone at the table. She w
atched him go to a side door that looked as if it was not for public use. It certainly wasn’t the toilet, which was clearly marked a few feet along the wall, and neither was it the kitchen. She could only assume it was some sort of private office/staff space, but what on earth was Jamie going in there for? Did he know the owners that well? Kate frowned as her brain worked, albeit drunkenly, to form a solution to the puzzle. Jamie was an enigma – just when she thought she had him figured out he would do something to throw her completely.
Giving the situation a mental shrug, she topped up her glass and in the process emptied their second bottle. She was quite sure she was sozzled, so how come Jamie hadn’t looked drunk? Despite this, she looked around for a waiter, hoping to implore someone without having to revert to her woeful Italian (which was based almost exclusively on the menu at her local pizzeria) that she needed a fresh bottle. As luck would have it, a young and impossibly glamorous girl scooted over.
‘Per favore,’ Kate said, shaking the empty bottle at her.
The girl gave a knowing smile and took the empty as she went off to get another. She returned a few minutes later and filled up the glass that Kate had already managed to empty. It was almost as if she was drinking out of anxiety now, as she thanked the waitress with a bleary smile and then knocked back the new glass before her gaze went back to the door Jamie had disappeared through. She wanted to ask the girl what was in there, but she didn’t know how. It was possible that the girl would speak English, of course, and highly likely given they were in Rome where probably half the tourists spoke English, but it wasn’t just the language barrier that stopped Kate asking. What if Jamie was in there when he wasn’t supposed to be? What if he was doing something he wasn’t meant to be doing? Now that she came to look again, she couldn’t see Pietro anywhere on duty either. What the hell was going on? She didn’t want to get Jamie in trouble, whatever it was, so she simply offered the girl another grateful smile and left her to attend to the next table.
Half an hour passed with no sign of Jamie, although Kate had made quite an impressive dent in the new bottle of wine. Her gaze went to the door again. She hadn’t seen anyone come out, but had she missed it? Was there another exit that she didn’t know about? Something had come up and Jamie had left her in the restaurant, she was sure of it now. Had she offended him somehow? Had an emergency cropped up? Was he simply bored of her company? Perhaps he did this all the time. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that he had indeed gone off. But there was the meal to pay for, and though she had offered to pay it in exchange for her half of the taxi fare he had picked up earlier, she was certain that their combined bill would be higher than what she owed him for that. He had seemed so lovely – surely he wouldn’t just up and leave? Or had it all been some elaborate prank for some unknown and unfathomable reason? Let’s have a laugh at the sad, lonely tourist’s expense. . . Perhaps he was a con man who preyed on idiotic and vulnerable lone travellers to get his meals paid for. But from what she knew of him already that didn’t stack up at all. And he had settled the taxi cab earlier that day, followed by gelato which he’d paid for, so what did he have to gain by stitching her up now? Surely the few euros difference wouldn’t make it worthwhile?
Rome is Where the Heart is: An uplifting romantic read, perfect to escape with (From Italy with Love Book 1) Page 4