One Summer in Rome

by Samantha Tonge

  Mary felt sick. ‘What a hideous decision for Dante to have to make.’

  ‘Hugo’s family wouldn’t let Dante attend his funeral, in Milan. To be fair, the press at large were sympathetic; said Dante couldn’t win either way. But a couple of tabloids printed interviews with disenchanted policemen who anonymously said Dante had let down his colleagues – that policemen should look after their own. They labelled Dante a coward. Said he took the easy option. That trying to divert Hugo getting shot would have jeopardised Dante’s own life.’ Rocco shook his head. ‘But it all happened so quickly. After shooting Hugo the man lunged at Dante, hit him across the face with his gun. Dante just managed to wrestle the gun away, before falling and hitting the ground badly. The optic nerve damage meant he lost his sight.’

  Poor Dante. Strong Dante, rebuilding his life after that. ‘What did his seniors say?’

  ‘There was a review, of course. He was found completely blameless. However, a couple of the tabloids rumbled on about it for weeks. For once everyone here was glad that Dante couldn’t read.’ Rocco picked up his helmet and fiddled with the straps. ‘Dante felt like an outsider and hardly spoke to anyone during the initial weeks afterwards.’

  ‘I can understand – just a little – how that must have felt.’ Her voice trembled. ‘Being on the outside, looking in, is one of the worst feelings in the world.’

  Rocco raised an eyebrow and in that instant, when it was just the two of them, Mary felt able to open up. ‘I don’t have a mum and dad. I was raised in care homes or by foster parents.’

  Rocco stared for a moment. Opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, but then closed it again. ‘Si,’ he eventually mumbled. ‘I think many people can relate to feeling as if they are the odd one out.’

  ‘But today Dante has lots of friends within the police force …’

  ‘Si. The force and good friends stood by him. But you know the papers – they love to stir up trouble.’ Rocco looked at his watch and stood up. ‘I must go – otherwise I will never make it in tomorrow morning. Try not to worry about Dante. He’s used to this now. Every time there is a security scare those particular papers like to spew out the same old stories.’

  Mary pulled a face. ‘No wonder he went into hiding – the restaurant was even busier than usual, yesterday.’

  Rocco shrugged. ‘It is probably a coincidence but Dante – and the family – get a bit paranoid.’ He knelt down and tickled the dog under its chin. The terrier had the whitest whiskers that greatly contrasted with the short, dirty brown fur.

  ‘Goodnight, girl,’ he said and stared into those deep brown eyes.

  Mary smiled. ‘I’m sure she’s molto grateful for the food. She’s definitely filled out over the last few weeks.’

  His ears turned red. ‘Anyone else would do the same.’

  ‘I don’t think so. The local tourists are always chasing her and yesterday one of the entertainers tried to kick her away.’

  His face scrunched up. ‘Which one?’

  ‘The breakdancer. He doesn’t come here often and just as well.’ Mary grimaced. ‘I told him to pick on someone his own size and accidentally spilt orange juice on his dancing patch. I mean, you know how clumsy I am,’ she added airily. Mary stared at the little terrier, leant forward, and tickled her tummy. The dog rolled on her back, paws in the air.

  ‘Beautiful, aren’t you,’ murmured Mary. Her eyes widened. ‘Have her teats always looked this swollen?’

  Rocco frowned. ‘No idea.’

  Mary rubbed the dog’s stomach again and gave a small gasp. She stood up to face Rocco.

  ‘One of my foster parents was a veterinary nurse. It was one of my happier placements. I often used to go in and wait for her, after school. I got to stroke some of the patients and could eventually recognise when a dog was pregnant.’

  Rocco digested this sentence and then his jaw dropped. ‘You mean …?’

  ‘A dog’s pregnancy lasts around sixty days. She’s at least thirty days in. More I’d say.’

  ‘Dio Mio!’ He paced around for a moment. ‘If only I could take her home.’

  ‘Won’t your landlord allow pets?’

  ‘That’s not the problem – Angelo doesn’t like dogs. Or cats. Anything, in fact, that creates mess. He likes the flat to be as well groomed as he is.’ Rocco’s shoulders bobbed up and down. ‘And he likes to be the centre of attention. I’m not sure he’d appreciate visitors cooing over puppies when they came around.’ He sighed. ‘She’s such a sweet thing. Gentle natured. It’s amazing considering her life on the streets.’

  ‘Lucia begged Natale, the other day, to let her come inside the restaurant but it wouldn’t be good with Oro. Dante’s dog needs to focus completely on her job, without any distractions.’ Mary looked hopeful. ‘Perhaps Angelo might change his mind, seeing as this little one is in dire need.’

  ‘Yes. Maybe I should ask him. He should still be awake, even though it’s late. He was out at a party.’

  ‘Bit of a night-bird, is he?’ Mary smiled.

  ‘That’s where we first became friends – in a club. He’s a party promoter. Knows lots of people. Always socialising.’ Rocco straightened up. ‘I’ll ask him as soon as I get back.’

  Mary jerked her head towards the terrier. She looked kind of lost. Alone. Anonymous. ‘Isn’t it about time she had a name?’

  Rocco put on his helmet. ‘I didn’t like to get too attached. In case she ran away.’

  Mary gazed at him. ‘You’re a real softie, aren’t you?’

  His cheeks flushed. ‘Fortuna,’ he said. ‘Let’s call her Fortuna. And if Angelo won’t agree then we’ll have to tell the authorities. It’ll be sad to see her go to a dog’s home, but it’s better than a life on the streets, if she’s going to have young.’

  ‘Fortuna? Meaning lucky? Great idea. Her luck was certainly in, the day she met you.’

  Without meeting Mary’s eye, Rocco gave a short wave and cycled off.

  ‘Fingers crossed,’ she muttered to the dog who licked her hand. ‘And if Angelo won’t agree, I’ll do everything I can to find you a good owner. You don’t want to go into a home. Take it from me.’

  Mary locked up downstairs and headed up to bed. She thought, once more, about the foster parent who’d worked at the vet’s. Not all her placements had been bad. And she’d been lucky not to end up living on the streets. But none of those families would have stuck by her if she’d been blamed for someone’s death or been blinded.

  And who could blame them? As she’d matured, Mary understood that life was complex – people just got through the best way they could. Blood usually ran thicker than water. Water didn’t always have sticking power – but that didn’t matter, because other things did, like a new city to live in and a job she now loved.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Monday was quiet. And so was Dante, even though the tabloids who’d mentioned him had already turned their attention to a top minister having an affair. Wednesday arrived and his dark mood still hovered. It was his and Mary’s day off. That changed every week and this time coincided with their next five-thirty dance class. To help Enzo out, if Dante was ever off work, the day before he’d make plenty of pizza bases. The kitchen assistants knew the drill for applying toppings, although Dante’s regulars always knew when it wasn’t their favourite pizza-maker in the kitchen.

  Mary sat opposite Dante at the breakfast table, having already been up a couple of hours, to make a fresh batch of biscuits. An old recipe from school called Melting Moments. These delicate, circular soft cookies literally disintegrated on the tongue and would be a great accompaniment to coffee, as long as customers realised they weren’t tough biscotti and couldn’t be dunked.

  Natale had just left to drop Lucia off at a friend’s house for the day. Alfonso was downstairs, polishing the bar, even though there wasn’t a speck of dust or spilt drink. Over time Mary had worked out that when her boss was stressed, he worked as hard as a navvy. And the last few days, after the un
derground upset, he’d been up early to wash down the windows and sweep every millimetre of the floor.

  ‘It’s the first of August today,’ she said. ‘Two weeks exactly to the Lombardi List being announced – and our dance performance.’

  Dante pulled a face. ‘I don’t think you and I are going to win. Paola’s been training Rocco every spare minute. Perhaps that’s why he is off-colour at the moment.’

  ‘How can you tell? Because I think you are right. He was rubbing his back most of yesterday.’ Rocco hadn’t looked right all week. He’d come in to work Monday snapping and irritable, with the palest of faces. Mary had tried to find out what was wrong but he’d just glowered. Just like he had when Mary first arrived.

  ‘His footsteps have moved much more slowly. And his voice … there is a quieter, more tired tone.’

  ‘Perhaps he is worried about Fortuna?’ Mary’s heart squeezed at the thought of that adorable mutt giving birth in some dirty makeshift kennel.

  Dante’s brow furrowed.

  ‘You know – the dog he feeds every night. Didn’t he tell you she’s pregnant?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Angelo won’t change his mind about pets being pests, so she can’t stay in Rocco’s flat.’ Mary bit into her pastry, generously spread with plum jam. As the deep, sweet taste swept across her tongue, Dante dropped into silence. She cleared her throat. ‘I was wondering – today … unless you’ve got other plans … would you do me a favour?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Mary’s chest glowed. He always did that. If a family member or friend asked him for help, he’d say yes before knowing what they wanted – yes before knowing what she wanted. No one had ever been there for her, like that.

  ‘I’ve been here a few weeks and have managed to visit the Coliseum, the Roman Forum, various parks, and the Vatican … but I still haven’t been up close to the river Tiber. Natale told me about a lovely little restaurant, right down by the water. Bella Barca.’

  A muscle in his cheek flinched.

  ‘I don’t fancy going on my own. How about you let me treat you? The upside to the increased business of the tourist season is the amount of my tips.’

  ‘You are so sweet, Mary,’ he said, in a flat voice. ‘But honestly. I’m okay. I don’t need a trip out to lift my spirits and probably wouldn’t be good company.’

  So much for being subtle. ‘I … don’t have an agenda, Dante, just thought it would be nice to—’

  He raised his hand.

  ‘Fair enough. Guilty as charged. But there’s no crime in trying to be there, for a friend. So go on. Humour me. I wasn’t lying. It won’t be as much fun to go by myself.’

  Dante shrugged.

  ‘Hold on a second.’ Mary disappeared into her bedroom and came back with her fist curled. She sat down. Took Dante’s hand and unfurled her fingers. In the middle of her palm lay a jagged crystal. She gave it to him.

  She’d never given one of her crystals to someone before – Lucia, who borrowed them anyway, didn’t count. But her chest had ached all week at the pain she’d seen etched in Dante’s face.

  ‘What colour is it?’ he murmured.

  ‘Shades of lilac and purple. Shiny. Beautiful. It’s amethyst that is good for emotions. For sensitive people. It has healing properties. I often keep a stone in my back pocket.’

  Dante rubbed the crystal between his thumb and forefinger, before slipping it into the back of his jeans.

  ‘Grazie mille, cara Mary.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Although I’m fully aware it is also a bribe – to get me down to the river. Am I right?’

  Mary grinned and nodded.

  ‘Are you nodding?’

  Mary chuckled. Good. His humour had returned, at least for a second.

  ‘A bribe? I’m saying nothing,’ she said and stood up to clear the breakfast dishes away.

  However, his low spirits had returned by the time they arrived at the restaurant. A small, timber, square-shaped building, with white painted frames, lots of windows, and potted plants. He led the way, past the wicker tables and chairs as if he worked there, and chose one of the furthest tables, right by the river. He sat down. The waiter arrived and adjusted the parasol so that they were both in the shade.

  Dante ordered a Coke, Mary a lemonade.

  ‘It’s beautiful. So tranquil.’ She fanned herself with the menu and gazed down at the river bank. Car horns sounded in the distance, but didn’t drown out the rushing current of water and the quack of a passing duck. It was a very suburban river, with a tall concrete bank on the far side and the sparsest vegetation near to them. The Tiber’s turquoise shades beautifully contrasted with the stone bridge across it that boasted a warm golden retriever colour not dissimilar to Oro’s, thanks to the midday sun.

  ‘Do you want me to read out the menu?’ said Mary.

  ‘No. I’ll just have a Pizza Romana, please. And the pesto salad.’

  ‘I don’t know how you can eat anchovies.’ Mary scanned the list of dishes. ‘Don’t you ever get bored of pizza?’

  ‘Don’t you ever get bored of chocolate?’

  ‘Fair comment!’

  The waiter took their order and they sat in silence. Dante put down his Coke and gave a sigh. ‘I guess you want to talk about this last week.’

  ‘Not unless you want to but, look, it wasn’t your fault, Dante. No one could have foreseen what the terrorist would do.’ Those words came from her heart but sounded trite. No doubt he’d heard them from other people, many times.

  ‘I should have been able to protect Hugo. I don’t blame his family. They were furious and slammed the phone down on me when I tried to change their mind about letting me go to the funeral. And then there was Mamma …’

  What had his mum got to do with this?

  ‘You probably thought it strange that I rushed to the underground. When there was that safety scare. I just … it’s in my bones to try and look out for people.’

  His frustration hung in the air.

  Their meals arrived and Mary marvelled at the vibrant colours of Dante’s lettuce and pesto.

  ‘How did you know they’d serve that particular type of salad?’ she asked and almost closed her eyes in ecstasy as she savoured a plump pocket of tortellini pasta stuffed with spinach and ricotta.

  Dante put down his knife and fork. He turned to face the river. ‘Do you see, directly across from here, there is a low hole in the wall?’

  Mary squinted. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sometimes rats nest in it.’ He turned back and shrugged. ‘Before going blind, I used to come here a lot. This was my favourite meal.’

  ‘You came with Natale?’

  Dante pushed away his plate. After a moment’s contemplation, he took the amethyst out of his back pocket and rubbed it between his fingers.

  ‘Do you really think this works?’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes. I do.’

  He bit his top lip. ‘I used to come here with my girlfriend. My ex-girlfriend. Alessia. Many a romantic evening we spent here. My home town – or rather city – is truly beautiful, lit up under the stars. I miss seeing that.’

  Her chest tightened. Girlfriend? Something shifted inside her. Left her feeling uncomfortable. What was this Alessia like? As glamorous as her name? Had she worked in the force with Dante? Why had he fallen in love with her? Was this the woman who had broken his heart? Did … did he still have feelings for her?

  So many questions.

  ‘I’m sorry – I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have suggested coming here if—’

  ‘Don’t worry. Perhaps it will do me good to visit old ground. I haven’t been back since I lost my sight – and lost her.’

  ‘Oh … was she sick?’

  He gave a wry smile. ‘Si. You could say that. She was sick of me. Sick of my blindness. She fell in love with the Dante of old, a capable policeman. Then, because of me Hugo died and—’

  ‘Whoa! Stop right there. Hugo died because of that terrorist. I won’t allow any of that wal
lowing.’

  ‘How dare you!’ he hissed and a couple next to them tried their hardest not to stare. ‘If you’d been there …’

  ‘You lost a best friend. Blamed yourself. I lost both my parents. Spent years thinking it was my fault.’ She reached across and squeezed his hand. ‘I don’t pretend to know what you went through but I do know – from personal experience – that dwelling on the past serves no purpose and can only have damaging consequences.’

  He shook her off.

  ‘It’s been a long journey for me, but one thing I’ve learnt to recognise is that the feelings of guilt, of being hard done by – that’s just my negative view.’ Mary shrugged. ‘And I can change that if I want – or hold on to it. You didn’t pull the trigger and shoot Hugo. You did the very best that you could at that moment in time – and no one blames you for that apart from a few cowardly anonymous officers who probably exaggerated their views to get as much money as they could from the papers. As for his family, they were grieving, Dante. That twists perspective. You are human – just like everyone else. Life gets messy but it is in your hands to turn things around.’

  Mary’s body shook. She’d sounded just like her friend Jill. Where had those words come from? But they were the truth. The longer she stayed in Italy, the more Mary realised that her future, her destiny, it was down to her. ‘So … your girlfriend left you?’

  Dante pursed his lips. ‘Just before the attack we decided to get married. She asked me. That was very Alessia.’

  A spike of … she wasn’t sure what, pierced Mary’s chest. Was Dante still pining for his ex?

  ‘We’d been planning the wedding. Or, rather, Alessia had. She’d already chosen the dress and drawn up a list of one hundred guests. She’d wanted doves, ice sculptures …’ His shoulders drooped. ‘But she wasn’t used to having to care for me. Alessia did her best, in the beginning but … well, guess I wasn’t the most even-tempered patient.’

  ‘And understandably!’ Mary said, as heat rose through her chest. How could this woman have abandoned Dante when he needed her most? Water thinner than blood? But hadn’t they been in love?