Читать книгу From Rome with Love: Escape the winter blues with the perfect feel-good romance! - Jules Wake, Jules Wake - Страница 13

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 is 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.

‘No, you’re fine.’

Lisa wound her way back to the table, the noise almost taking off the roof as a unanimous cheer went up. Clearly someone had scored.

Taking a sip of Peroni, she pulled out the pocket guide to Rome, dislodging the small bundle of Euro notes, a begrudging gift from Nan, who’d muttered with her usual tart discontent, ‘Ancient history is best left alone. If that man wanted his ring back, he could have got in touch at any time and he’d have done so by now and he’d never have left your mother high and dry the way he did.’

She tucked the money into her purse and picked up the guide book, fingering the edge of the photo sandwiched between the cover and first page. Something bounced off the cover of the book as Will flicked a packet of pistachio nuts at her.

‘All they had, I’m afraid.’

‘Thank you.’

He nodded and gave her one of his twisted smiles, which made her stomach go a little squiggly inside. Damn, she didn’t want him to do nice things.

After another half hour, Lisa’s patience was starting to evaporate. Even poring over the sights of the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, the Colosseum, the Vatican and the Sistine Chapel, all of which she planned to visit, weren’t consoling her.

She was dying to know if Giovanni had spoken yet to his friend at the electoral register and found out if the address was still valid.

Nausea danced low in her belly as it struck her. If it was, she’d have to go. Really have to go. Knock on a strange door. Speak to someone she couldn’t even picture in her head. No excuses. What on earth what would she say? ‘Thanks for nothing mate.’ No, that sounded too angry, like she cared.

‘I’m returning this. I don’t need it. Rather like you.’

Unfortunately, she doubted she could frame the haughty, dismissive words as she thrust the ring box at him. Even in rehearsing the words in her head she could feel the give-away nervous croak in her throat.

‘I’ve done perfectly well without you.’

Who was she kidding? She’d probably burst into tears rather than manage a cool, detached demeanour. Shifting in her seat, she squirmed. It had seemed so simple at home. That remote fantasy. But the reality didn’t seem so appealing now. All the possible images in her head dissolved into a knot of pure terror. Suddenly she wasn’t sure this was such a good idea.

Looking up, she realised a) Will was studying her and b) she had chewed one fingernail to near death. She pasted a dismissive expression on her face and buried her head in her guide book with determined fervour, as if the shopping section contained the answer to the meaning of life.

Eventually Will got up and went to the loo and Lisa grabbed Giovanni’s elbow.

‘Have you spoken to your friend?’ she asked quietly, keeping a watchful eye on the door at the back of the restaurant.

Giovanni suddenly looked like a small boy caught out. ‘Bellissima. Don’t worry. We have all week.’

‘I know but…’

‘I will call Luca tomorrow.’

‘You mean you haven’t spoken to him yet?’ He’d had two weeks to speak to his friend.

Giovanni shrugged. ‘He’s… been on the holidays.’ His gaze slid back the television. ‘He will be back tomorrow. I’m sure and I will speak to him then. And then we go find your father. But tomorrow I show you my city.’

A minute ago, she would have been relieved, only now she felt irritated. Talk about contrary.