From Rome with Love

by Jules Wake

  ‘We are on the first floor,’ Giovanni announced with pride, leading the way upwards.

  At the top, directly opposite the last step, was a rather imposing doorway, with highly polished and embellished brass knobs on each of the double doors.

  Lisa had visions of the Lord of the Rings again, arriving at some Middle Earth palace. Giovanni opened both doors, throwing them wide and stepping back like Sir Walter Raleigh, ushering Lisa in.

  After the dark hallway, they were bathed in light, which came flooding in from a series of windows, each dressed with full-length flowing drapes in some gauzy fabric, secured with silken tie-backs like willowy maidens in chiffon dresses belted at the waist.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ said Lisa, entranced by the beautiful room, which combined modern elegant comfort with period charm. Stylish plush-velvet sofas in deep plum faced each other across a contemporary glass-and-gilt table on a faded silk rug. Over by the windows, the sumptuous lines of a pale-grey chaise longue practically begged for someone to drop down and recline into its plump upholstery to enjoy the view out over the extensive gardens.

  Giving the furniture a very wide berth, in case she succumbed to the urge to lie down and test the chaise, she crossed to one of the three floor-length French windows. Each one opened onto its own balcony, the central one being double the size of the other two and big enough to hold a small bistro table and two chairs.

  ‘Oh, this is gorgeous,’ she said, a broad grin taking over her face.

  Directly opposite was a mansion-style house, perfectly placed in the centre of landscaped gardens, dotted with unfamiliar shrubs. The very grand entrance to the house had a twin set of staircases with cream balustrades curving up to meet each other at the imposing entrance, like a perfectly trimmed moustache.

  ‘Who lives there?’ asked Lisa, turning back to look over her shoulder, but either Giovanni hadn’t heard or didn’t know because he melted away with her case.

  Will came to join on her on the balcony.

  ‘Hmm, very nice.’ He leaned on the railing and surveyed the grounds.

  She waited for him to make some clever comment, but he seemed to be content to drink in the view.

  The scent of pine teased the air and she tipped her face up to the sunshine, a sense of contentment filling her. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad with Will around.

  ‘Guess we’d better find out where we’re all sleeping. And what the price of the accommodation will be?’ With a barely suppressed smirk, he went back inside.

  Who had she been kidding? Having Will around was going to be every bit as bad as she’d first thought.

  Lisa unpacked quickly, stowing underwear in the shallow drawers of a French grey-painted dressing table and hanging a couple of dresses and pairs of trousers in the sort of wardrobe with little lace-dressed windows that ought to have some fancy name. Her jeans were sticking to her legs and she relished the cooler linen as she slid into a pair of loose trousers and yanked on a clean rose-pink t-shirt.

  Thanks for letting me raid your wardrobe. Yay for linen!

  She paused in her text to Siena and added Did you know Will was coming too??????!!!! He was on my flight. Sat next to me. Invited himself to stay at Giovanni’s place too. I could bloody kill him. Angry face, can’t find emoticons.

  Crossing to the tiny dressing table, she plugged her ailing phone into charge. The battery was rubbish.

  As she did, Siena’s response came back.

  Nooooo! He said he was going away, but didn’t say where! Now I realise why he was being deliberately cagey. Obviously couldn’t bear to let you go! xxx

  Lisa pulled a face as she read the text.

  Ha! Yeah right. He says he’s got lots of business meetings, hopefully he’ll stay out of our way. Damn cheeky, though. Poor Giovanni could hardly say no. Typical bloody Will.

  She pulled out the photograph of her father, touching the glossy front. It felt furtive to hide the picture and she had nothing to hide, but she slid it between the pages of her guide book and into her handbag. Having heard plenty about handbag-snatchers and pickpockets in Rome, she popped the ring box in amongst her underwear.

  With that done she glanced around the room, giving the narrow, single, walnut-wood sleigh bed a cautious glance. While there was barely room to swing a hamster, let alone a cat, it was exceptionally pretty, with its pale-blue and white lace-trimmed bedding, matching curtains and ornate plasterwork on the ceiling. Moreover, it was her own room, so Will could stuff his earlier insinuations.

  With a quick spritz of perfume, regretting her confiscated deodorant, she was ready to go. Giovanni had suggested they go out to a local bar in ten minutes and having had a brief look at the tiny kitchen and the sparse contents of its fridge, it was clear that any eating to be done wasn’t going to be here. There wasn’t even any beer in the fridge.

  Will met her in the hall, looking annoyingly fresh, his hair damp.

  ‘Have you had a shower?’ she asked accusingly, wishing she’d had time to explore the bathroom situation.

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘A record-breaking one. Have you even unpacked?’

  Will shrugged with complete unconcern. ‘Nope.’

  ‘Boys.’ She looked over his shoulder into his room, where she could see a trail of clothes on his floor leading to a door on the other side – obviously an en-suite bathroom.

  ‘I was hot. And Giovanni said …’ Will looked at his watch.

  They were bang on time and Giovanni had yet to emerge from his room on the opposite side of the hallway. She looked again at Will’s room.

  ‘Nice room,’ she commented, unable to keep the acidic tone out of her voice.

  ‘It’s okay, how’s yours?’

  ‘Fine,’ she said tightly. How come he’d got the better room? ‘How long are you staying?’

  Will smiled. ‘Fed up with me, already?’

  ‘I’m always fed up with you.’

  His smile deepened, lazy amusement dancing in his eyes, making her want to punch him hard in the washboard stomach and wipe it off his handsome bloody face.

  ‘After tonight you won’t see me. I’ve got my first appointment fixed up in the morning. I’m off to visit a place outside Rome where they make cheese to die for and then I’m seeing a guy who runs a restaurant in Trastevere. I’m here to work.’

  That was one thing about Will. He worked hard. It was typical that he’d got everything thoroughly organised, while she had a hazy itinerary and a goal, which as yet, she had no idea how to achieve.

  At last, Giovanni emerged from his room, his Hugo Boss aftershave arriving before him.

  ‘Ah, we’re all ready. Let’s go.’

  Chapter 8

  It was heaven to be outside in the warm evening, the streets busier now. Her heart lifted, her steps light. This felt like being on holiday. She was in Rome. Unfamiliar cars lined the kerbs, nose to tail, like ants on a mission, and crammed into every available space, making the street look impossibly narrow. A scooter whizzed by, the driver’s shirt billowing out as a girl behind, her bag strapped across her, hung on to him, her hands gesticulating as they zipped by, their heads topped by old-fashioned-styled glossy coloured helmets that reminded of her bowling balls. Ahead, blocking their way, an elderly woman, her wiry hair ruthlessly dyed black, paused to let a tiny dog on a lead nose at the gutter.

  Giovanni swung by her, chatting in cheerful Italian, and she raised a hand and patted him on the shoulder.

  ‘Do you know her?’ asked Lisa, thinking that the gesture was so Italian; even in the big city people knew each other, had a sense of community.

  ‘No.’ Giovanni grinned. ‘I told her she’d better get a move on or she’d miss the game.’

  He looked at his watch and picked up his pace. They turned into another street, with a few shop fronts. ‘Nearly there.’

  Lisa bit back the slight sense of disappointment as he ushered them through the doorway of small fairly insignificant-looking bar. Not quite what she’d imagined on her
first night in Rome. She looked about her but, then, it was probably one of those places only known to the locals, which had an amazing atmosphere and fantastic food.

  It certainly didn’t match the image she’d had in her head since she’d set off this morning, which included eating outside on pavement tables as she watched the world go by. This was not that restaurant.

  ‘Giovanni!’ called the barman as soon as they walked in, unleashing a torrent of teasing Italian and coming forward to slap Giovanni on the back as he grinned with an approving nod at Lisa. She might not have understood the words but she could get the gist of it. It was a fairly unsubtle thumbs-up and impossible not to smile back.

  ‘They love blondes in Italy,’ muttered Will in her ear. Trust him to take the shine out of the moment.

  ‘Lisa, this is Alberto.’

  ‘Ciao,’ he nodded, with an immediate flirtatious smile. ‘Welcome.’

  ‘Thank you, it’s lovely to be here.’

  She didn’t think she’d ever seen quite so many bottles crammed into such a small space. Tall, slender glass bottles containing liqueurs in a variety of startling colours and shapes alongside shorter, fatter bottles with dark glass masking their contents. Most were coated with a fuzzy layer of dust, which suggested they might have been there since the days of Ancient Rome. Campari, Galliano, Sambuca, Limoncello, Strega, Grappa, Aperol, Fernet Branca. Half of them she’d never even heard of, let alone tasted.

  Unfortunately, no such riches awaited on the food front. The glass-fronted fridge offered an extremely sad selection. She scanned the few pathetic-looking slices of pizza, topped with rubbery-looking mozzarella, alongside a couple of limp sandwiches, pale, drooping lettuce escaping from the sides and a solitary indeterminate pastry, which had left translucent patches of grease on the paper around it.

  Alberto caught her eye and shrugged. ‘We’re closed tomorrow, but we have plenty to drink.’ With a proud flick of the wrist he waved behind him.

  ‘You certainly do,’ said Lisa, wondering if she should be brave and try something local, except she wouldn’t know where to start. Nan had brought her up on plain, sensible fare and she wasn’t much of a drinker. The recent conversion to gin was down to Siena’s influence.

  Will stepped forward. ‘I’ll have a Peroni. Lisa, what would you like? Giovanni?’

  ‘The same,’ she said, relieved, not having a clue what Peroni might be. Leaving Will to sort out the drinks, Giovanni ushered her on to the back of the narrow bar, where their progress was halted by loud shouts.

  ‘Gio!’

  ‘Ciao!’

  In the crossfire of Italian, she had no idea what was being said, but it was clear everyone was happy to see Giovanni. There was also a definite festive atmosphere, but she didn’t think it was triggered by the return of the prodigal son. Although lots of the insistent young men wanted to be introduced to Lisa, shaking her hand and making teasing comments to Giovanni, their attention was only half on the job of flirting with the blonde newcomer.

  She followed as Giovani wove his way through the tight formation of Formica tables. A locals’ place, it held all the glamour of a school cafeteria and pretty much the same atmosphere, with its noisy chatter from the predominantly male clientele in the room, all of whom were transfixed by the large TV screen that dominated the corner and the group of excitable on-screen pundits holding court.

  Giovanni’s head swung towards the screen and he managed to navigate to a table, pull out a chair and sit down.

  ‘It’s Derby della Capitale, Roma v Lazio.’ His eyes gleamed with amused fervour. ‘Life or death! You don’t mind, do you? It’s the Italian way.’

  Lisa shook her head with a good-natured smile, despite the distinct sinking of her heart. This was not how she’d imagined spending her first night in Rome.

  But Giovanni was her host. She had free accommodation and it was only one night. Besides, she was good at making the best of a bad job.

  She sat down opposite him, amused by his stalwart attempts to chat to her, despite the terrible distraction of the TV screen above her head.

  Will brought the drinks, tall glasses of golden lager, with condensation sliding down the outside. Brilliant, just what the doctor ordered. Long and cold.

  As with every other man in the place, his head slid like a magnet seeking due North – towards the screen.

  ‘Who’s playing?’

  ‘Roma.’ Giovanni grinned and reached for his drink. ‘And Lazio.’

  ‘Ah.’ Will raised his glass in a toast and stared up at the screen.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Lisa, making an unnoticed toast too. Boys were boys whatever nationality. It was a wasted gesture as neither of them even noticed.

  Her stomach grumbled at the first hit of cold beer, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten all day. Her own fault for letting her stupid nerves get the better of her and skipping breakfast before the flight, and then on the plane, deciding to give her bucking bronco of a stomach a break and save her appetite for some delicious authentic Italian pizza or a nice safe pasta dish this evening. The prospect of which was fading with every cheer at the TV. Once the game kicked off, the noise levels ratcheted up.

  Watching Giovanni and Will’s rapt faces, she contented herself with thoughts of what Nan might have said in this situation. No-holds-barred Nan’s tongue. Half of Lisa’s life had been spent smoothing the bulldozer tracks of Nan, overcompensating for her rudeness, as if going out of her way not to give offence might balance the cosmic scales. Unfortunately Nan believed that age conferred the absolute right to say whatever she thought, to whomever, whenever. It could be cringingly embarrassing. Like the time she’d informed the lady in the chemist, in front of a queue of people, that she was wasting her money buying Preparation H. According to Nan, the best cure for piles was apple cider vinegar, which she explained at full volume before proceeding to give precise instructions as to how she should soak cotton wool balls in the vinegar and apply them to the area. Despite the poor woman’s hunch-shouldered attempt to impersonate a tortoise, Nan went on to ask how big they were before informing everyone that her own were like bunches of grapes.

  At this exact moment, Lisa could imagine Nan’s view would have run along the lines, ‘I haven’t flown a thousand flaming miles to watch a bunch of overpaid big girl’s blouses chasing a bit of leather around a well-mown lawn.’

  Lisa sighed quietly to herself. She glanced at the little figures dodging and sliding across the screen. Did she mind that much? She hated people who made a fuss about something when they didn’t get their own way. This wasn’t the end of the world. She had beer. She was in Italy. It was warm. But she was hungry, boy was she hungry. Even the scabby-looking pizza would do.

  Will looked up as if he’d heard her sigh and gave her one of his lopsided, cynical smiles. Was it commiseration or amusement? It was hard to tell.

  Two goals in, thankfully to Roma, and Will stood up, offering to buy a second round of drinks. Giovanni, unable to peel himself from the action on the screen, held up his glass.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’ She wanted to check out the pizza. A slice would keep them going until dinner.

  ‘Pants!’ Damn. The chiller cabinet was now utterly bare. Lisa stared at it, hoping that something might miraculously appear.

  ‘Double pants,’ said Will, his lips turning downward. ‘I’m ruddy starving. I was hoping there might be a bit of that dodgy-looking pizza left.’

  Lisa gave him a surprised look. ‘You must be desperate.’

  He gave her a pitying smile. ‘Yes, but not to worry. I can leave lover-boy and bugger off to find somewhere to eat. Whereas you …’

  ‘Thanks. You’re all heart.’ She looked up at him. ‘You wouldn’t do that, would you?’ Her stomach growled at the very thought.

  ‘Er, hello. Yes, I would. I’ve come here on a food pilgrimage. I’m here, basically, to eat. Challenge my taste buds and treat them to some authentic Roman specialities. Not to sit in this dump and drink lager that i
s freely available back home. You, on the other hand,’ he said with mocking amusement, ‘are a guest. Ever so slightly beholden to your host. See, this is where inviting myself gives me the ultimate get-out clause. I notice you got the spare, spare room.’

  ‘Yes!’ She pouted. ‘How come? I should have had your room.’

  ‘Lisa, Lisa, Lisa,’ Will shook his head at her naivety as it suddenly dawned on her.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Oh? Come on. Surely you realise the price of a free holiday? I suspect young Giovanni is assuming you’ll move into the master suite at some stage.’

  Lisa narrowed a glare at him, looking superior and smug as always. ‘He’s not that much younger than you and some men are gentlemen.’ She paused with great deliberation. ‘Sorry, forgot … not a concept you’re familiar with. You don’t have a gentlemanly bone in your body.’

  Will grinned. ‘Do I need one?’ He looked down at himself and Lisa couldn’t help herself following his gaze. The well-washed t-shirt, featuring some band she’d never heard of, hugged his broad shoulders and skimmed his torso. It had shrunk at some stage and only just touched the top of his low-slung jeans. When he moved it lifted to reveal lean hips, the top of his jersey boxer shorts, which were unaccountably a brilliant turquoise blue and that damned trail of dark-blonde hair that stirred her up every time she caught a glimpse.

  ‘I’m quite happy as I am.’

  She forced herself to look back at his face, a hot, unwelcome flush racing through her to meet his pale-blue eyes dancing as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Lisa closed her mouth tight, fighting against the silly giddy pulse of her heart. Saying what she thought about him would make him think that she gave a toss and she bloody didn’t.

  ‘Another beer?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes please, although I’m going to need some food to soak it up at some stage.’

  ‘The Italians eat late, I’m afraid.’

  And they didn’t have a crisp culture either, thought Lisa, scanning the back of the bar for any signs of snacks.

  Will ordered three more Peronis and gave her two to carry back, while he settled the bill for a second time. ‘Can I get these?’ she asked.