by Jules Wake
‘We could, I suppose.’
‘Don’t sound too enthusiastic.’ If she didn’t know better, she might have said Will looked a tiny bit (and she was talking infinitesimally) disappointed.
Enough. She put her coffee cup down with resolve. They were two adults in a strange city; they could be civilised with each other for once. Before that night, she’d always teased him, treating him with deliberate amusement. While officially he was the boss, they’d known each other for so long she couldn’t take him too seriously and never missed an opportunity to take the piss out of him. Which had been handy camouflage against the inconvenient sizzle of attraction that he’d sparked in her ever since he came back to the village to run the pub. This hideous, suspicious, dancing around each other like boxers waiting to get in the next jab didn’t sit well with her.
‘Okay,’ she said with resolve. She was an adult. Crikey, if she could put up with Nan, a few hours with Will should be a piece of cake.
‘It’s a truce not root-canal work.’ Will’s disgruntled expression prodded her conscience. ‘I could promise to be on my best behaviour.’
It would take two to make this work and he was holding out the olive branch.
‘You have best behaviour?’ She asked with a sudden smile. It did take two. ‘I thought there was only one setting.’
‘I can be utterly charming.’ His eyes flashed at her, twinkling with mischief. ‘In fact, most women think I am.’
‘That’s the problem.’ She grinned at him. ‘They’re all gullible idiots.’
She shut down the image of him feathering the softest kisses across her face and said more soberly, ‘Luckily for you, I’m not most women.’
He smiled, with a hint of wariness, as if already regretting suggesting they team up. ‘No, you’re not.’
With a long and loud sigh, she said. ‘But as you’re the only man I know right now, you’ll have to do.’ She held out her hand. ‘Truce.’
Surprise flickered on his face and then his lips quirked in his crooked smile, which never failed to make her pulse trip. ‘It’s a deal.’ He took her hand and shook it, the firm, capable grasp nice and business-like. She ignored the wayward internal shiver his touch elicited. Her stupid body could just behave itself. Idiotic muscle memory asserting itself. They could do this.
‘When do you want to leave?’ asked Will
‘Give me fifteen minutes?’
‘I’d better get my skates on, then,’ he said, pushing his hand through still-damp hair, looking down at his scruffy Bermudas and faded t-shirt.
‘Is that long enough?’ drawled Lisa. ‘I can give you longer if you need it.’
He rose and picked up her empty coffee cup along with his and crossed to rinse them both in the sink.
‘That will be plenty.’ He winked, and then gave her a hammed-up sultry look, ‘it doesn’t take long to improve on perfection.’ Hammed up or not, he packed a punch that sent her disobedient hormones on full-speed spin.
As soon as she walked out the door, he rubbed at his forehead. Shit, he was playing with fire. Whatever had possessed him? She was like an itch, one that wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard he tried to put her out of his mind. Yet even so, he couldn’t help smiling.
All he had to do was keep her at a distance, not remember the silky feel of all that gorgeous tawny hair. The power of her smile when something pleased her. For some reason it hit him straight in the gut every time. She didn’t expect anything from anyone, and it should have made her perfect girlfriend material, except as he’d been told quite forcibly by her pocket pitbull of a grandmother, she didn’t need the likes of him in her life.
In fifteen minutes, Lisa being Lisa managed to do enough to make her look even better. She arrived at the front door, her gorgeous hazel eyes brimming with happiness, wearing a big pink sun hat. He did his best, but even a monk would have a hard time not looking at the very short denim shorts she wore, which showed off endless, long, slim legs and the ridiculous scrap of t-shirt material, a halter neck, he thought, that revealed a lot of smooth back and the swell of high, pert breasts.
They hadn’t left the apartment yet and he was already thinking about taking a cold shower.
He was pretty sure she didn’t have a scrap of make-up on and her fair skin held a hint of roses and a faint glow from yesterday’s sun, which had brought out a dusting of freckles dotting her nose and cheekbones. Something turned over in the pit of his belly.
‘Got your sun cream and some water?’ he asked, taking the cream tote bag from her hands and slinging it over his shoulder, putting his own water bottle into it. The Italian sun in July could be pretty fierce, even at this time of the day.
‘Yes.’ She looked uncertain and eyed the bag on his shoulder as if reluctant to let it go.
‘Right, let’s go.’
‘Okay.’ A smile of mischief lit her face. ‘After you.’ The sudden sight of her twinkling up at him felt like the sunshine after a storm. His heart did some weird miss-a-beat thing. Probably just shock. It had been a long time since she’d looked at him without wary reserve.
The leafy shade of the lane as they walked down to the main gate created a cool arbour disguising the heat of the sun, which hit them as soon as they got out onto the main street and when he stepped aside to let Lisa move ahead of him, he did his best not to analyse too hard what it was about her bottom that filled those shorts so nicely.
Rome buzzed, the streets thronged with people, the roads busy with traffic and the air pungent with fumes and the tang of food as they walked past restaurants already occupied with people dawdling over small cups of coffee. He paused outside one particularly busy place, trying to store up the details. Anything to distract himself from the slim, lithe figure next to him. What made this place, with every table full, different from the barely filled one next door?
Besides him Lisa stopped, and he caught her light, floral scent, bringing back a memory of her in the pub, dancing out of his way when she’d pushed her flirty teasing to its limits and he’d threatened retaliation of a certain kind. They both knew it was a near-miss kiss.
Will turned his head away, focusing hard on the restaurant, trying not to imagine stealing a kiss from the soft, parted lips next to him. Was it the dark-green foliage climbing up around the stone-arched entrance, the quality of the coffee that people drank from tiny white cups or the pavement location right in the shadow of an ancient church? This was what he wanted to recreate. Give people that feeling of holidays, the taste of Italy and the laid-back sense of having all the time in the world to enjoy the intense flavour of sunshine and tradition.
‘Mm, something smells good.’ Lisa inhaled deeply, her bare shoulder brushing his arm, and immediately the image of his restaurant included her, seated at a table, with a white dish of pasta in front of her, lights sparkling on the glasses as she lifted one to pink lips, laughing with her typical big, open expression of happiness.
Will tensed and looked at her, her head lifted, her throat in profile and a serene smile on her face.
For good reason the Italians enjoyed their food; all those robust flavours, tomato, garlic and oregano. He eyed the wooden pepper mills, dark, rich olive oil and raffia-coated bottles of red wine on the tables, topped with deep-red tablecloths and ultra-white napkins folded with crisp edges.
‘Hungry?’ asked Lisa, following his gaze.
Hungry. That didn’t begin to describe the way he felt. Why the hell had he thought this was a good idea?
‘Did you want to stop?’ He could see her nibbling at her lip, looking down the street.
He almost laughed out loud at the contrast between her body language and her face. People-pleaser patience etched into her polite smile while she bounced lightly on her toes belying barely contained frustration at wanting to keep moving.
‘I wouldn’t dare. You might throw me to the lions. You have that woman-on-a-mission-to-see-the-sights look about you.’
‘And what sort of look is that?’ She toss
ed her hair over her shoulders, the brim of her hat skimming his shoulder.
‘The one that says if I stop for coffee and a pastry you would slap me.’
‘You’d better believe it. Now are you going to keep wasting time?’
‘The Colosseum has been there for several thousand years. I don’t think another five minutes is going to make a difference.’ He couldn’t resist teasing her. He nodded towards the restaurant. ‘How about a coffee?’ A range of emotions flitted across her face as she tried to make up her mind if he was serious or not.
‘Shame the lions aren’t still there.’
He threw his hand over his heart. ‘You wound me.’
She smiled, those sunny dimples suddenly appearing in her cheeks. ‘Not as much as a lion would.’ It looked as if the thought appealed to her.
‘Come on, then, you bloodthirsty wench. My caffeine fix can wait a while.’
‘Yes, it can. I had enough of that delaying malarkey yest …’ her voice trailed off and she ducked under the brim of her hat, ensuring he couldn’t see her expression.
He smiled to himself. So the day out with Giovanni hadn’t been quite the success she’d claimed after all. No chance of worrying about Lisa being polite where he was concerned. She’d always gone out of her way to look after everyone else, make them happy and fall in with the consensus, but sometimes he got the impression she didn’t always do what she wanted.
He consulted the map again and looked up at the street name. ‘We’re nearly there.’
They carried on walking along the street and at the bottom of it turned right and – there it was, looming up ahead of them, the stone tiers rising and sunshine slanting through the arches.
Lisa let out a tiny squeak and then blushed, pink spreading to her ears, visible beneath the floppy hat. The two colours toned rather nicely.
‘Sorry, it’s just …’ She held up her hands as if surrendering any further words.
He had to agree it was just …
In silence, almost isolated in their joint awe from the buzz of the world around them, they stood in the middle of the pavement, gazing at the building, stark golden stone against the brilliance of the cloudless blue sky. The world seemed to have stopped, leaving the two of them lost in the moment.
‘Wow,’ breathed Lisa. ‘It’s even more amazing than I thought it would be.’ She tugged at the tote bag on his shoulder. ‘I need my phone.’
Taking several pictures of the imposing structure, they walked closer.
‘Can you believe that all this has survived? And right next to this busy road. I can’t imagine another city like it.’
After queuing in the dark shady outer area of the building, listening to the click, click of the turnstiles as they waited their turn, they finally emerged, stepping out into the central oval into glaring sun, blinking. He could imagine what it had been like for those entering the ring here, coming up from the dark tunnels below into the searing sun. Conditions for a severe case of stage fright if you were a gladiator and bloody heart failure if you were some poor Christian sod about to face an angry lion.
‘Oh my goodness,’ said Lisa, turning a full circle as she gazed up at the towering walls and the levels. ‘Can you imagine walking out here with all those people cheering and shouting?’ She shuddered. ‘Those poor people. I’m glad I wasn’t born then. I bet I wouldn’t have been in the posh seats. More likely down there. The Hypogeum.’ She pointed to the lower level and then looked back up quickly.
The floor was long gone, but the remaining lichen-covered walls provided a good impression of the warren of tunnels and small rooms that would have been down there.
‘The hypo what?’ he asked, amused by the constant changes of expression on her face from serious narrow-eyed study of her guide book to wide-eyed interest.
‘Greek for underground, from hypo meaning “under” and gaia meaning “earth”,’ she said, looking snootily at him. ‘I bet it was pretty grim down there. Whereas you, no doubt,’ she wrinkled her nose, ‘would have been with the posh nobs. Probably up there,’ she swivelled, shading her eyes against the fierce sun, and turning the opposite way, ‘in the special boxes, along with the emperors and vestal virgins.’
‘I quite fancied myself as a gladiator.’ He gave her a wink. ‘Striding out to the cheering crowd.’ He paused, ‘With my big sword.’
She scrunched up her face and peered at his shorts. ‘Hmm, yes possibly. I could see you in a skirt.’ Then she added with a naughty raise of her eyebrows, ‘And you know what they say about men with big swords.’
He laughed. Lisa never gave him an inch.
‘Biggus Diccus?’
Lisa let out a peal of laughter and nudged him with her shoulder.
‘Hunkus Maximus?’
‘No!’ And then her mouth firmed, although with a definite hint of a smile and she added, ‘Idiot.’
He could almost imagine they were back in the days when she first started working at the pub.
‘Makes you feel rather small,’ said Lisa, as she took in the view, turning around slowly.
Her reverence made him stop and look at the view again. Inside the oval, the building was far more intricate than the classical arched façade suggested. There were different levels, some of the walls and structure in rustic pebbledash and others in intricate brickwork. The scale of the building was vast, easily holding a similar capacity to that of a modern sporting venue. He guessed it was the ancient equivalent of Wembley Stadium.
Before this morning, he’d had no intention of coming here. In fact he wasn’t quite sure why he’d made the offer. And now he couldn’t imagine why on earth you wouldn’t come. It was amazing. It struck him that this was the first time in a long time that he’d taken some time out, done something completely unrelated to work. Even going out for a drink or a meal, like at the bar the other night, he was constantly looking at the way they did things, the lighting, the service, the menu. He never switched off.
On his own, he wouldn’t have bothered. He might have walked around the outside, admired the building and moved on. He’d have missed out on the atmosphere, the lingering sense of history and the indefinable echo of long-gone crowds.
‘It’s like the Tardis. Bigger on the inside than the outside.’ She gave him a whimsical smile. ‘Okay, I know that’s not right, but it feels like it, doesn’t it?’
But he knew exactly what she meant. The ramped levels, where there was once seating, made the building seem much bigger as did seeing the smaller specks of people on the upper levels.
‘Come on, then, let’s explore.’ Without thinking, he reached out to take her hand and lead her to the nearest set of steps, but luckily she turned and missed the near faux pas.
What the hell was he thinking? Or not thinking? A subconscious desire that needed containing. They’d called a truce, not full-out surrender.
They made their way up to the next level, wandering along stone walkways smoothed by thousands of feet before them. He noticed that Lisa kept well away from the edge, confining her gaze to looking across the amphitheatre rather than down.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked, ‘With the height thing?’
‘Not too bad, as long as I don’t look directly down.’
Even though there were plenty of modern-day visitors, it was peaceful and quiet, but that didn’t stop the overriding sense of atmosphere. Nearly two thousand years of people coming and going. He wondered what it would have been like with the tiers ringing with the noise of all those spectators.
They meandered along the upper level, in and out of the shaded tunnels, which offered respite from the merciless sun, intensified by the ancient stones radiating the heat back at them.
After a while Lisa stopped a good distance in front of a parapet, her nose buried again in her little red guide book.
‘Did you know 9,000 animals were killed in the inaugural games held in AD 80?’ She took a very quick peep down, as if trying to imagine them and he smiled. Scared and enthusiastic, a cu
te combination. ‘There were 80 entrances, 76 were for spectators. It could hold 50,000 people. And,’ she drew herself up, as if saving the best bit for last. He bit back a smile at her serious expression. ‘Did you know people had tickets for their seats?’ Her voice rose, as if she couldn’t contain her excitement. ‘Numbered pottery shards! How cool is that?’ Her face suddenly lit up with impish amusement, a dimple appearing in one cheek. ‘And they got to their seats through passageways called vomitaria, which is the Latin for a rapid discharge. Which is where the word “vomit” comes from! Bet you didn’t know that, did you?’
‘No, I didn’t Tour Guide Barbie.’
She spluttered with laughter and batted him on the arm with the book.
‘There’s more if you want.’ She opened it up and stuck her nose back in, like a determined librarian. ‘I’m not boring you, am I?’
He pretended to stifle a yawn and in response she lifted the guide book again.
‘Not at all.’ He tried to lift the book from her fingers, but she danced out of reach, holding it aloft.
‘Did you know that they brought all sorts of wild animals here, rhinos, tigers, cheetahs, elephants?’
‘No, I didn’t.’ This time his swipe at the book was successful and he held it high above his head, out of reach.
With a lofty smile, she pulled away and folded her arms.
‘And they had zebras and ostriches to pull the chariots.’
‘Did you memorise that bloody book?’
‘Just the good bits. There’s more about naval battles and loads of emperors and what-nots … I’m not that good on the proper history stuff.’ He wanted to wipe away the sudden self-deprecatory dip to her mouth.
‘You don’t need to know whether Claudius Caesar added an East Wing in AD 95 or whether Pope Benedict the 95th built a new stage to appreciate this place and the human history that went on here.’
