To Rome, With Love

by T A Williams

  The hotel looked really good. As she walked in from the street, feeling a bit self-conscious in her cycling clothes, a friendly-looking man standing behind the reception desk greeted her with a smile. ‘Signorina, buongiorno.’

  Sarah greeted him in return and explained that she was taking Paul Hall’s room. As it turned out, Paul had already called and everything was ready for her. She handed over her passport, signed the registration card and was just about to ask if there was a message for her when the receptionist handed her a white envelope.

  Sarah stepped into the lift with the letter clutched firmly in her hand and pressed the button for the fourth floor, desperate to open it and read what Miles had to say. Her spirits lifted even more when she opened the door to her room. It was magnificent, huge by comparison with most of the rooms she had been occupying over the past couple of weeks, and with a massive, king-size double bed. Dumping her stuff on the floor, she sat down on the bed and opened the envelope. If she had been expecting a gushing declaration of eternal love, she was to be disappointed. It was little more than a brief note, unmistakably in his handwriting.

  Hi Sarah

  I’m delighted you’re going to be staying in Rome. We have been invited to a party tonight. I hope you can come. Could I pick you up from your hotel at nine? If there’s a problem, you can call me on my new Italian phone.

  Looking forward to seeing you

  Miles

  P.S. It will be rather smart.

  He had written his new phone number on the bottom of the page, and that was that. Short and sweet and he hadn’t even included a pesky little X.

  Still, Sarah thought to herself, at least she was going to see him. And he had said it was going to be smart, so she knew she was going to need to bring her A game. She opened her bag and emptied her stuff out onto a sofa set along one wall. She salvaged her remaining clean underwear and the silk dress, and hung them up to air, and then, feeling suddenly tired, she stripped off her cycling clothes and slipped under the sheets.

  After her rude awakening that morning and the stress of the earthquake, she went out like a light, for once untroubled by her subconscious. She didn’t wake up until gone six o’clock, but when she did, she was feeling brighter and much more rested. She got up, showered, washed her hair and changed into shorts and a T-shirt. She only had her sandals with her so, on an impulse, she decided to go shoe shopping. When in Rome, she thought to herself…

  She got back to the hotel at gone eight o’clock, laden with bags. She hadn’t had much opportunity to spend money on the trip so far and the shops around this part of Rome were full of gorgeous things. Along with all the other stuff, she had bought an enchanting pair of cream-leather, high-heeled shoes, very open, more straps than shoes, and exactly the same colour as her dress. They hadn’t been cheap, but she knew she was going to look really good in them.

  By nine o’clock she was ready. She had decided to put her hair up tonight and had even bought herself a pair of earrings and some lipstick. She was wearing the silk dress and the new shoes and she added a little perfume as it wasn’t every day you got invited to a smart party in Rome with a handsome man. There wasn’t much she could do with her battered fingernails, but at least the bleeding had now stopped so she didn’t need plasters. After checking herself in the mirror, she decided she would do, let herself out of the room and went down in the lift. When she got to the lobby, she was slightly disappointed not to find Miles there, waiting for her, but the receptionist had been primed. He pointed to the glass front doors. ‘Out there, Signorina.’

  Intrigued, she walked out through the doors and into the sticky Roman night. The sun had set by now, but she could still feel the warmth reflecting up from the pavement. She let the door swing shut behind her and stopped in surprise. There, in front of her, waiting at the kerb, was a fine, shiny carriage drawn by an equally shiny black horse. Beside it, with a smile on his face, was Miles, looking immaculate in new light-grey trousers, new deep blue linen jacket, new shirt, new shoes, and most probably new underpants. Sarah felt her heart leap.

  ‘Buona sera, Signorina.’ He gave her a formal half-bow and held out his hand to help her up the steps into the carriage, while the driver looked on from his seat at the front, his hands on the reins. As she did so, she heard Miles give a soft whistle of approval. ‘Sarah, you look absolutely gorgeous.’

  She sat down on the warm leather seat and waited for him to join her, turning towards him as he sat down. Those amazing cobalt-blue eyes, illuminated by the street lights, met hers and she read happiness in them; for once, real, untroubled happiness. He reached out and took her wounded fingers in his, raising them to his mouth. Without a word being spoken, he kissed them each in turn and Sarah felt as if she was going to explode.

  ‘I seem to remember promising you a tour of Rome.’ His eyes met hers for a moment and then, still holding her hand, he looked up at the driver. ‘Andiamo.’

  The carriage ride took the best part of an hour, winding through the narrow streets of the centre and trotting through the park of the Villa Borghese, and they barely spoke more than a few sentences to each other. The noise of the hooves and the traffic combined to make conversation difficult, but it didn’t matter to Sarah. She was with him and that was all that counted. Miles pointed out a few landmarks as the horse trotted through the darkened streets until they finally pulled up outside a villa protected by a high wall and a sheet-metal gate with spikes across the top. All around her were patrician villas, other imposing walls and security cameras. The air was full of the scent of resin from the massive umbrella pines that stood out clearly against the orange glow of the Roman sky, and dry pine needles crunched underfoot as Miles helped her down from the carriage and paid off the driver. He led her across to the gate. Above them, a tiny blue light indicated that they were being observed on closed-circuit television. Before they reached the gate, there was a loud buzzing and it was opened by a woman wearing the black-and-white uniform of a maid. Clearly recognising Miles, she gave them a little curtsey and beckoned them inside. As they did so, Sarah heard the door click firmly shut behind her.

  Following the maid, they walked around the side of the house and through another gate, this time without any security locks. As they passed through it, they entered a large garden. Sarah had no idea how much a square metre of land might cost here in this most desirable part of Italy’s capital city, but she could imagine it being a whole heap of money. Having a garden this big, therefore, spoke volumes about the wealth of the owner. Strings of lights were hanging from bushes and trees, and a trio of musicians over in one corner were playing Mozart. The garden was full of beautiful people and Sarah was very grateful for Miles’s advice to dress up for the occasion.

  ‘If you would like to wait here a moment, I’ll go and get the Signora.’ Sarah and Miles did as they were told and stood to one side of the path while the maid went off. Miles was only a matter of inches from her and Sarah knew she would only have to move very slightly to feel his touch, but she resisted the temptation. At long last she had the distinct impression that he had made a decision and he was in charge of events. That suited her just fine and she could feel a light smile on her face as she stood there, looking around at the other guests in awe. If even a quarter of the diamonds glittering in the lights were real, the steel door with its multiple locks and the security cameras were most definitely justified. She was just trying to work out if the woman in the shimmering gold dress over by the musicians really was a famous film actress when the maid returned, followed by an elegant lady, probably in her fifties, wearing a tight-fitting, pale blue, long dress with a deep slit up the leg that even Sarah, who didn’t know much about fashion designers, recognised as being very, very expensive. She took a deep breath as the lady came up to them, the smile on her face broadening as she saw Miles.

  ‘Ciao, Miles, how lovely of you to come. Dario and I are so delighted. He’s over there somewhere talking to a bunch of politicians.’ She wrinkled her nose
discreetly. ‘Rather him than me. Look at you, Miles. You look so fit and handsome.’ To reinforce her words, she leant forward and kissed him tenderly on the cheeks. ‘I’m so sorry Paul couldn’t come, but he told me you’d be bringing a special friend.’ Her eyes flicked across to Sarah. ‘And such a beautiful one, too.’

  Miles smiled back. ‘A very beautiful and a very special friend, Annalisa.’ Sarah felt her cheeks flush as she heard the tone of his voice. ‘Let me introduce you. Sarah, this is one of my very best friends in the whole world, Annalisa Della Volpe. She and her husband are to Cinecittà what Cecil B. DeMille was to Hollywood back in the day. Annalisa, this is Sarah, and I think she’s the most amazing girl in the world.’

  Sarah’s cheeks were now the colour of the geraniums overflowing from the spectacular terracotta vases that ringed the garden. Annalisa’s face broke into a beaming smile. She reached out and caught hold of Sarah, hugging her to her, kissing her on the cheeks. Then, no sooner had she done that than she released her and caught hold of Miles once more, repeating the process with him yet again.

  ‘Miles, my darling, I couldn’t be happier for you. And, Sarah, I look forward to getting to know you much better. Miles so deserves to find happiness. I’m sure you both do.’ Seeing Sarah’s evident embarrassment, she excused herself, leaving the two of them alone. As Annalisa walked off, Miles turned towards Sarah and held out his hand. She caught hold of it with hers and he led her across to the far corner of the garden, through a wrought-iron gate and into the most charming little cobbled courtyard, festooned with vines, barely lit by the orange glow of an antique lantern on one wall. There was nobody else there and Sarah felt her excitement build. Miles stopped and turned towards her, her hand still in his. His eyes had turned green in the light of the lantern, but the smile on his face hadn’t changed.

  ‘I’m sorry if I embarrassed you back there and I hope you’ll forgive me. The thing is, deep down inside, I’ve known it for days now, but it was only this morning, when I realised how close I’d come to being separated from you for ever, that the full realisation hit me. I can’t spend my life looking backwards, Sarah. Life goes on. I had to see you, to explain what’s been going through my head, and to tell you how I feel about you.’

  Sarah felt a surge of happiness rising up inside her. ‘So you engineered this whole weekend just to get me here?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I did. To be honest, it was Paul’s idea to offer to give you his room. I was going to look for a hotel for you and then phone to see if you’d agree, but he told me the least he could do for you was to see you had a really good hotel, and he insisted. Besides, for some reason he seems to feel very strongly that we two should be together.’ He was grinning now. ‘That’s something else I’ve got to thank you for. I don’t think I’ve ever been closer to my brother. He and I had another long talk last night after everybody had gone to bed. I told him how I felt about you and what a fool I was.’ He looked deep into her eyes. ‘I told him it’s time to move on and he agreed with me.’

  Sarah gave his hand a squeeze and felt his other hand reach out and touch her face. She pressed her cheek against his fingers as she spoke. ‘That’s what this trip has taught me, too, Miles. I came over here to Italy, bleeding inside from the collapse of my relationship, the cancellation of my wedding, and what I saw as the total disaster of my life. It’s taken time, but I now know you’re right. We’ve both got to look forward, not back.’ She felt his fingers on her lips and gave them a little kiss. ‘It’s a funny thing. This morning, after I left you there by the ruins of your room down by the lake, both of us still reeling from the shock of your escape from death, I felt more alive than I have for ages.’ She turned her face so she could look into his eyes at close range. ‘By the way, you’ve told Annalisa how you feel about me and you’ve told Paul. Do you think maybe it’s time you told me?’

  His answer was immediate, his voice husky with emotion. ‘I love you, Sarah. It’s as simple as that. I do so hope you feel the same way about me.’

  She closed her eyes and reached towards him with her lips.

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  If you loved To Rome, with Love turn the page for an exclusive extract from What Happens at the Beach…, another sparkling romance from T. A. Williams!

  Prologue

  The beach was just the same as she remembered. Protected from the Tramontane wind by the rocky headlands that dropped near vertically into the sea either side of the little bay, the narrow triangle of light golden sand, squashed between the water and the wooded hillside, was still undeveloped and unspoilt. As she made her way down the steep slope beneath the umbrella pines, the narrow path woven with protruding tree roots, her sandals slipped and crunched on the carpet of dry pine needles that covered the ground. The unmistakable scent of resin filled her nostrils, while the light wind barely stirred the branches above her head. Even at this time of the morning it was already very warm down here and, by lunchtime, she knew it would be baking hot.

  As the trees thinned, she got her first good view of the water. The bright blue mirrored the cloudless sky, the surface of the sea barely disturbed by the breeze, the tiny wavelets reflecting the morning sun in myriad sparkles. The shallow water by the beach was a pale aquamarine, gradually deepening to a darker blue the further out she looked. From up here, she could see clearly all the way down to the white sand on the seabed. The waves that washed the beach were so gentle today that they produced little more than a gentle sigh, barely caressing the sand.

  As she emerged from the trees and crossed the narrow, rough road that snaked along the coastline, she could see nobody on the beach. She looked around, breathing in the atmosphere that brought back so many childhood memories. The only difference she could see was that the little café over to the north side, just beside the tiny jetty, had been enlarged and now boasted a sign announcing its reincarnation as a Café Restaurant. Half a dozen tables now stood on the terrace outside the single-storey stone building, none of them yet occupied at seven o’clock in the morning. Three umbrellas advertised French beer, while the others invited people to opt for a mineral water.

  Natalie set down her towel on a rocky outcrop on the sunny side of the bay and slipped out of her shoes and shorts. She walked down to the water’s edge, enjoying the feel of the sand between her toes. As ever, she found herself scanning the waterline for shells, and her eyes alighted upon a beautiful little light-blue butterfly shell. She bent down and picked it up, marvelling at its symmetry and perfection. Its colour, she knew, was virtually the same as her eyes. Somewhere up at the house was a bracelet of these shells that her grandfather had made for her when she was very small. She wondered where it was now. She dropped it back onto the sand and waded out until the water was deep enough for her to slip forward and start swimming.

  Although the initial impact was cold, she soon acclimatised and began a slow breaststroke, out parallel to the rocky shore towards the mouth of the bay, luxuriating in the refreshing feel of the water on her body after a hot, sticky, disturbed night. When she was almost at the open sea, she reached the last of a line of orange mooring buoys. Stretching out her hand she grabbed hold, glad to rest for a minute, letting the gentle current slowly turn her back towards the land.

  From here, she could see clear up the hillside to her grandmother’s house. Higher up, near the top of the hill, the old chateau was still as beautiful as ever with its slate roof and circular pointed turrets, sitting in its walled park, ringed by cypress trees. The terrace outside her grandmother’s house was empty, the vines that her granddad had planted and trained across the trellis casting a rare patch of shade on that sunburnt slope. In the far distance she could just see the hazy outline of the high Pyrenees; to the left of them lay Spain, and to the right France. It was a spectacular, magical view.

  The sea rocked her gently from side to side, her shoulder resting against the cool plastic of the buoy, the sun already hot on her head and neck. She felt comfortable and refreshed, pleased to rev
isit her favourite childhood haunt. But this brief moment of happiness didn’t last long, as her thoughts turned once more to the here and now. Of course, she was no longer a child, and those carefree days were long gone. Here she was, alone in the sea and virtually alone in the world. In spite of the sunshine, in spite of the idyllic surroundings, she had to struggle hard to stop the tears from falling as she thought back over the events of the last two days.

  Chapter 1

  David’s parents’ house was one of the most opulent in what was a very opulent part of south-west London. Today the gravel drive in front of the house was choked with smart, expensive cars and the Union Jack hung proudly, if limply, from the flagpole. The trees in the extensive garden to the rear were festooned with bunting, and a string quartet was playing softly from beneath the rose arbour. The French windows were wide open, and smartly dressed guests, all of whom had observed the instruction on the printed invitations to wear Smart Casual clothes, stood around on the terrace and chatted. Those without high heels had ventured onto the meticulously mown lawn and were making appreciative noises about the fine collection of flowering shrubs all round. The gardeners had been under strict orders to make it an impeccable display and, luckily for them, they had succeeded.

  Natalie was at the far corner of the lawn, ostensibly studying the rock garden, but in reality just taking time out from the small talk. She really didn’t feel in the least bit like turning on the charm for these people with whom she had nothing in common, although she knew they meant so much to David and his family. She had been dreading this day for weeks now and the fact that her presence had not so much been requested as demanded had done little to improve her attitude. Now, although surrounded by so many people, she felt more alone than she had done for months. She let her eyes roam over an exceptionally prickly cactus and reflected that it looked the way she felt.