by Jules Wake
It was very tempting. ‘I could look into flights.’ They’d probably be far too expensive.
Chapter 5
Will’s footsteps echoed in the empty room, dust rising in small puffs from the wooden floorboards. He wheeled around suddenly, tipping his head to one side. Yes, the pizza oven would go in that corner, with a curved serving area in front of it, open to the restaurant, allowing customers to see the flames as the pizzas were slid in and out of the oven on a big wooden paddle. Not that it was going to be all pizza. There would be a mix of authentic Italian food.
With a nod to himself, he paced to the opposite wall and reached out to touch the old crumbling plaster, the only clues to its history the darker squares where pictures once hung. As his fingers touched the wall, a cascade of rubble tumbled down. He winced. Shit, this place was going to need some serious work.
Was he mad? Taking this on when the pub was doing so well. This was a new challenge and, once it took off, perhaps his father would at last accept that Will might not be in banking or insurance but he was a successful businessman in his own right.
Ignoring the trickle of plaster dust, he pointed. ‘This wall will be shelved, floor to ceiling, and filled with recipe books.’ The ideas had been in his head for so long, it was easy to picture them. ‘I’ve already got Siena scouring second-hand bookshops and charity shops for Italian recipe books.’ And it would be somewhere to offload his own collection, which numbered in the hundreds.
‘Right,’ said Giovanni, squinting at the bare wall and nodding. ‘There will be much work.’
Will ignored the comment. Like he didn’t know that. And how much it would cost. Most of the time these days he dreamed in spreadsheets and project plans.
‘And here,’ he pointed, ‘there will be curved booths and tables for groups of six to eight. At the back we’ll build a conservatory area and have smaller, more intimate, tables for couples.’
‘It’s going to be great,’ said Giovanni, nodding enthusiastically. Will sighed, almost feeling envious at the younger man’s naivety. He bloody hoped it would be, otherwise his father really would have something to crow about. Just once, he’d like his dad to say, Well done rather than, Why leave a proper job to be arsing about behind a bar? or When are you going to give up playing at being landlord?
Giovanni had no idea what was resting on this. He was far too naïve and unworldly. He came from a privileged background where everything had been hard-fought.
For Will, opening a second restaurant was a gamble. A question of speculating to accumulate, when he could easily have kept on with the pub without overstretching himself.
It was a bonus that Giovanni wasn’t that astute. Will had the vision and plans, whereas Giovanni provided a healthy dose of passion and authenticity as well as his consummate customer-service skills. Initially Will took him on as a favour to his father, who knew Giovanni’s father, who was desperate for a placement for his son to learn better English.
It turned out the arrangement suited everyone as Giovanni, rather less spoilt than Will had supposed, was keen to do anything that gave him a reprieve from the family’s watchful gaze. He turned out to be a surprisingly good worker.
‘This is going to be a real Italian trattoria, with everything sourced from authentic suppliers. I’ve got a contact at the Italian Trade Delegation, who I’ve been talking to about some suppliers and importers. It would be great if I could go over there. He could set me up with a few meetings.’ Will paused. ‘I may have a few in Rome. Don’t suppose I could bum a bed?’
Giovanni’s face fell as a range of emotions crossed his face.
‘Problem?’ Will felt the sweat pooling on his palms at his outrageous fibs.
‘No, no.’ Giovanni swallowed, a brave tilt to his chin as he said, manfully, ‘No problem, boss.’
Will nodded, not feeling the least bit guilty. Okay, he might have overheard Giovanni telling Siena that Lisa was coming to stay and which flights Lisa had booked. It just so happened that those flights suited him too. But that didn’t mean anything. She’d booked the cheapest flights. So had he.
‘Don’t worry.’ Will gave him a perfunctory smile. ‘I’m not about to rain on your parade.’
Giovanni looked uncertain, but he clearly understood enough as his brow darkened with a touch of petulant schoolboy about his expression. ‘Lisa and I are friends. I am helping her.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Will had seen Giovanni watching her at the pub. Definitely a case of puppy love. Poor bastard didn’t stand a chance. A lifetime of living with Nan’s strident views on the opposite sex was bound to put anyone off. Lisa was as into commitment as Will was.
Once he thought he knew her better than anyone. They’d virtually grown up together until he’d gone away to uni and work. When he came back he realised something was different. For months, they’d skirted around each other, keeping their distance, until that one stupid night. Now she hated him and that suited him just fine.
‘I’ll stay out of your way.’ Well out of the way. He didn’t want his face slapped. ‘All I want is a bed for a couple of nights. I’ll be out with suppliers all the time. That’s why I’m asking. Every cent I save on not paying for hotels can be invested in here.’ He pointed to the sagging electrical cables hanging from a hole in the ceiling. ‘The sofa will do. You won’t even know I’m there. I promise you.’
Will held his nerve, trying to ignore the disappointment on the other man’s face. Okay, he was being a prize shit. Taking advantage of being the boss. Lisa would be furious. But needs must. To make this place a success it needed every last drop of capital he could lay his hands on, every penny he saved elsewhere could be spent here.
It was one hell of a surprise when he’d heard that she was going to stay with the Italian. He couldn’t care less who Lisa went out with, but he didn’t think Giovanni was … good enough was perhaps a bit strong. Giovanni seemed a bit of a mama’s boy or was that a convenient stereotype? Lisa needed someone with a bit more oomph.
‘I’ve found a place outside Rome that produces guanciale. It will make the perfect amatriciana. Then there’s a couple of farming co-operatives producing olive oil and pecorino I want to check out. And of course, pasta. I want bucatini and paccheri instead of your bog-standard spaghetti and penne.’
‘Si, si,’ nodded Giovanni. ‘English people think they know pasta. They don’t.’ His hands waved enthusiastically. ‘Yes. You can come stay.’
They locked up the derelict building and piled into Will’s Golf to take the short drive back to the pub, which was closing as he parked, and said goodnight to Giovanni.
The courtyard behind the pub had fallen silent, the last few punters gently persuaded on their way home. He liked this time of night. Running a pub meant that you couldn’t be too picky about the company you kept, but when everyone had left, he relished the solitude and the privacy of his flat, away from the staff quarters above the pub. As he unlocked his front door, he couldn’t throw off the slight twinge of guilt remembering Giovanni’s earlier chagrined expression. He quashed any incipient sense of remorse firmly. Once in Italy he would do what he always did; keep a healthy distance from Lisa. Even if he had any interest there, he’d been well and truly warned off. And it had been just as well. He, they, neither of them did relationships. He didn’t have the time or the inclination. Too much aggravation and hassle.
So why couldn’t he stop poking her like a bear with a stick? He couldn’t help trying to get a reaction out of her all the time. There were plenty of other women. Plenty. But for some reason she niggled; a constant itch plaguing him.
He shouldered the door closed and headed into the open-plan kitchen, lounge and diner, immediately consumed with an image of Lisa dodging behind his dining table, a bacon butty in her hand, laughing up at him.
One night. One best forgotten.
Chapter 6
Her ankle ached by the time the car finally pulled into the manically busy car park, the long snail’s pace up the hill ha
d had her foot tapping non-stop in between anxious looks at her watch. Passport, phone. She opened her bag. Yup, still there, like they had been when the taxi lurched up the slip road off the M1 towards Luton. Zipped into the pocket. The messenger bag looped over her head across her body. She patted it. Safe and secure.
Hurling herself out of the cab, Lisa waited, her foot going into action again, as the taxi driver took forever to open the boot. With hurried thanks, she grabbed the handle of her case, grateful for the swell of people all headed in the same direction. Pulling the case along, she stepped into the slipstream of two girls who clearly knew what they were doing and followed them towards the terminal.
Thank goodness for Giovanni’s heads-up that she should check in online. The queues snaking round and round and back on themselves, as people filed up to the check-in desks, looked horrendous. She clutched her phone tightly, unconvinced that flashing a phone app at someone was going to be enough to get her on a plane. What if she’d lost it or the battery died, which it was prone to do?
Riffling through her bag she produced the little plastic bag of toiletries ready for the x-ray machines, and as she glanced up, on the other side of the cavernous hall, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the back of a blonde head with a stubby ponytail rather like Will’s. The man was tall enough to be him and had that same confident stride.
She pinched her lips. A trip like this was for Will, Mr Sophisticated, no more stressful than popping out to the shops. He wouldn’t be checking he had his phone or passport with him once, let alone on the half hour, every half hour.
‘Everything in the tray, Miss,’ snapped an excessively grumpy security man. Why were they always so cross? Seriously? With her flushed red cheeks, two-year-old phone and sad collection of make-up, she looked like a major security threat? Flustered, she dumped everything into the grey plastic tray and when she looked up the Will lookalike had gone.
The departure lounge she could cope with, as for once there were plenty of signs with details of all the flights leaving, meaning there was absolutely no danger of her missing her flight, and, more importantly, it looked more like a shopping centre. Boots, Monsoon, WH Smiths, the familiar names and layouts made her breathing ease up. Despite being much later than she’d planned, there was half an hour before the plane left and the gate number for boarding still hadn’t been announced. Bags of time to pick up a guide book to read on the plane and check out the duty-free perfume. She could do this. She would be fine on a plane on her own. All she needed to do was keep breathing. Focus on one minute at a time.
How bloody stupid. Why were there two flights to Rome within twenty minutes of each other? And why had she been looking at the wrong one? They’d announced the gate number for her flight ten minutes ago! Duh! The horrible pull-along case, which had seemed so brilliant earlier, suddenly had a life of its own and did not want to partake in the hurried slalom through other travellers all heading down the same wide corridor. The damn thing kept twisting over. She could feel the patches of sweat pooling under her arms. Stupid bloody airline rules, the security people had deemed her deodorant too big and confiscated it. She’d have to sit, all hot and smelly, next to someone for the next few hours. How embarrassing.
When she finally got to the gate, it was a relief to see that although she was the last to arrive, there were still a couple of people ahead of her.
Thankfully the bright, shiny lady with perfect glossy lipstick at the desk had received some sort of ninja training because she caught Lisa’s phone before it dropped to the floor and smashed into a thousand, useless app-unfriendly pieces.
By the time Lisa arrived at her seat, a window one, there was lots of kerfuffle as the middle-aged woman who had the seat next to hers ponderously rose to her feet to let her get past. She felt hot, bothered, very flustered and totally out of sorts. Not herself at all. There was no room in the overhead locker and a frantic search ensued, trying to find a suitable space for her case, before the air hostess, a fake smile pasted on her face at Lisa’s incompetence, came and rescued her, by which time her flight neighbour had huffed and puffed and tutted enough times that Lisa was ready to curl up and die.
If it hadn’t been exactly the sort of thing Nan would do, she might have been tempted to shout at the top of her voice, ‘Give me an effing break! This is my first time flying on my own.’
Dropping down into the seat, feeling a fine sheen of sweat coating every limb, she grabbed the seat belt and secured it as tightly as it would go. How on earth had she managed to book a window seat? Another rookie mistake. Easy, she wouldn’t look out.
Damn! She’d left her book in the overhead locker and now her neighbour, dressed in an unfortunate tweed ensemble that gave off a slight whiff of damp dog, had sat down again. There was no way on earth Lisa would dare ask her to move. She’d have to make do with one of the leaflets the doctor had given her at the hospital, even though she’d read it several times over.
She swallowed hard, feeling heat racing over her skin. This was a nightmare. She. Was. Not. Going. To. Cry. This was supposed to be a holiday as well as a mission. An adventure. A half-smothered laugh escaped at the thought, which sounded more Tolkien than Lisa Vettese. At least she wouldn’t have to contend with a horde of Orcs or evil wizards, although her hostile neighbour might give them a run for their money.
It was easy. Giovanni would meet her at the airport. She tried hard to re-ignite the tremor of excitement she’d felt at the thought of seeing all the places she’d only heard of up until now.
It was no good, as the captain announced the fasten seat belts notice, her limbs had turned rigid and her rib cage felt like a stone sarcophagus with every shallow breath.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the stewardess talking to Tweedy-knickers. Breathe. And breathe again. Suddenly her neighbour had gone and someone else slipped into the seat beside her. Then the plane started moving, taxiing away from the gate. She closed her eyes. Breathe. It wasn’t even the serious stuff yet.
She opened her eyes. Faded denim-clad thighs next to hers.
‘Hey, Lisa, fancy seeing you here. Interesting reading?’
‘Will!’ She sat up so hard she banged her head on the head rest. ‘What the hell! What are you doing here?’
He lifted one eyebrow, in a studied move that immediately had her on the defensive. Why the fuck couldn’t she be icily sophisticated and nonplussed around Will? It bugged her that he was always able to raise a reaction from her.
‘Would you believe, taking a flight to Rome?’
‘Ha, ha very funny. I meant …’ What did she mean? Of course, he was flying to Rome, that was where the plane was going.
Lisa frowned suspiciously. ‘Why are you going to Rome?’
Will’s eyes twinkled with devilment and her stomach fell. No, please no.
‘Giovanni invited me.’
Her stomach contracted, like a balloon deflating, and for a minute she thought she might be sick before the longing to punch Will really, really hard in the solar plexus took over, leaving the knuckles of her cramped fists twitching with desire.
She’d been worried enough about spending time with Giovanni and keeping things cool, but tossing Will into the mix gave her palpitations. That was a balancing act she didn’t want to be involved with.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got no intention of playing gooseberry. I’ll be doing some serious business. Sourcing some suppliers. Giovanni having a spare room was too good an opportunity to miss. The timing was perfect.’
‘Perfect?’ her voice pitched upwards in disbelief. Surely Will couldn’t believe that. Was he that thick-skinned? ‘What and you just happened to be on my flight?’
‘It made sense. Means Giovanni only needs to make one trip out to the airport.’
‘And when did you decide this?’ And why hadn’t Giovanni mentioned it?
‘Was a last-minute thing. I managed to set up a few appointments in Italy. As I said, the opportunity was too good.’ Like the slipp
ery toad he was, she noticed he slid out of answering the question.
‘Appointments?’ Lisa looked at him, innocence and nonchalance written all over his carefully posed face. Ha! She didn’t think so. But she wasn’t big headed enough to think he’d done it purely to wind her up. Clearly he was so bloody self-centred, it hadn’t even occurred to him that he might be intruding.
‘Yep, while you two love birds are taking in the city, I’ll be out doing business and in the evenings, while you’re romantically dining a deux, I’ll be wining and dining local restaurateurs, picking their brains.’ Why did he have to sound so damn patronising? Like he was her elderly bloody aunt or something.
Superior sod was only two years older than her and she’d known him since she was eight. He ought to remember that she had memories of him as a schoolboy with gangly legs in regulation uniform grey shorts. Nan had worked for his family as their daily, so Lisa had spent many a school holiday in the big farmhouse kitchen at his parents’ home. When they were older they used to walk to the bus stop, on their way to school together, although he’d gone to a very different school. And despite the best efforts of the pretty, posh girls from the other school, he still sat with the cleaner’s granddaughter. When she was sixteen, he went off to university and not long after that Nan had decided to move out of the village when she stopped driving.
‘Yes, I’m looking forward to having a wonderful time.’ She deliberately added a touch of huskiness to her voice. Let him think what he liked. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him that she and Giovanni were just friends.
The plane turned, a slow, wide swing, and she saw the runway stretching out, before it completed its turn to face the long expanse of tarmac. Her knees turned to jelly and she gripped her armrest, her fingers cramping.
‘I’m quite surprised you took Giovanni up on his offer,’ said Will, in a conversational tone.
‘Why?’ she asked sharply, taking a quick breath as she registered the engines revving up.
