Читать книгу From Rome with Love: Escape the winter blues with the perfect feel-good romance! - Jules Wake, Jules Wake - Страница 14

‘Coffee?’ asked Giovanni, leading the way into the kitchen, bouncing off the doorway.

‘Have you got any food?’ she asked hopefully.

Giovanni looked blank and opened the fridge and poked at a couple of jars in there.

‘No.’ He shrugged and closed it again. ‘We’ll go out for breakfast.’

He put an espresso pot on the stove, filling it clumsily, spilling coffee everywhere, the black grounds trickling across the floor and spreading like iron filings. ‘Ooops,’ he giggled and staggered as he tried to brush them up with his fingers. Alberto had broken out the Grappa at the end of the game. One fiery sip had been enough for Lisa. Not so for Giovanni, who had downed several.

Will led him to a chair. ‘I think you’d better sit down, mate.’

Lisa searched through a few cupboards before finding a dustpan and brush. Will took it from her and swept up the grounds. By the time he’d finished, Giovanni had his head on the table and was already asleep.

‘Always was a lightweight,’ observed Will, as he tipped the coffee grounds in the bin. ‘Although Grappa is lethal. Sixty per cent proof.’ He shook his head. ‘Let’s see what we can find. My stomach thinks my throat’s been slit.’

Will crossed to the fridge and took a look before opening a couple of cupboards and rooting among the sparse shelves.

‘Right, you can be my sous chef.’

Lisa wasn’t about to argue.

He passed her a couple of jars from the fridge, artichokes, sundried tomatoes and olives.

‘Chuck me a handful of each of those and we can start chopping while I get this pasta on to boil.’ He pulled out a bag of pasta shapes that Lisa had never seen before. She took one of the small, thin tubes.

‘Reginelle,’ said Will, chopping the artichokes with skilled speed as she wrestled with the jar of sundried tomatoes. It was always a mystery to her that people were prepared to eat things that looked like half-dead animals.

‘You sound as if you’re some sort of pasta expert.’ And a right know-it-all. She scowled at him to let him know it wasn’t a compliment and managed to spill oil down her t-shirt as the lid finally pinged off the jar.

‘I’m learning but there are over 180 different types of pasta.’

‘Why so many? Surely they all,’ she lifted her shoulders, pulling the revolting-looking sundried tomatoes out of the jar and trying hard not to look at them, as she started to slice, ‘pretty much taste the same.’

Will looked horrified. ‘Hush your mouth; you’ll have us deported! All the same!’

Lisa looked away, interested in spite of herself.

‘Your food education has been sadly lacking. You have the tiny pasta shapes, like stellette, the little stars, that you put in soups or broths.’ He paused and pointed his knife at her chopping. ‘Smaller than that.’

She wrinkled her nose; she wasn’t even sure she liked touching them.

‘And then there are things like tripolini, tiny bow-tie shapes, that you find in soup or salad. Then you have all the different pastas you eat with sauces but the type of pasta depends on the thickness of the sauces. Then you have your stuffed pasta, tortellini, capeletti and ravioli, but again depending on the size of the packets you have ravioletti, raviolei and raviolo.’

Deftly he scooped the chopped tomatoes and tossed them and the artichokes into a sizzling pan. Lisa’s stomach let out a loud unladylike rumble, which was punctuated by a gentle snore from behind them. Giovanni was out for the count.

At last Will served up the contents of the large pasta bowls, steaming and aromatic. Despite the bits of slimy tomato, artichokes, which looked beige and unappetising, and olives, which she knew tasted bitter, it smelt quite good. At least she could pick those bits out and just eat the pasta.

Lisa gave a hungry moan. ‘This smells amazing.’ No faulting Will’s prowess in the kitchen. She hadn’t realised he could cook. At the pub he employed the rather eccentric Al as chef.

With an exasperated glance at the tiny table in the kitchen, over which Giovanni was currently slumped, she frowned.

‘Do you think we should wake him up?’

‘No,’ said Will emphatically. ‘There’s a table out on the balcony. I’m eating out there.’

He pulled open a drawer and fished out some cutlery. ‘Here, you take these and the plates. I’ll bring the rest.’

Carrying two dishes on one arm, she made her way through the salon and out onto the balcony, blinking furiously. It was like being back in the pub, when she used to be a regular waitress, when they used to get on so well.

Quickly he grated the rather pathetic lump of Parmesan he’d found at the back of the fridge and, with a last-minute glance at the sleeping Giovanni, he grabbed a bottle of red wine he’d spotted in the wine rack. A rather good Montepulciano D’Abruzzo. Tough. Hopefully Giovanni’s parents hadn’t been saving it for a special occasion. It could always be replaced.

A golden glow came from outside, where the balcony overlooked the gardens and the villa opposite. Carefully placed lights highlighted the stone balustrades and urns at the entrance and the stylised topiary shapes and the tall cypresses in the grounds. It was rather romantic, if you went in for that sort of thing.

He paused for a minute before he stepped out on the balcony, looking at Lisa sitting patiently, her face in profile, the signature thick tawny-blonde hair flowing down her back, her head tilting this way and that as she drank in the view like a butterfly trying to capture the best nectar in the garden. Serene and content, she looked at home on the balcony, sitting on one of the bistro chairs. It was almost possible to imagine she was sitting there waiting for him, rather than resigned and resentful that he’d crashed her party.

His next step stalled, unable to move over the threshold as it hit him. A punch of regret seared through him as reality

He pulled open a drawer and fished out some cutlery. ‘Here, you take these and the plates. I’ll bring the rest.’

Carrying two dishes on one arm, she made her way through the salon and out onto the balcony, blinking furiously. It was like being back in the pub, when she used to be a regular waitress, when they used to get on so well.

Quickly he grated the rather pathetic lump of Parmesan he’d found at the back of the fridge and, with a last-minute glance at the sleeping Giovanni, he grabbed a bottle of red wine he’d spotted in the wine rack. A rather good Montepulciano D’Abruzzo. Tough. Hopefully Giovanni’s parents hadn’t been saving it for a special occasion. It could always be replaced.

A golden glow came from outside, where the balcony overlooked the gardens and the villa opposite. Carefully placed lights highlighted the stone balustrades and urns at the entrance and the stylised topiary shapes and the tall cypresses in the grounds. It was rather romantic, if you went in for that sort of thing.

He paused for a minute before he stepped out on the balcony, looking at Lisa sitting patiently, her face in profile, the signature thick tawny-blonde hair flowing down her back, her head tilting this way and that as she drank in the view like a butterfly trying to capture the best nectar in the garden. Serene and content, she looked at home on the balcony, sitting on one of the bistro chairs. It was almost possible to imagine she was sitting there waiting for him, rather than resigned and resentful that he’d crashed her party.

His next step stalled, unable to move over the threshold as it hit him. A punch of regret seared through him as reality slapped him in the face. What the fuck was he playing at? That stupid dog-in-the-manger impulse had really got the better of him. Bloody stupid.

Why the hell had he decided to stick a spanner in the works and come out here? She was better off with Giovanni. No, fuck that. She wasn’t better off with Giovanni, he wasn’t right for her. Which begged the question – what was she up to? Will knew Giovanni had been interested in her for months and she’d not shown any sign of reciprocating.

Will prayed she wouldn’t look up as his gaze roved over her, steeling himself against the familiar leap of his pulse. She deserved much better; someone who could be there for the long haul. Even though she’d said she didn’t want commitment, he knew she needed someone in her life. Someone who would look out for her and be there for her when her Nan had gone.

Not someone who couldn’t even measure up to his own damn family.

‘Are you going to come out here or lurk in the doorway, because my manners are about to go down the swannee any second.’ Lisa’s grumpy expression forced him to move.

Since when did she have a problem with manners around him? ‘Start. I wouldn’t want you to starve.’

She gave him a sour smile, picked up her fork and examined the food, as if she were worried something nasty might jump out and bite her.

‘Everything alright?’ he asked, amused when he noticed she’d pushed the artichokes to one side already. ‘Want a glass?’ He put the bottle and glasses down.

‘Mmm,’ she mumbled through her food, her head down, hunched over it as if fearful it might be snatched away from her at any second. Not that he blamed her, his stomach felt as if it had been excavated by a bulldozer.

He poured the rich ruby wine into the glasses and took a deep sniff.

She eyed him suspiciously.

‘It’s a good one.’

‘I wouldn’t know, you’re the gastrodom.’

‘Is that even a word?’ Will looked thoughtful for a minute and took a long swallow. ‘I rather like it – ruler of the known gastroverse.’

She scowled at him again, spurring on the devil inside that took delight in winding her up. It took him back to a more carefree time, when they’d been friends and there’d been no other overtones.

‘I rather like the dom element …’

With a toss of her head, swinging her hair down her back, she reached for her glass and took a hefty gulp.

‘Ooh,’ she paused, as caution set in. It was almost comical, her wavering for a second before she could bring herself to say it. ‘This is nice. Really nice.’

‘We aim to please.’

‘And the food is nice too.’ She took a healthy bite of pasta and he noticed she’d accidentally scooped up a piece of sundried tomato. He watched closely. ‘I … the tomatoes are actually okay.’ She took another mouthful, this time not avoiding the little slivers of red, and munched with thoughtful application before she pronounced, a little more enthusiastically, ‘Really good.’ Another pause. ‘Thank you.’

‘It’s alright. I needed to eat too.’

‘Well, of course.’

‘Why the change of heart?’ Damn, he hadn’t meant to bring it up. Now he sounded like a jealous idiot.

She shrugged and examined the far corner of the garden. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You and Giovanni? I didn’t think you were interested.’

‘Maybe a cheap holiday was too good to pass up,’ she said evasively.

He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘You hate flying. What changed? You suddenly decided Giovanni was the one?’

She scowled at him. ‘And it has to do with you, how?’

‘I don’t see you two together.’ Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? Back off, be indifferent. It was nothing to do with him and he didn’t want it to be anything to do with him.

‘And what? You’re the expert on relationships all of a sudden, Mr Two-dates-and-then-you’ve-passed-your-sell-by? I hardly think you’re qualified to comment.’

‘Who knew there’s a degree in observation and common sense?’

‘I was referring to your track record. Nine different women in the last se … however many months.’

‘You’ve been counting?’ His voice acquired a bored drawl to hide the sudden quickening of his pulse at the thought she’d been keeping count. ‘I had no idea you were so interested in my well-being.’

‘I wasn’t. I’m not. It never ceases to amaze me that there are that many gullible women out there, that’s all.’

The narrowed-eyed stare she shot his way packed a full punch of icy disdain and it stung. ‘Everyone I date knows what they’re getting into. I’m not looking for a relationship.’

‘Yeah, I think everyone knows what a tart you are,’ she jibed.

His stomach clenched, but he shrugged. ‘Better than promising something you can’t deliver.’ It never ceased to amaze him that his parents ever made a contract of marriage. The only promise they could deliver on was leading each other up the garden path.

‘True, at least you’re honest about it,’ she said.

Will tensed, his skin itching as a furious blush burnt the skin of his cheeks. ‘Yes, I’m honest. I don’t lie to anyone.’ He hadn’t lied to her. She’d backed off as much as he had. And okay, maybe it had suited him and been a bit of a relief, but they’d both been guilty of total and utter inertia.

It was better this way. He’d seen too often the chaos his parents’ parlous relationship left in its wake. Rows, recriminations, hide-piercing sarcasm, withering insults. It was so bloody exhausting.

She eyed him over her wine glass and, being honest herself, her mouth dipped in a moue of acknowledgement. She lifted her glass and toasted him.

‘Lovely meal, thank you.’

‘My pleasure.’ It was like a sea mist lifting, both of them realising that they could stay holed up at the impasse, retreat to their usual entrenched positions or make an attempt to be civilised.

‘So, where are you going to drag Giovanni tomorrow?’

A guilty expression, as furtive as a fox skirting the suburban shadows, crossed her face.

‘The usual tourist hot spots, I’m afraid.’

‘Why are you afraid?’ he asked, a teasing challenge in his voice.

She straightened and looked down her nose at him. ‘Because I’m sure Mr Well-seasoned, Euro-rail-during-my-gap-year is well beyond all that. Don’t tell me, the cheese farm you’re visiting tomorrow is one of five on a south-facing slope, where the cows eat organic grass and the cheese is turned daily by peasant stock groomed for generations for this particular task?’

‘I’m not that much of a tourist snob. The reason places like the Spanish Steps, the Vatican et al are popular is because they are amazing. There’s nowhere quite like Rome in the world. The Eternal City. Antiquities, culture, history. It’s got the lot. Go forth, my child and enjoy.’ He employed a suitably patronising note in his voice before adding, ‘And I must ask them tomorrow who does turn the cheese. That might be a nice detail for the menu.’