by Jules Wake
Fleshy and fragrant, they were completely different from the dark, bitter ones she’d tried before. ‘Hmm, better than most but … no.’
‘Okay, how about this?’ Before she could demur, Will popped a sliver of smooth, cured meat in her mouth. Thankfully he seemed absorbed in peeling back a second piece, so she was able to concentrate on the flavour rather than the sudden flutter of intimacy that came with someone feeding her. She glanced around the restaurant, hoping no one was watching them. Richer and stronger than prosciutto and with a slightly firmer texture, she had to work at it with her teeth. Its smooth surface felt almost polished. She chewed it, enjoying the salty beef flavour.
‘Nice.’
‘Bresaola. Look.’ She opened her eyes and he lifted a slice of dark-red meat on his fork to show her.
‘You could argue that it’s raw; it’s not been cooked in an oven, although it has been cured for several months.’
He popped it into his mouth and chewed with obvious enjoyment. With the sunlight slanting down on his blonde hair, graceful as ever, he sat back in his seat, and it hit her again how damn good-looking he was. She hadn’t missed the sly glances from the two ladies on the table across the way.
‘Right, eyes shut, another one coming up.’ With a start, she realised he was giving her an odd look. She prayed he couldn’t read her thoughts.
This next taster offered a healthy mouthful of big flavours, with a fleeting combination of textures, some of which she could identify – the slight bite of onion, the long fibres of tomato, something else, a touch smooth, slightly slimy, but tasty and the odd crunch of a soft nut with a subtle flavour. And then Will’s finger skimmed her lips as he scooped up a bit she’d missed, taking his sweet bloody time, almost caressing the skin. Her eyes flicked open. Will looked guileless. She faltered a second and closed her eyes again, focusing on the food, analysing it for all she was worth. Flavour, sweet and intense. The sharpness of balsamic, the sweetness of tomatoes and the woody overtones of herbs and the nut thing. She nodded. All in all, it packed an explosive punch in her mouth. Not to mention the sizzle of his touch burning on her lips, which was obviously the result of a far too overactive imagination. He seemed completely unaware of what he was doing to her.
Ever since they’d left the Spanish Steps, there’d been a low-level hum to her body, as if the nerve endings in certain parts of her had woken up from hibernation and were suddenly taking an intense interest in everything.
‘Wow,’ she said, her eyelids flicking open again, talking about the mouth-watering aftermath of the intense hit of flavours and not the jittery sensation in her stomach. ‘What was that?’
‘Did you like it?’
‘Yes,’ she said warily, checking his face. This was Will, he always knew what he was doing, but he looked the picture of innocence.
‘It was,’ she smacked her lips, ‘strong, with interesting flavours. You couldn’t eat much of it, though.’
‘Caponata. It’s a Sicilian vegetable stew made with aubergines, celery and capers.’
‘I don’t like aubergines.’ Lisa frowned. ‘But that was delicious.’
‘Okay, one last one.’
Reluctantly she shut her eyes, wary this time and ready for any inadvertent touch.
‘That was easy.’ Thank goodness and she didn’t mean identifying the food he’d just given her. The chunk of bread had grazed her mouth rather than his fingers. ‘Focaccia bread.’
‘That was to cleanse your palate a bit, after the Caponata. Here,’ he forked up another chunk of mozzarella and popped it into her mouth, watching her expression all the time.
‘You need to eat too.’ She picked up her drink, grateful to look away. Will obviously had absolutely no idea what he was doing to her. ‘I think I’ll be okay from here.’ She moved the menus, placing them flat on the table.
He picked up his glass and raised it in a toast to her.
With the bill paid, which Will had insisted on taking care of, and a last mouthful of the rather delicious Aperol spritzer to slurp, Lisa stretched with catlike, if not ladylike, satisfaction.
‘That was delicious, thank you.’
‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’ asked Will, rising from the table.
‘No, I didn’t spit anything out at you,’ she said sweetly, picking up her hat.
‘Come on, you liked everything.’ He ushered her in front of them as they wove their way through the tables.
‘Not the olive.’ She threw over her shoulder.
‘Apart from the olive and I’ll let you off that one because lots of people don’t like olives. Not until their palate matures,’ he added with a sly wink.
She waited until he caught up with her at the door.
‘Yours is obviously ancient, then.’
Will’s lips twitched as they stepped out into the sunshine. ‘Direct hit. You can have that one, but?’
‘Okay, I liked the bresaola and the caponata, and I admit I would never have tried them if I’d known what they were.’
‘I’ll have you on squid before you know it.’
‘No way. Remember, no tentacles and no suckers.’
‘What do you want to do for the rest of the afternoon?’ He looked down the street. ‘We could head back for a siesta before we go out to find your father, or carry on sight-seeing.’
She looked down at the halter-neck top and shorts with a slight wrinkling of her nose.
‘I’m not sure I want to meet … anyone looking like this.’
‘Then I suggest we amble back to the apartment and freshen up before we go out.’
She nodded.
‘Okay, but when we do go, I think I ought to carry this.’ She lifted the tote bag from his shoulder, turning it round to show him the front, which featured a big gingerbread man with a large slogan reading, ‘I like my men hot and spicy.’
With a long-suffering sigh, he took back the bag. ‘I should be grateful it doesn’t say “If you’re in pink short shorts, come and get me.”’
Chapter 17
Will shook his head. Lisa wasn’t supposed to forgive him or forget that they’d been sworn enemies. Okay, that was probably a touch dramatic, but she was supposed to keep her distance and treat him as warily as a big bad wolf. Not pick up where they’d left off and treat him like … like what? Typical Lisa, she’d taken everything in her stride, going with the flow, easy-going and cheerful. If he hadn’t messed things up with her, they might still be friends. Messed up, shouted his conscience, you shouldn’t have been thinking with the wrong part of your anatomy!
Will threw himself moodily on the bed, his skin damp from a very long cold shower and put his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.
It was bloody difficult being friends with someone when you want to kiss the living daylights out of them, hold them close and, now this was sappy, look after them.
He’d had enough of looking after people all his life. It was his turn to look after himself, which is exactly why he’d kept things simple with every girlfriend he’d had. Not that many wanted to stick around once they realised what his working hours were like. Girls tended to want to go out for a Friday and Saturday night. Go away for dirty weekends. Take you to meet their parents. At least he always had a cast-iron excuse to get out of that one.
Not that he needed that excuse with Lisa. Her daunting grandmother would put anyone off. The old battle-axe had pulled no punches when she came to see Will, the day after Lisa had stayed the night. If Lisa hadn’t been so fond of her, he might have told her nan where to go.
He remembered the cab pulling up in the cobbled courtyard at the back of the pub at nine o’clock on the Monday morning. Only Jason and Ben were about and at that time of day they were hard at work in the brewery in the far barn.
‘Good morning, Mrs Whitaker. What brings you out here?’
‘Don’t you Mrs Whitaker me, Will Ryan, and you can turn off the charm, I’ve known you since you were eight-years-old and putting frogs in the cornflakes before your sister
’s breakfast. And then playing the same trick on Lisa when I brought her to work with me.’ Her mouth had wrinkled with displeasure. ‘You weren’t a gentleman then.’
Despite wanting to remind her he’d been eight and had received a sound thrashing as a result of that particular misdemeanour, an abject reminder he was a constant disappointment to his father, he didn’t dare interrupt.
Nan Whitaker in full flow was like a scrappy little tug boat more than ready to take on anything three times her size. ‘You’re not a gentleman now either, from what I hear.’ For a lady of exceedingly small stature, she managed to draw herself up with considerable aplomb, which might have tickled Will if he’d not known that his balls would probably be toast if he so much as let one hair on his eyebrow twitch.
‘But I’m hoping I can appeal to your better nature today. And that deep down you might be an honourable man.’ The tart look she gave him suggested it was a tall order.
What did you say to that when you had a diminutive virago on your doorstep?
‘Would you like to come in?’
Will grinned to himself now, remembering the scene.
Nan had cast a quick look at the cab idling behind her and then peered suspiciously over his shoulder, which prompted the ill-advised quip, ‘The den of iniquity is quite clean this morning.’
She’d done that harrumph thing that older people seemed to favour.
‘I didn’t doubt that. It’s one good thing about you, you were always quite tidy, I,’ she emphasised the I, ‘taught you well.’ She sneered and added, ‘It’s more the dancing girls I’m worried about.’
‘No dancing girls this morning. A couple of strippers, but they’re long gone.’
‘You know what I meant.’
Will had sighed as it hit him, followed by utter disbelief
‘Don’t tell me you’re here about Lisa!’
‘Well, who else do you think I’m ruddy here about?’
Will had been struck dumb, speechless and flabbergasted. When he’d said goodbye to Lisa, late afternoon yesterday, it had never occurred to him that her grandmother would come banging on his door to protect her granddaughter’s honour. Oh God, she wasn’t going to insist he marry her, was she?
‘Ah, nothing to say for yourself.’
‘I’m not quite sure what to say, to be honest. I don’t know why you’re here.’
‘Really, your memory is that short? Or have you moved on to the next one already, in which case I’ve had a wasted journey.’
Will tried to compute what she was saying and had a horrible feeling he looked like some bovine idiot as he tried to find the right words. It had been different with Lisa. She wasn’t … she was … okay, he wasn’t sure what she was to him. He’d been fighting the attraction to her for months, knowing that once he made a move it would be different and it scared the hell out of him. But this weekend, they’d been like a pair of magnets and he’d been too low to resist.
‘Lisa is a grown woman, whatever happened between us this weekend is nobody’s business but ours.’ Will remembered feeling a flash of fury, hot and tight. How dare her grandmother suggest … what she was suggesting. Taking a leaf out of her book, he drew himself up and with an icy drawl said, ‘And I don’t like what you’re insinuating.’
He meant about Lisa, but Nan missed that. ‘You’re the love-’em-and-abandon-‘em type that gets through women quicker than I get through feather dusters and I don’t want Lisa to be another one of your cast-offs. She’s a good girl. She’s not had it easy, as you well know. She needs … she needs,’ Nan suddenly turned white as a sheet and clutched her chest, her mouth opening as she gasped for breath.
Will grabbed the nearest chair and guided her into it.
‘Sit down. Are you okay?’
She waved her hand at him. ‘I’m … I’m fine.’
She sat there for a minute, clutching her chest as her breathing gradually returned to normal and the scary white pallor left her face.
He’d gone and brought her a glass of water, which she’d drunk without a peep – a fair indication that she wasn’t herself.
He pulled up a chair and sat next to her until her colour returned.
‘Problem with my blood pressure.’ She fixed bird-bright eyes on him. ‘I could go at any time. You’re not right for her.’
‘Don’t you think I should be the judge of that, Mrs Whitaker,’ he’d said gently.
‘You forget, I know your father and your mother, for that matter. Constancy doesn’t exactly run in your blood and to date you’ve been running true to form. Please would you leave my Lisa alone?’ Her solemn stare held him like a full beam. ‘I want to see her settled before I’m gone. She needs someone. A man of her own. You can see I’m not a well woman. Leave her be.’
Will sat up, suddenly exasperated by the memory. Bloody Nan. He sighed, but when the old woman was clearly ill and could go at any time, how could he have ignored her? Lisa and he probably wouldn’t have lasted. Like Nan had pointed out, his track record was shit. And the last thing he needed was another person relying on him. Nan was right, despite what Lisa said, she did need a constant in her life. He wasn’t right for her. She deserved a hell of a lot better.
Coming back to the present with a start, he heard Lisa moving about in the room next door and for a second wondered if she was fresh out of the shower. What was she wearing? Had she put on that subtle perfume that scented the delicate skin on her neck? He was such a bloody idiot. He still fancied her and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. He’d made a promise to her Nan. He’d seen the damage his parents did to one another, and although his father might not approve of him, at least he could do the right thing by Lisa.
He grabbed his phone from the bedside table and re-read the text he’d received earlier. With quick fingers he tapped out a response.
Lisa hovered at the door. She’d decided to dress up as they were going out to dinner. Her stomach had tied itself in the type of knots that were almost impossible to undo and sat inside her like heavyweight dumplings. At the moment, she didn’t think she could eat a thing. Bloody typical, would this be another duck? Three dinners out of three uneaten.
Will emerged from his room, whistling cheerfully. She wanted to slap him.
He stopped dead at the expression on her face.
‘My whistling that bad?’ he asked.
‘Inappropriate,’ she snapped, immediately feeling guilty.
‘Inappropriate whistling, that’s a new one. Don’t think I’ve been accused of that one before.’ He looked up at the ceiling, as if he were pondering the matter properly.
‘Are you winding me up again?’
‘Is it working?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I am.’
‘And I can see through you, Will Ryan.’ She tutted. ‘You’re doing it to take my mind off things.’
‘Who, me? Why would I do that?’
‘Because,’ she poked him in the arm. ‘You’re a nice man.’
‘Nice. Me? No you’ve definitely got the wrong man.’
‘I said nice. We are talking the dog’s arse end on the scale of compliments.’
‘Ah, that’s okay, then. I wouldn’t want to be stupendous or anything.’
‘No, nowhere close.’
‘Not fantastic? Handsome? Sex god, even?’
‘Don’t get carried away. Just nice.’
He wiped a limp hand across his forehead and sighed pathetically. ‘I suppose I can live with nice. ‘Are you set, then? You look lovely, by the way.’
‘Thanks.’ she blushed. ‘Showtime?’
‘Yes, and stop worrying. What will be, will be.’
‘Che sera, sera.’
‘That’s the one. This is out of your hands. Just take it as it comes,’ he paused ‘and other varying platitudes, as you choose. We’ve no idea what’s going to happen, but,’ he turned and his blue eyes burned with intensity, ‘you’re not on your own.’
Her heart lurched in her chest and
her mouth dried. She stood on tip toe, putting one hand on his shoulder, and kissed him on his smoothly shaven cheek.
‘Like I said, you’re a very nice man.’
As she withdrew, he caught her wrist as if he might pull her back towards him. Face to face, she could see a tiny fleck of shaving foam he’d missed, as his gaze held hers and her breath caught in her throat.
‘Li …’ Her face warmed and then, whatever he was about to say, he changed his mind.
‘Come on, we’d better go.’ He took her arm and guided her out of the flat, although she could swear she heard him mutter something under his breath.
Platitudes or not, Will’s comments had all sounded eminently sensible. Except Lisa wasn’t feeling the least bit sensible about this. She was torn, half of her feeling schoolgirl terror and ready to back off and bolt back down into her rabbit hole and forget that her father ever existed, the other half of her excited, with butterflies careering around her stomach, urging her to join in their headlong flight of debauched irresponsibility. What the hell? What have you got to lose? Come on, let’s go.
And suddenly it was simple. They were in the back of a cab, Will talking enthusiastically about the merits of Uber, having ordered the cab on the app on his phone. From that he moved seamlessly on to the subjects of Airbnb and a new coffee app he’d found, and before she knew it, the roads narrowed like arteries, getting smaller and smaller, the cobbles bumpier and bumpier and then they were there, disgorged from the safety of the back of the cab and Will was talking soothing bollocks out on the street. The street where her dad might or might not live. The street where at least she knew he had once lived and her mother had once visited.
The sun, now lower in the sky, shed plenty of warmth and although its brightness had faded, Lisa pushed her sunglasses firmly onto her nose. Children’s calls rang out, their distant laughter echoing as it bounced from the four-storey buildings on either side of the street, where doors opened straight onto it. There wasn’t room for a pavement and a couple of scooters hugged the doorways, as if they might squeeze inside should a car decide to chance its luck down the narrow street, risking wing mirrors. Pots of geraniums clung to deep windowsills on all floors. The old stone buildings looked blank, elderly sun-bleached wooden shutters framing upper windows and their recessed doorways outlined with stone coping. A washing line hung with workmen’s overalls was strung across the street. Lisa had the feeling that behind the windows and doors life bustled at odds with its quiet deserted stillness.
