But Cat refused to let him go.
She locked her hands behind his head and kissed him back, opening her mouth, inviting him to do the same, delighted to discover he could not resist her long.
This isn’t about sex, she told herself, as she tasted almonds, coffee, him. This isn’t about love. This is about affection. Adam likes me. I like Adam. Why should we not kiss?
There won’t be any fallout. It’s not as if we’re starting a relationship. Adam doesn’t do relationships.
Anyway, I’ve had enough of being in relationships. I’m through with being in love. All love has done for me is cause me pain. But Adam makes me happy.
I think it’s time for happiness.
It’s time to have some fun.
The holm oaks sighed and whispered in the breeze. The evening air turned cool and velvet-soft.
‘It must be getting very late,’ said Cat.
‘It must,’ said Adam.
‘We’ll go and have that Prosecco, shall we?’ she suggested, as she took her arms from round his neck.
‘Yes, okay,’ said Adam, releasing her reluctantly.
Then he stroked a lock of dark blonde hair back from her forehead, and kissed her on the temples one last time.
They walked back to the trapdoor.
It was shut.
Adam grasped the handle, pulled it, but it wouldn’t move.
‘I think it’s locked,’ he said.
‘It can’t be locked,’ said Cat. ‘They wouldn’t lock us in here for the night. They don’t know what damage we might do. Give it one more tug.’
So Adam yanked at it again and still it didn’t move.
‘What shall we do?’ asked Cat.
‘You know you fancied being Rapunzel? I reckon now’s your chance. I’ll abseil down your hair. I’ll go and find the guy who has the keys, then come and let you out.’
‘You know you said my hair would not be long enough for all that climbing up and down it stuff? I reckon you were right.’
‘Then it will have to be Plan B. We hang over the parapet and shout.’
‘What’s the Italian word for help?’
‘It’s something like soccorso. Or maybe it’s aiuto. I don’t think it matters. We just have to wave our arms and yell.’
‘Adam, this is so embarrassing.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Adam. ‘Pietro and his uncle will dine out on it for weeks.’
‘It’s always been on my to-do list, get locked inside a tower.’
‘So you can cross it off tonight.’
‘Oh, Adam – don’t look so annoyed. This is all so daft, you have to laugh.’
‘But we could be stuck up here for hours. You’re hardly wearing anything, and I bet it’s bloody cold by three or four o’clock. You can have my shirt, of course, but that won’t keep you warm.’
‘We’ll have to make a camp fire.’
‘Yes, that’s a possibility,’ said Adam, looking at the trees. ‘At least there’s lots of wood.’
‘We wouldn’t dare.’
‘They’d execute the pair of us.’
‘They’d do it in the amphitheatre, wouldn’t they, with lions and tigers borrowed from some zoo?’
‘I expect so,’ Adam said. ‘So come on, Cat – get shouting.’
As it turned out, Cat didn’t do much shouting. Adam’s voice was stronger, carried further, and soon a small, excited crowd had gathered on the street a hundred feet or more below. People were pointing up at them and calling out advice.
‘Someone needs to go and fetch the guy who keeps the keys,’ cried Adam, hoping that was what he’d really said – he wasn’t absolutely sure.
‘All in good time, my friend,’ a teenaged boy yelled up at him.
‘I see you have some lovely company!’ called out a man. ‘We wouldn’t want to rush you!’
‘You stayed up there on purpose, didn’t you?’ shouted someone else, and all the others laughed.
‘We’re sending for the caretaker, don’t worry.’
‘Let’s hope he hasn’t lost the keys!’
‘You’ll have to stop up there all night.’
‘You’ll be pretty chilly by the morning.’
‘No, you’ll have your love to keep you warm!’
‘What are they saying, Adam?’ Cat demanded. ‘It sounds as if they think we’ve been—’
‘They say the guy who has the keys is on his way.’
But then he put his arm around Cat’s shoulders, and all the people on the ground began to cheer and whistle.
‘Go on!’ called the teenaged boy. ‘Give her one, why don’t you?’
‘Give her one from me, as well!’ shouted somebody else.
‘They’re saying he won’t be long,’ translated Adam.
‘Yeah, right,’ said Cat suspiciously, as more cheers and whistling floated up from far below.
The caretaker arrived at last, pushing his head up through the trapdoor and opening it wide.
‘Signor, signorina, I’m so sorry, how can you forgive me?’ he began, wringing his hands and looking as if at any minute he would start to cry.
As Cat and Adam followed him down the creaking wooden staircase, he carried on talking twenty to the dozen in Italian, repeating he was sorry, but he knew he’d rung the bell. He’d never left anyone in the tower before. He called on all the patron saints of Lucca to confirm this was the case.
‘It’s okay,’ said Adam. ‘It’s no problem, doesn’t matter, we’re not blaming you. We’re grateful you could come and let us out. I didn’t notice everybody else had gone.’
‘You were with a lovely girl, that’s why,’ the caretaker told Adam. ‘This bella signorina, she would make any man lose track of time.’
As they left the Torre Guinigi, the people on the pavement clapped and cheered.
A few men made comments which Adam was glad Cat didn’t understand, although he knew she couldn’t fail to get the gist of them, especially when the comments were accompanied by explicit gestures and a lot of grinning.
As the crowd dispersed, Adam gave the caretaker some euros, thanked him once again and said goodnight.
‘What shall we do next to draw attention to ourselves – fall down a well?’ suggested Cat.
‘Or what about free-climbing up the tower of the cathedral as an encore – that should draw a crowd?’
‘Or we could be boring and go and have some supper, couldn’t we?’
‘Then do more tower stuff tomorrow, right?’
They walked back through the darkening streets, past restaurants and cafés full of people eating, drinking, all enjoying sitting out under the bright, white stars.
‘Where would you like to eat?’ asked Adam.
‘What about that place with the white flowers and all the vines where we had coffee earlier today?’
‘Yes, that sounds perfect,’ he agreed.
So they ate their supper sitting in the perfumed twilight, beneath a heavy canopy of white wisteria blossom that filled the night with scent, where moths as big as sparrows fluttered, batting their soft wings.
‘You okay?’ asked Adam as the waiter brought their coffee.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ said Cat. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘You’ve gone very quiet.’
‘I’m very tired.’ Cat yawned behind her hand. ‘All that exercise I’ve had today – I’m not as fit as you.’
‘I’ve worn you out.’
‘I’ve had a lovely time,’ insisted Cat.
‘But you got locked inside a tower.’
‘It was sort of fun.’ Cat smiled at him. ‘It was a big adventure, wasn’t it?’
‘It was a big embarrassment as well.’
‘We might end up on YouTube. There were lots of people filming us on mobile phones. Let me get this,’ she added, as the waiter brought the bill.
But Adam covered her hand to stop her reaching for her bag and then got out his card.
‘We’d better get you home to bed,’ said Adam.
He led her through the narrow winding streets, which were full of things to look at, wonder at – fountains, churches, palaces and statues, gardens rich with perfume and cafés full of noise and merriment. It was the sort of night when anyone with any heart could very easily fall in love.
But you will not fall in love with him, Cat told herself. You will not hold his hand.
So whose hand was she holding, then?
I’m tired, she told herself, and Adam walks so fast. I need to slow him down. Otherwise I’ll lose him and then I won’t be able to find my way back home.
‘Who’s the fella with the fiddle?’ she enquired, stopping to admire a fine bronze statue of an eighteenth-century musician. She realised she was a little drunk – but happy drunk, not maudlin drunk, just glad to be alive.
‘Luigi Boccherini,’ Adam said as he read the inscription. ‘He was a composer born in Lucca in 1743, and it’s not a fiddle, it’s a cello.’
‘Oh, I beg its pardon.’ Cat looked up at Adam. ‘I expect he wrote a lot of highbrow, very intellectual stuff?’
‘Perhaps,’ said Adam. ‘I’ve never heard of him. I’ll look him up. Cat, what sort of music do you like?’
‘Lady Gaga, Amy Winehouse, Coldplay – I change my mind according to my mood. What about you, Adam?’
‘I like almost everything – rock, some R & B, some jazz, some folk, some classical. I’m promiscuous, me.’
Promiscuous, thought Cat. It gets worse and worse. I’m falling for a guy who doesn’t do relationships and now says he’s promiscuous.
‘Tell me about your family,’ she said, to cool the conversation down. ‘Where were you born, and were you happy when you were a child? What did your parents do before you came along?’
‘I was born in Middlesex,’ said Adam. ‘I had a happy childhood. My father was a Russian double agent. My mother was the daughter of a Transylvanian countess and a big game hunter from Brazil.’
‘So that explains the Spanish eyes.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Oh, nothing, Adam.’ Cat felt her colour rise. ‘Please, take no notice. I’ve had too much to drink and I’m just wittering on. What about when you were growing up? Did you get in trouble with the law? Did you get expelled from half a dozen different schools?’
‘No and no. I’m sorry, Cat,’ said Adam. ‘I don’t know what to tell you that won’t put you to sleep. My mother came from Stockport and I think I told you my father was a builder, that he ran his own small business, doing mostly bathrooms, kitchens, home extensions, boring stuff like that?’
‘Yes, I think you mentioned it. Mr Brick the builder, Mrs Brick the builder’s wife and Master Brick the builder’s son,’ said Cat. ‘What about Miss Brick the builder’s daughter?’
‘I’m an only child.’
‘What about your parents – do you still have the set?’
‘Dad had a fatal heart attack when he was fifty-five. My mother never came to terms with it. She’s never thrown out any of his stuff.’
‘That’s why you have so many hankies, right?’
‘I’ve dozens of the bloody things,’ said Adam ruefully. ‘Do you have brothers, sisters?’
‘No, I’m an only one, like you.’
‘It’s a big responsibility.’
‘Yes,’ said Cat, and sighed. ‘I’ve always felt there was this sort of pressure. Do well at school, get married, be a doctor or a lawyer, get a mortgage, have some children, do us proud. It must be the same for you.’
But then she blushed again, embarrassed. ‘God, what am I saying? I didn’t mean anything, you know. I don’t want you to think—’
‘Cat, it’s all right.’ Adam gave her hand a friendly squeeze. ‘I wasn’t thinking anything at all.’
By the time they reached the amphitheatre, Cat was busy having a violent argument with herself.
She wanted him, she really did, and she was almost sure he felt the same. She somehow knew he wouldn’t make assumptions. He wouldn’t think that just because she’d kissed him she’d given him the right to take things further, do anything he liked.
Glancing at him in the scented darkness, she saw his eyes were bright. His pupils were dilated. She knew that if she offered him the slightest of encouragement—
But should she, shouldn’t she?
As he unlocked the dark green door, she looked at him again. It will be okay, she told herself. Just remember that he doesn’t do relationships and it will all be fine.
As they reached his landing, she touched Adam’s arm and smiled at him. ‘Let’s go upstairs,’ she whispered.
‘I—maybe not,’ said Adam. ‘You’re a lovely girl. You’re beautiful, you’re fun. But when I said come to Italy, all I wanted was to make you smile.’
‘You did,’ said Cat, and now she wound her arms around his neck. ‘See how I’m smiling? Let’s see you smile, too?’
‘You’re sure you want to do this?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Cat looked up at him, into his eyes. ‘Adam, I’ve just thrown myself at you. I’d appreciate it if you’d catch me?’
Adam unwound her arms from round his neck and took her hand.
He led her up the stairs.
Cat meant to take it slowly, do the sexy siren thing, to drive him wild with desire.
She meant to have him snorting like a stallion as they reached a shuddering, mutual climax, complete with Dolby Digital of waves crashing on shores and angels singing, obviously.
But she’d overdosed on the Prosecco. So she could not stop giggling and laughing, and making him laugh, too.
As she undid a button on his shirt, she wondered why he made her feel so happy – so ridiculously, brilliantly, wonderfully happy – when she had so many worries, problems and anxieties back at home.
She’d think about it later, she decided, as he slid his hands under her top.
She had other stuff to do tonight.
She spent a lot of time exploring him. She found a mole shaped like a crescent moon on his left shoulder, gravel marks from a forgotten accident sprayed like a constellation on one forearm, a whorl of curling hair around his navel. ‘I think you’ll do,’ she said.
‘It’s kind of you to say so.’ Adam had also been undressing Cat, and now he peeled her knickers off so she was naked, too. ‘Do you know you have the most attractive belly button in the world?’
‘I didn’t know women could do that,’ said Adam thoughtfully, as he and Cat lay tangled up in white cotton sheets upon the carved and gilded bed.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Cat, her green eyes narrowing suspiciously, but looking playful, too. ‘What did I do?’
‘Some sort of magic.’ Adam was lying on his side, gazing drowsily at Cat and playing with a strand of hair, curling it around his index finger, pulling it straight, then letting go again. ‘I don’t think you’re real. You’re a ghost, a goddess. I’ll wake up in a moment and you’ll vanish, like a dream.’
‘I’m not a dream,’ she said. ‘But I am going to vanish for a moment. I need a drink of water.’
Cat swung her legs out of the bed. She pulled the sheet off too and wrapped it round her body, leaving Adam naked.
He rolled on to his stomach and smiled lazily. ‘Make me some coffee, could you, goddess?’
‘Yes, all right – one sugar, isn’t it?’
‘Make it two,’ he said. ‘After all that exercise I feel I need a carbohydrate hit.’
‘You poor old thing,’ said Cat. ‘I’ve worn
you out.’
‘You have indeed,’ said Adam, and he groaned theatrically. ‘I’ll be good for nothing for a week – or even three.’
‘I hope it was worth it, then.’ Glancing back at him, Cat started to giggle naughtily. ‘My goodness, Mr Lawley – you’ve got a lovely bum!’
‘Thank you very much, Miss Aston.’ Adam reached languidly across the bed – and then, as quick as lightning, he yanked the sheet off Cat, who squealed in protest. ‘So have you.’
Sunday, 19 June
They woke in the cool, grey dawn, made early morning love then dozed again.
Since all the wedding, money, Jack and Fanny Gregory stuff, Cat had been a virtual insomniac, a clock-watcher, a midnight wanderer. But today she realised she’d had a whole six hours, and she felt wonderful. She curled up next to Adam and fell into a dreamless, tranquil sleep.
They woke an hour later to a deafening cacophony of bells, crashing and reverberating round them, making the whole amphitheatre shake.
She thought – it took them several centuries, but in the end the Christians won.
‘What shall we do?’ she asked, or rather shouted.
‘I’ll take you to Fiesole.’
‘Where or what is that?’
‘It’s a little town up in the hills.’
‘It’s in the what?’
‘I’ll tell you in a moment. Thank God for that,’ he added, as the bells stopped clanging and now began to toll lugubriously. ‘It’s a very old Etruscan town. It’s in the hills above the valley of the Arno, overlooking Florence, and it’s very pretty, or so the guidebook says.’
‘Do we drive there?’
‘We could go by bus and train, mix with real Italian people, get a flavour of the country?’ Adam glanced at Cat. ‘Italian trains are really something. Lots of them are double-deckers, fast, luxurious and comfortable. But if we drive we won’t be tied to timetables.’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Cat and smiled at him. ‘You make the decision.’
‘Okay, we’ll drive,’ said Adam. ‘We can have a look around and then go on to Florence, if we’ve time, and if you’d like to do more tourist stuff?’
The Wedding Diary (Choc Lit) Page 16