From Rome with Love: Escape the winter blues with the perfect feel-good romance!
Jules Wake
‘Charming…romance, wit and a fabulous “all is lost” moment’ Sue Moorcroft, bestselling author of The Christmas PromiseIf you can’t stand the heat…Rome is the city of love and seduction, right? Not if you find yourself staying in a beautiful apartment with your childhood-friend-turned-arch-enemy, Will Ryan…no matter how hot he is!Romance is the last thing on Lisa’s mind. She’s got more important things to focus on, like hunting down her estranged father. Except when her search falls at the first hurdle, Will doesn’t just help her get back on track, he also shares the romantic sights – and exquisite tastes – of the Eternal City, and Lisa starts to wonder if it’s not just Rome seducing her.Only, as Lisa and Will dig into the past, neither of them is prepared for the long-buried secrets they reveal. Secrets that will turn both their world’s upside down …‘A perfect mix of Italian food, the city of Rome, romance, hidden family secrets, friendship and fabulous descriptive storytelling’ Rachel’s Random Reads
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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017
Copyright © Jules Wake 2017
Cover design by Holly Macdonald, HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
Cover images © Shutterstock.com (http://Shutterstock.com)
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A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © January 2017 ISBN: 9780008221942
Version 2017-01-04
For Tina Mundy,
who understands the important things in life.
Table of Contents
Cover (#ue02bbfbf-8fe1-5bf9-8cb8-8a1319a96c2f)
Title Page (#ub341b9e5-033e-5ebe-9530-a42da6ce0577)
Copyright (#u68390931-a441-5a87-9aa9-dd72684e8b45)
Dedication (#u32bdacb7-d732-58c0-9cd8-044dbadea354)
Chapter 1 (#uebbcce6a-bc00-5064-a6df-fb0c7cde53a9)
Chapter 2 (#ue9141837-dac6-595b-b19c-747fbb9fa000)
Chapter 3 (#u360e80f4-bd4c-56df-a750-72c70e6827f0)
Chapter 4 (#u086126dd-a087-5e9c-aeb7-ba5906696b00)
Chapter 5 (#ub90ddc1b-ba35-5fe1-92c8-c323aab8ad1c)
Chapter 6 (#u6cb4711f-bfdf-5f8a-b3f8-59465aa05ec4)
Chapter 7 (#u2d82dd83-7f21-59a1-8a60-2a27fb267e9b)
Chapter 8 (#u1e323b28-d481-55ed-b5ab-4f1010fa5f31)
Chapter 9 (#u9beaf89f-e52c-5917-bbfd-b74ff6abcdec)
Chapter 10 (#uea4c5270-58aa-5ad4-97e3-86f68e032ee7)
Chapter 11 (#ucc42f86d-abdb-5849-a580-a262d1be8a85)
Chapter 12 (#uef8a0252-f868-5ee5-8db4-dba643c62585)
Chapter 13 (#ua37a2bfd-ee17-5924-a6ef-a32ff94ea7a5)
Chapter 14 (#uc579e654-289e-5b8c-9727-4fec9490be75)
Chapter 15 (#u62b3d493-0d25-56e2-bb83-dfd6f2c0ef77)
Chapter 16 (#uda555263-7bf7-503e-9fa6-e0488f1da15a)
Chapter 17 (#ua5d51e3e-374f-5f67-90d3-de2d4d5c7642)
Chapter 18 (#u978c92b4-2422-55e1-9a53-84d2046a63e5)
Chapter 19 (#u4ef8d676-35a9-5cd7-9106-9218ece094ce)
Chapter 20 (#u6d8a1eac-c245-54b5-93b0-6c6591e2b9e2)
Chapter 21 (#u4bd29714-8dd0-5121-baa6-fc70a90abd3c)
Chapter 22 (#u15c5bff4-bb25-5342-b32a-8682a6861f87)
Chapter 23 (#u9a3af1a7-45a6-5e77-ba2b-c95a9fc2d558)
Chapter 24 (#u27685358-c416-5afe-9510-5bb4bdc6de07)
Chapter 25 (#u1b9b50b3-8894-5f5a-9f2e-ec0e7e936493)
Chapter 26 (#ua2effd24-caaa-582c-8bc2-38eb348adaf2)
Chapter 27 (#u863eede1-cdb3-5a1d-a151-a14281ba917a)
Chapter 28 (#u49880cde-c4b1-51c8-b3b2-99fc743d2370)
Chapter 29 (#uf05dd6d1-a18b-51ad-a186-9bf71e6d1194)
Chapter 30 (#ucf980703-3024-5d87-9f23-2604ab0d31ef)
Chapter 31 (#u7b949e58-78cc-5cab-a012-6e894d71042a)
Chapter 32 (#u024311d9-10e6-57b4-beeb-1f8d9e4e897d)
Chapter 33 (#ud3f62880-8699-51f4-8eaf-aec40849c269)
Chapter 34 (#u31cbcb8b-2fbb-56a5-8406-31d7a48aec94)
Epilogue (#ueee79551-6d20-5d6d-af6a-d5ad9b916860)
Acknowledgements (#u6f6124c3-0295-59a3-b884-f9a3d7885c7b)
Also by Jules Wake (#u1c3647ff-c547-5961-9341-26ed8aae6bf3)
About the Author (#udbba35d0-9357-5797-89df-69cd91eb063f)
About HarperImpulse (#u7bffdbe4-09dc-576d-b086-9855facd8dcc)
About the Publisher (#u7e1f7874-f133-541f-b285-5dc25306a183)
Chapter 1 (#u030500e9-3bb7-5f7b-b484-aa99009338f0)
‘Nan, what are you doing?’
Lisa stepped over a pile of tablecloths and linens covering the living-room floor of her Nan’s tiny lounge. She lived a couple of streets away and Lisa popped around most days after work for a cup of tea – not that Nan ever seemed particularly grateful, although she was quick to complain if Lisa missed a day.
‘What do you think I’m doing? Inviting the Queen to tea?’ She bustled by, a miniature dynamo rustling a large black dustbin bag in her hand. At four-foot nothing, with a face concertinaed by time, she looked as if she’d shrunk, leaving her skin two sizes too big. ‘I’m having a sort-out.’
‘Again.’ Lisa shook her head in dismay, looking at the piles of mismatched napkins, lace doilies and faded pillowcases, most of which she’d never seen before.
‘When am I ever going to use this lot? Load of old rubbish, cluttering up the place, attracting a shedload of moths. There’s a hole in my cardigan.’ Nan didn’t say the words but Lisa knew the thinking behind the latest clear-out. ‘I’m not getting any younger.’
‘Nan, there’s years left in you.’ Her grandmother was an indomitable force of nature. Pushing eighty-five and as sharp as they came. She had all her marbles, and then some.
‘That’s as maybe, but I don’t need all this tat.’ Her mouth wrinkled, prune-like, in derision. ‘It’ll save you the job when I’m dead and gone.’
‘I hate it when you say things like that.’
‘Don’t be daft. Now give us a hand with that box over there.’
‘You never brought that down from the loft on your own?’ asked Lisa incredulously.
‘Course I did. Who else? You think Superman popped by?’ Her nan shook her head in amused disgust.
‘Where do you want it?’
‘I don’t want it. I’m chucking it out. There’s a load of your granddad’s books in there. No good to anyone. But if you want them, help yourself.’
Lisa picked up the ancient cardboard box, resting her chin on the top to keep the uppermost layer of books from slithering precariously on to the floor as she moved it towards the dining table. As she was about to put it down, the bottom gave way and a flood of hard-backed books cascaded to the floor, brittle paper flapping as some of the books collapsed, the pages fluttering out like pigeons released and the hard corners knocking her shins as they landed.
‘Now look what you’ve done,’ Nan tsked, sucking on her teeth.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll pick everything up. Don’t want you putting your back out, do we?’
‘There’s nowt wrong with my back, Missy,’ retorted Nan, as usual refusing to admit to any weakness or acknowledge her creaking joints. ‘But I’ll put the kettle on while you tidy up.’ She shuffled off to the kitchen, leaving Lisa piling the books on the table. Most of them were ancient, the print so tiny and close together that they were difficult to read and the paper was yellowed and speckled with mildew. None of the titles or authors were any she’d heard of and in this state she couldn’t imagine anyone would want them.
As she bent to pick up the last two books, they see-sawed in her hand, separated by a bulky brown envelope that had been sandwiched between them. Although her mother had died when she was seven, Lisa recognised her distinctive rounded handwriting on the front of the envelope immediately. For Vittorio. The words had faded, the final o almost invisible, but they were underlined with two vivid dark slashes, which Lisa instinctively felt turned them into an instruction.
She frowned and toyed with the envelope, feeling the weight of it in her hand. The name ‘Vittorio’ conjured up confusing elusive memories that danced away whenever she tried to catch them.
Why did Nan have it? Vittorio, her father – not that he deserved that title – had upped and left a few years before her mother had died. Was this envelope a deathbed request? Lisa didn’t remember much about her mother, except that she’d been ill a lot. At the age of seven it was probably kinder not to explain the life-sucking treatments that left her mother wan and listless in a fight against cancer.
Sometimes she remembered, or maybe misremembered, things about her father. Being carried on his shoulders, pushed high on a swing, riding a carousel pony and him running alongside the merry-go-round, waving all the way, but they didn’t tally with what Nan had to say about him. She winced, her back teeth protesting at the sudden tensing of her jaw. What sort of father abandoned a daughter and didn’t come back for her even after her mother had died? Well, that was his loss. Thank goodness she’d had Nan.
As she turned the envelope in her hand, the moral question of what right she had to open it became moot as the old gum on the seal yawned open. Two photographs slipped out, or perhaps she’d helped them with an illicit shake. A handsome man in sunglasses laughed up at her, his arm around Lisa’s mother, who was heavily pregnant. Lisa studied the picture, a sudden lump blocking her throat. She had so few photos of her mother, because many of them had been lost when the bathroom in Nan’s house flooded and the ceiling collapsed in the lounge. Few of the photos had been salvageable and Nan being Nan had chucked them all out. She didn’t do sentiment.
And Lisa had no photos of her father at all. She turned it over, looking for confirmation. There it was, Me and Vittorio, Rome. She studied the picture, but it wasn’t a great shot and with the sunglasses and his face in shadow it was difficult to get much of a feel for what he looked like. Her lip curled. She knew what he was like. Irresponsible. Selfish. Heartless.
In the second picture, blurred and out of focus, the same man was pictured on his own outside a building, which she guessed was somewhere in Italy. She turned it over.
Vittorio & the family home. 32 Via del Mattonato, Rome, 001
‘What have you got there?’
Lisa started and almost shoved the envelope behind her back.
‘I found this and the envelope.’
Nan peered at the picture.
‘Is this …’ Lisa stopped. Nan had always refused to talk about him, but maybe this time she would.
She huffed. ‘Yes, that’s your father. Buggered off and left your poor mum holding the baby. Not that he was missed. We did just fine without him.’
Lisa stared curiously at the picture. It was the first time she’d seen her father. She didn’t want to be curious about him. She wanted to be indifferent, the way that he’d been indifferent to her, throughout those years when her six-year-old, eight-year-old, eleven-year-old self secretly believed that one day he would turn up and be her daddy.
‘Loved the ladies, that one. A roaming Roman.’ Nan sniffed.
‘He was from Rome?’
‘Of course he was from Rome. He was Roman.’
‘And he’s much taller than I thought he’d be.’ She deliberately kept her voice cool.
‘Not all jockeys are midgets. He was very skinny, like your mother. A pair of matchsticks they were.’
Lisa’s mother had worked at a local racing stables for the owner, Sir Robert Harding, managing all the admin in the office relating to entering the horses in races, charging the owners stable fees and paying the jockeys, which was where she’d met Vittorio Vettese, one of the stable’s full-time jockeys.
Going up to the stables had been a rare treat that Lisa had loved, although she wasn’t allowed to very often. Sir Robert’s wife had had an accident that had left her in a wheelchair and unable to have children. Lisa’s visits tended to be timed for when Lady Mary was away.
‘That’s where you get those knobbly knees from.’ Nan gave another one of her characteristic disdainful sniffs. She had them down to a fine art, conveying a mix of taciturn disapproval and regal superiority.
Lisa glanced down at her legs with a smile at Nan’s typical bluntness.
‘What’s this, then?’ Lisa pulled out a small jewellery box and Nan’s mouth pursed mollusc-tight, her lips pressed together in a vacuum-like seal.
The black box sat in her palm with all the allure of Pandora’s and gave Lisa a misty sense of premonition. Once opened, there was no going back.
Lisa looked at Nan, her thin, stooped frame radiating tension, but she didn’t say anything.
As her fingers brushed the lid of the box, out of the corner of her eye she saw her grandmother flinch, but it didn’t stop her from prising the lid upwards. It reached that point of no return and popped open.
‘Oh!’
The folds of skin on Nan’s throat quivered.
With the tip of her finger Lisa touched the ring of tiny pearls, interspersed with equally small rubies encircling a pea-sized diamond, well petit pois, perhaps, but still significant.
‘Wow, that’s pretty.’ And valuable, in her humble and not very informed opinion. At the very least, old. The rich navy velvet inside the box had faded around the edges and the elegant script on the inside satin of the lid spoke of a bygone age.
Nan sniffed again. ‘Hmm, belonged to his grandmother, apparently.’
‘What, my father’s?’
‘Yes. He gave it to your mother.’ She spat the words out with the unwillingness of a miser parting with pennies. ‘When they got engaged.’
‘So it was …’ Confused, Lisa tried to gauge her Nan’s expression, but the gimlet eyes were giving nothing away, ‘Mum’s engagement ring.’
‘I suppose.’
‘Oh.’ Betrayal and hurt splintered at the same time, making her vision a touch blurry. She had no idea what to say. Why hadn’t her grandmother given her the ring? Hadn’t her mother wanted her to have it?
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ snapped Nan. ‘She wanted it to go back to Vittorio. Said it was a family heirloom and should be returned. She didn’t feel right keeping it.’
Ah, so that explained Nan’s strange reticence. ‘Why didn’t you do it, then?’
Nan shrugged. ‘Never got round to it.’
Lisa couldn’t hide the spark of surprise or the quick instinctive censure she felt at Nan’s admission.
‘Don’t look at me like that, Missy. It wasn’t like I had time on my hands. I had you to look after, a job and a house to sort out. There was a lot to do. And then, well, life goes on and I forgot all about it.’
Guilt took the edge off Lisa’s disapproval. It can’t have been easy for Nan after the death of her only child suddenly having to become stand-in mother to a young, bereaved girl.
Lisa looked at the ring as her grandmother let out an exaggerated sigh. ‘And who knows where he is now? It’s not like he left a forwarding address.’
‘But we shouldn’t keep it, not … not if Mum wanted it to go back to him.’ Saying the words out loud caused a painful pang. Why hadn’t Mum wanted her to have the ring?
‘Well, you’re more than welcome to try and find the bugger if you want. I’ll leave it up to you, but you might as well have it. No good to me.
‘Now are you going to take me to Morrisons or not?’
Lisa snapped the ring box closed, putting it and the photos back into the envelope. She knew from the set of her Nan’s jaw that the discussion was over. She had no idea what she was going to do with them but she tucked the envelope into her handbag.
‘I haven’t got all day, you know.’
Lisa bit back a smile at the irony of the words. Nan filled her days crocheting squares for blankets for Africa, tending her dahlias, doing the Daily Mirror crossword with almost religious fervour, and gossiping and drinking endless cups of tea with her best friend next door, Laura. A trip to Morrisons inevitably took twice as long as it should because she, oblivious to other shoppers trying to reach around her to pick things off the shelves, insisted on checking every price, tapping away on her calculator, to ensure that she was getting her money’s worth.
‘You can have any of those tablecloths if you want them, otherwise they can go down to the charity shop. You can drop them off for me. And there’s a box of biscuits I found you can have. Left over from one of Sir Robert’s Christmas hampers. God knows why he keeps turning up.’
Lisa suspected that with a house-bound wife, fading rapidly in recent months, he was probably rather lonely. He was always quick to accept a cup of tea on his annual visit.
Nan waved the pack of shortbread biscuits at her. ‘I can’t tell him I give half the stuff away. Too fancy by half.’
Nan didn’t do fancy when it came to food. Meat and two veg had been her and Lisa’s staple diet for ever.
‘Your mother’s been gone these past twenty years. Sir Robert’s been carrying paternalism too far, in my mind.’
Lisa had always thought the hampers were rather generous, although she was equally relieved that Nan didn’t expect either of them to eat some of the weird and wonderful contents.
‘Thanks. Are they in date?’ Lisa peered at the tiny ‘best before’ information. ‘Those chocolates you gave me last time were two years past their date.’
‘Nonsense. That doesn’t mean anything.’
Lisa gave an inward shudder. She regularly sorted through Nan’s fridge on the quiet. Eating here was a bit like playing ‘past-the-sell-by-date Russian roulette’.
She waited as Nan pulled on her outsized mohair coat, which made her look like a baby woolly mammoth and was probably from about the same period in history.
‘Don’t forget to put them boxes in your car.’
By the time they left, heading towards the superstore on the edge of town, Lisa’s car looked like a jumble sale on wheels and the envelope in her bag weighed heavily on her mind.
Chapter 2 (#u030500e9-3bb7-5f7b-b484-aa99009338f0)
It had been a simple plan. Clean and effective. In and out. Finish work, drive to the pub, pick Siena up after her shift, not even have to go into the pub, then drive her home, girls’ night in, a few glasses of Prosecco and crash in the spare room.
Lisa kicked the flabby tyre of her loyal but flagging-a-bit-these-days Mini.
‘Ouch.’ Not so flabby after all.
Not wanting to abandon her car on one of the country lanes, it had limped the last quarter of the mile here. Now safe in the pub car park, she didn’t feel quite so helpless.
‘Need a hand?’ asked a languid voice from behind her.
Lisa closed her eyes and curled her fingers tight into her palms, registering the bite of her fingernails. He wasn’t supposed to be here at this time. On Tuesdays, he didn’t manage the pub until 7.30. She’d planned it so that she wouldn’t have to see him.
Quite how she resisted the overwhelming urge to gnash her teeth or growl out loud, she didn’t know. Ninety-nine point nine, nine per cent of her would have loved to tell him to get stuffed, but unfortunately there was a stupid niggly, and practical, nought point one per cent that admitted she probably did need help. While she was prepared to have a go at most things, and had got as far as taking out the flimsy-looking jack, which didn’t look as if it were capable of lifting a shoe box let alone a car, those slimy black bolts on the wheel looked completely beyond her.
She gave Will’s tall, slim frame a quick glance. Big mistake. It reminded her that his slender build belied a sinewy muscled strength and, under his clothes, the tautest, toned stomach she’d ever seen. The man had abs. Words died in her throat and she stood there, looking like a complete idiot.
‘Is that a, “Yes, gosh, Will, thanks that would be super”, I hear? Or a “Sod off, I’ve got this?”’ His fake falsetto reminded her exactly why she invested so much effort in avoiding him and his supersized ego and vastly inflated superiority complex.
He’d already approached the rear of her Mini. ‘Christ, how old is this thing? You still have a spare?’
With a determined grimace, she ignored him and dropped down by the wheel to manoeuvre the jack underneath the car, inserting the winding handle, as if she had the first clue what she was doing, saying with outward cheer, ‘No problem, I’ve got this. I can always call the AA if it’s too much trouble.’
As he hoisted the spare out, he muttered something under his breath which sounded distinctly like ‘you’re always too much trouble’.
Without saying anything else, he nudged her out of the way.
‘Thanks,’ she muttered as he set to work, kneeling on the tarmac, its surface wet from a recent shower, his head down as he started cranking up the car. It had been one of those days where the weather couldn’t make up its mind.
‘You here to see Siena?’
‘Yes,’ she answered shortly, glaring down at the stubby blonde ponytail brushing the back of his neck. Grown men shouldn’t have surfer-boy hair and it shouldn’t be sexy. He wasn’t sexy. Or even likeable. But a memory surfaced of that long hair brushing her skin when loose, bringing with it a quick flutter of awareness. The long hair helped create a casual look, when Will was anything but casual, except for his dealings with women.
She shifted her weight from foot to foot and pushed her hands into her pockets. The flutter turned into full-scale butterflies and she froze, praying that none of this was obvious. The butterflies could just sodding well back off and behave. She. Did. Not. Have. Feelings for Will.
With studied nonchalance, she looked around at the rolling green hills surrounding the village nestled in the valley, its line of houses following the ribbon of a stream that flowed down to the River Ouzel. She sighed, the sight soothing her. The pub, despite its ownership, was one of her favourite places. Perched on the edge of the wide green, the sturdy brick-and-timber construction had been in situ for several hundred years, standing guard over the inhabitants with imposing presence.
‘You can go in, if you like.’ Will had raised the car up. ‘Siena’s nearly finished her shift.’
Despite being here to see Siena, it didn’t seem right to abandon Will in the damp car park when he was doing her a favour, even though he was the last person on the planet that she wanted to spend any time with.
‘Do you need any help?’ she asked, with a barely concealed sigh. It was difficult to overcome a lifetime’s training of good manners.
He gave her an amused look.
Then again …
She turned her back on him and surveyed the quiet car park. In less than an hour, the pub would be buzzing. Whatever other faults he had, and there were a gazillion, Will certainly knew how to run a successful business. People came from miles around to eat here.
‘I hear you’re opening a new restaurant. That’ll be nice.’
With one raised eyebrow, he managed to make her regret opening her mouth.
‘I’m just making small talk. It feels a bit bad to abandon you when you’re being all chivalrous and fixing my car for me.’ She shivered, conscious of a light bite to the air. Summer was taking its time to arrive this year.
‘I’ve been waiting for the right location.’
‘Location, location, location,’ she said, not that she had any idea about suitable locations. The street where her tiny terraced house was located in the nearby town wasn’t about to make it onto any television programmes in the des res stakes.
‘It’s important, but I finally found the sweetest spot. The old post-office building on the High Street.’
‘Really? It looks a bit grot.’
‘It won’t by the time I’ve finished.’ Will’s quiet, confident declaration was no idle boast. When they’d lived in the village as teenagers, the pub had been the haunt of elderly men who nursed one pint over endless dominoes marathons. He’d transformed this place.
‘Hmm.’ She didn’t have the imagination for that sort of thing. ‘What sort of food are you going to do?’
‘Authentic Italian. Want to come and work for me?’
‘No thanks …’ Although there was no point cutting her nose off; the extra money would come in handy – as a teaching assistant she was only paid for term-time. ‘Well, maybe in the holidays, but I’m only half Italian, so probably not authentic enough,’ she added.
‘I’m not that fussy.’ He gave a careless shrug. ‘A waitress is a waitress.’
‘Don’t we know it,’ snapped Lisa. With a sniff she flounced off into the pub. He could bloody well get on with it, then.
‘Hey, Lisa.’ Siena tossed down her tea towel and stepped out from behind the bar to give Lisa a swift hug. ‘You looked seriously pissed off.’
‘Flat tyre.’ Lisa rolled her eyes. ‘I got it on the way here.’ And a run-in with her least-favourite person on the planet.
‘Bummer. Do you need to call someone?’ Siena shrugged, with her usual Gallic charm. Although English, she’d spent most of her life in France and had been born with a silver spoon in her red-lipped little bouche. Lisa smiled. She couldn’t imagine Siena even attempting to change a tyre.
‘Will’s changing it for me.’ Lisa flashed her friend a wicked grin.
‘Is he now?’ Siena raised one of her elegantly arched eyebrows, managing to combine surprise and feline amusement with a mere shapely lift.
‘He might as well make himself useful for a change.’ Lisa put down her bag on one of the bar stools and hopped up on the other one. ‘We could be here for a while. I could murder a drink. You don’t mind staying here for a bit, do you?’
‘No, suits me.’ Siena wiped her hands on a tea towel. ‘Might even get a few on the house, if Will’s feeling in a good mood.’
Lisa doubted that even Pollyanna would be hard pressed to maintain a sunny disposition after having changed a tyre.
‘Give me five minutes to finish tidying up in the kitchen and I’ll join you out here. Marcus will get you a drink, won’t you?’ Siena called over to the shaggy bear of a barman, busy replenishing the glass racks from the under-counter dishwasher. ‘Be a sweetie and pour me my usual.’
‘Hey Lisa, babe. How you doing? What’s it to be?’ Marcus spoke with a lovely Edinburgh burr, which Lisa could never get enough of. His accent brought back a vague memory of her mother, who’d been brought up in Scotland. She had a singular recollection of being very young and visiting there and being very put out that she never saw a single man in a kilt. Wasn’t it supposed to be the national costume?
Half-Scottish and half-Italian, she’d barely left Bedfordshire in years. She ought to remedy that one of these days.
‘G&T, please.’
‘I see Siena’s been educating you. What sort of gin do you want? Dorothy Parker, Bombay Sapphire, Hendricks?’
‘Hendricks, with cucumber.’ Lisa grinned at him. ‘I’m getting a taste for it, see, although I’d better stick to one as there’ll be Prosecco at Siena’s and I’m driving in the morning. Can’t overdo it. I’ve got to take Nan for a hospital appointment.’
‘How is the wee battle-axe?’
‘Battling. She’s so rude to the consultant.’
‘At her age, she’s allowed to be.’
‘No, at her age she should know better. Dr Gupta speaks perfectly good English and Nan insists she can’t understand a word he’s saying.’
‘Is he English?’
‘No,’ Lisa giggled. ‘He’s got the strongest Northern Irish accent I’ve ever heard: born and bred in Belfast. She’s being contrary because he’s clearly British despite his name and the colour of his skin.’
‘She’s from a different generation, I guess.’
‘My mum married an Italian; you’d have thought she might have got used to it. There’s no excuse. She’s just being rude.’
Will walked into the pub, wiping his black hands, about half an hour later. ‘All done. I’ve put the spare on. You’ll need to take the other one to the garage, see if it can be repaired or buy a new one.’
‘Thank you. Very much.’ She grimaced. Yeah, she knew about the tyres, but buying a new spare was going to wipe out the pathetic little rainy-day fund she’d scrimped and saved for.
When Siena’s lips twitched, Lisa realised how it had looked. ‘I am … very grateful. Er … can I buy you a drink?’
Will looked at the bar, again with that amused smirk.
‘Okay, you own the place,’ she said. ‘It was a gesture.’
He grinned at her, unabashed, but then, when was he ever abashed – or whatever the opposite was?
As she turned to look away, he said, ‘Do you know what …?’ She frowned.
‘Changing tyres is thirsty work. I’ll have a pint.’ Typical, now he was being contrary.
With a wink at Siena, he added. ‘Married in May will do nicely.’
Siena smiled, leaning back in her chair with one of her cool, unperturbed Gallic shrugs. ‘Tease all you want, it’s Jason’s best-selling beer.’ Her look said it all. She was very proud of her boyfriend, Jason, who’d set up a successful micro-brewery in the barn complex at the back of the pub.
‘I can’t believe he went and named it that. It was meant to be a joke.’ Will nudged Siena. ‘That’s what falling in love does for you. Rots your brain cells. Head over heels! More like arse about tit.’
Siena sipped her gin. ‘Mock all you like. We’re very happy and you … I think, are just jealous.’
‘Jealous. Yeah, right.’ Will sneered, although when he did it to Siena, he did it with a smile. ‘You keep believing that, sweet cheeks.’
‘I will,’ quipped Siena, with her usual insouciance.
Lisa caught Marcus’s eye with a nod and ordered Will’s drink.
‘There you go.’
‘Thank you. And make sure you do get a spare sorted.’
‘Anyone would think you cared,’ said Lisa, raising a deliberately cheeky smile. It wouldn’t do to let Will know how much he needled her.
‘No, I don’t want some poor other sod to spend half an hour getting a wheel off, only to find there’s no spare.’
He always had an answer.
Luckily, he took a few sips of his pint and retreated to prop up the bar and chat to Marcus, far enough away that Lisa could talk to Siena without Will butting in, as he was prone to doing.
‘You’ve got that grumpy “I-hate-Will” face on again,’ said Siena, with her uncanny white-witch sense.
‘No I haven’t. See.’ Lisa plastered a happy smile on her face. She lifted her drink and took a sip. ‘I’m getting a taste for this gin malarkey.’
Siena ignored her attempt to change the subject. ‘Yes, you have. Honestly you two, you’re like a brother and sister, with all the bickering. You shouldn’t let him get to you.’ She gave Lisa a stern look. ‘He’s doing it on purpose, just because he gets a response. Ignore him. He’s like one of those silly schoolboys in the playground.’
Lisa massaged the tight muscle in her right shoulder. ‘I know. He’s an idiot.’
But ignoring him was easier said than done. He did everything he could to wind her up. Regret pinched at her. Once they’d had a bantering, fun friendship, where they’d take the piss out of each other constantly, but after one hideously misjudged night, they’d gone from nought to snide in twenty-four hours. If only it were possible to turn the clock back, she never would have kissed him.
‘Lisa, Lisa, Lisa.’ Giovanni’s sing-song Italian accent rang out across the pub as he loped across the room, a broad smile filling his too-handsome-for-his-own-good face. ‘Bellissima. You look bellissima.’
An exaggeration, Lord love him, as she’d come straight from work. Knackered from a day on her feet dealing with a bunch of energy-sapping demons otherwise known as ‘early-years children’, everything drooped and her get up and go had got up and gone, but Giovanni’s blatant, eager charm did good things to her ego, especially with Will in sight.
‘Hey, Giovanni, how you doing?’ She greeted him with a grin.
He gave her an exuberant hug and kisses on each cheek.
‘Glad when your British summer arrives. I have a small little problem with all this rain.’
He lifted his feet to show sodden trouser hems, which had clearly had a bit of a dunking. ‘Piddles everywhere.’
‘Puddles,’ corrected Lisa, stifling a laugh at the disgruntled expression in his dark-brown eyes. ‘Hopefully, the summer will arrive soon. You have to remember all this rain is what makes this country a green and pleasant land.’ She nodded her head towards the view through the French doors. The hillside rose, coated in a blanket of brilliant green, the trees rounded and full like plump broccoli.
‘Hmm,’ said Giovanni, not looking the least bit convinced, but then he flashed his model-boy smile at her. ‘Can I buy you a drink? Are you staying?’ The hopeful look made her pause.
‘Sorry, not tonight.’
When his face fell, she added quickly, ‘I popped in to pick Siena up. Jason’s away. As soon as we finish these, we’re heading back to hers.’ Lisa winked. ‘She’s making me dinner.’
‘Ah,’ Giovanni gave her a mournful puppy-dog look. ‘I miss my mother’s cooking. Home cooking. And female company.’
Lisa laughed and punched him on the arm. ‘Sorry mate, girls’ night. And don’t give me that. You eat here all the time. Don’t let Al hear you say that. He’ll try out one of his concoctions on you.’ Giovanni lived in the flat above the pub and ate with the rest of the staff, including resident-chef Al, who had moments of gastronomic brilliance interspersed with extraordinary creative flashes of culinary lunacy.
Giovanni shuddered. ‘I’m still getting over the beetroot-jelly-and-horseradish-with-beef combination.’ He shot a quick look towards the kitchen before leaning down and whispering with a teasing laugh, ‘Thank goodness Will is opening a proper restaurant with real food.’
‘Yes, he’s got great plans,’ said Siena, arriving back from the ladies, pushing him out of the way and plonking herself down at the table. ‘Although Al is sulking that he doesn’t get to play too.’
Giovanni beamed at her, although Siena had that effect on most men. ‘And I am very thankful for that. He was suggesting pizza kedgeree.’
‘Please don’t tell me …’ Giovanni nodded gleefully. ‘Smoked mackerel and boiled egg.’
‘Yuk,’ chorused both Siena and Lisa.
‘Ah, ladies, I must go.’ Giovanni grinned as Will yelled. ‘Get your arse over here and stop flirting with the help.’
‘The boss is calling.’ With that he shot away, waving his hands in a placating manner that simply made Will scowl even more.
‘My feet are killing me. You might have to carry me out to the car, Lisa.’
‘No chance,’ she responded. ‘I’ve been with the tiddlers in reception class today. Have you seen the size of the chairs in there? My thighs are knackered, crouching down all day. Roll on the school hols.’
‘Yes, you lucky thing. Six whole weeks off.’
Lisa winced. ‘You’re kidding. I was hoping Will might give me a few shifts.’ With a pained sigh, she glanced quickly over Siena’s shoulder. ‘Needs must. God he’s a bad-tempered sod.’
‘Not to me he isn’t,’ said Siena with a sly, piercing look her way, which Lisa ignored.
‘I suppose I’ll have to grovel, but some extra cash would be handy. I might have been able afford to go on holiday, except now it looks as if I’ll have to go tyre-shopping instead.’
At Siena’s amused expression, Lisa poked her in the ribs. ‘Don’t look like that.’
‘You must be desperate,’ teased Siena.
‘I am, believe me.’ She picked at the beer mat on the table. ‘Clearly a case of better the job you know. Besides, I like it here.’ The pub drew people from miles around with its renowned gastro menu. ‘And most of the staff are lovely. No make that all of the staff, with one exception.’
Siena didn’t say a word, just smiled serenely and chinked her glass against Lisa’s. ‘Salut.’
‘Cheers.’
‘What do you think I should do?’
Lisa sat at Siena’s kitchen table, the open ring box in her hand.
‘Keep it,’ said Siena, taking it out of her hand and dancing across the kitchen, holding the ring up to the light so that the diamond sparkled.
‘Really?’ Lisa sat up straighter.
‘No, not really,’ Siena’s mouth turned down in sympathy. ‘It’s gorgeous. That’s a lot of carat.’
Of course, Siena would know.
‘It’s real?’
Siena nodded. ‘I’m pretty sure.’
Lisa had explained the whole story to Siena and although she didn’t voice the bewilderment that her mother hadn’t left the ring to her, Siena had picked up on it and given her hand a quick squeeze. ‘Maybe your mum felt because they’d split up it should go back to his family.’
A lump formed in Lisa’s throat. She was his family. His daughter. Although he’d clearly forgotten that. Anger flared and she lifted her chin. ‘I am family. I’d like to remind him of that.’
He might have forgotten but, she gritted her teeth, when Nan went he would be all the family she had. Goosebumps prickled her skin. Nan had plenty of years left in her. She didn’t need to worry about that just yet.
Siena’s face softened. ‘Who knows? Maybe your mother thought that if he got the ring after she died, he might come for you? Does he know she died?’
‘You’re too nice, Siena.’ Lisa sighed. ‘He wasn’t interested in having me. He came to the funeral. Nan didn’t like him much but she did let him know. He came. And left straight after the ceremony.’ She took in a breath, keeping her voice steady and fighting to contain the hurt. Left without her.
‘But,’ said Siena, handing the ring back with a rueful smile on her face, ‘I think you’ve already answered your own question, n’est ce pas?’
Lisa’s mouth tightened. It was the right thing to do. She could do the right thing even if her father hadn’t been able to. A brief, unhappy smile lit her face at the thought of being able to take the moral high ground. Yes, she should return the ring and tell him exactly what she thought of him. She didn’t need him, or anything from him.
She tapped the photograph. ‘He can have the ring back. I don’t want it. But I need to find him first. This photo is years old. The house might not even be there any more.’
‘You could go to Rome and find out.’
Lisa whipped her head around and glared at Siena.
‘Yes, why didn’t I think of that?’ Her voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘I’ll hop on a plane and go to Rome. Silly me.’ Lisa rolled her eyes and shook her head, softening her next words. ‘I forgot you were an international jetsetter once upon a time. Unfortunately, it’s not that simple for us mere mortals, unless you have a handy jet standing by that I could borrow. And I don’t particularly want to meet my father. Just give him the ring back.’
‘Okay, not the best idea,’ said Siena with her usual understanding shrug. ‘But you could check the electoral roll. See if the Vettese family still lives there. That’s what I would do.’
Lisa hadn’t thought that far ahead. If she were honest with herself, she’d been hoping it would prove impossible to track him down. She had a lot to say to him, if she ever got that far. The chicken side of her hoped she’d never find him.
‘That’s a great idea.’ She lifted her glass of Prosecco and chinked it against Siena’s.
‘You could ask Giovanni for some help. He can translate for you and explain how to find things like that out.’
‘Brilliant.’ Siena didn’t notice her half-hearted response.
‘I know,’ said Siena a touch smugly, with a ridiculously happy grin.
‘When is Jason back?
‘Tomorrow night.’ Siena giggled. ‘I spoke to him earlier. He’s very grumpy.’
‘I can imagine. He doesn’t strike me as a suit person at the best of times.’ Siena’s boyfriend, Jason, wore jeans all the time, although, she had to admit, he wore them well. He’d gone north to visit Siena’s sister, Laurie, and her boyfriend to have the suit fitting that he’d been ducking out of for several months.
‘He has to wear a cravat too.’ Siena tried to keep a serious face. ‘I don’t think any of that occurred to him when Cam asked him to be best man.’
‘What about you? All sorted on the bridesmaid front?’
Siena snorted. ‘Done and dusted. Although I’m going up to see Laurie next week for a final fitting.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘Or that’s my excuse. Laurie’s organising everything by herself. I want to give her some moral support. I’m the only family around,’ she paused, a tinge of sadness in her voice.
Lisa had always thought that Siena’s mother must have been a bit of a cold fish, separating the two sisters when she split up from Laurie’s dad and taking Siena to live with her in France. They’d been reunited after some beyond-the-grave manipulation from their Uncle Miles, who’d engineered things so that Laurie ended up driving across Europe in a vintage Ferrari in the company of, according to Siena, the ‘utterly delicious Cam’, who’d subsequently proposed to Laurie. The wedding was due to take place at the end of the summer.
Siena leaned over and laid a hand on Lisa’s forearm. ‘You should try to find your father, for your own sake. Maybe there’s another side to the story.’
Lisa scowled. ‘I’m sure there is, but it won’t make any difference to me. He left me and my mum. I don’t owe him anything but the ring.’
Chapter 3 (#u030500e9-3bb7-5f7b-b484-aa99009338f0)
Lisa eyed the posters in the waiting room. She could probably recite the text on them word for word after the length of time they’d been waiting. Her head ached slightly, which was annoying after she’d turned down the rest of the bottle of Prosecco as she and Siena sat and watched Bridesmaids.
Nan fidgeted beside her and sighed loudly, making sure the administrator at the front desk could hear her.
‘I could have died by the time I get to see this chappie,’ she tutted. ‘Waste of time. My dahlias need looking after. I’m dying for a cuppa.’
‘Do you want me to go and get one for you? It shouldn’t be too much longer.’
‘Hmph, you said that an hour ago. If it says the appointment is at half past nine, it should be at half past nine, not half past whenever the flamin’ doctor feels like it.’ She waved the appointment letter, which hadn’t left her hand since they’d arrived, like a matador’s cape. All eyes in the packed waiting room turned their way.
Lisa gritted her teeth, fighting the urge to shrink back in her seat.
‘The doctor’s very busy. I’m sure he’ll call you soon.’
‘Hmph. He might have all day, but I don’t. I’ll give him another five minutes and then we’re off.’
Lisa counted very slowly to ten in her head before saying, as placidly as she could, ‘Do you want me to ask how much longer it will be?’
The secretary at the window opposite had her head down, busy sorting papers, avoiding catching anyone’s eye, even though she had to have heard every word of Nan’s carrying voice. Sensible woman. Cantankerous patients were probably the norm.
‘What’s the point? They never tell you the truth,’ she grumbled, looking pointedly at the watch on her scrawny wrist.
‘Mrs Whitaker.’ The Irish accent rang out as Dr Gupta, Nan’s favourite nemesis, appeared. Tall and patrician, with a narrow aquiline nose and dark skin, he reminded Lisa of some ancient king, and next to him, Nan, an irritating terrier nipping around his ankles who he always forbore with regal grace.
‘About bloody time.’ Nan’s voice, sharp and shrewish, made the whole waiting room look up.
Dr Gupta smiled, his expression completely bland. Poor sod, no doubt, was used to it.
‘Do you want me to come in with you?’ offered Lisa. She ought to. She felt increasingly responsible for her gran, even though she knew what the response would be.
‘What the flamin’ hell would I want that for? I’m old enough to be your grandmother.’
Lisa smiled as serenely as she could manage. ‘You are my grandmother.’
‘Exactly.’ Nan glared at Lisa, picked up her capricious handbag and, like a stately ostrich, head held high, stalked towards the doctor, who, bless him, exchanged a subtle, understanding look with Lisa.
She wilted back into her seat. Another round to Nan. It was all very well for her to be gung ho and have that I’m made of granite attitude, but she was getting on a bit and didn’t look after herself properly; her blood pressure was sky high, she didn’t take her tablets, refused to cut down on her salt and persisted in having regular fry-ups as well as Friday-night fish and chips every week. And the doctor didn’t even know about the sneaky pack of Benson and Hedges she kept in the sideboard for high days and holidays.
Lisa had tried, but she’d lost count of the times she’d been accused of being the healthy-living police. Nan’s attitude was when I go, I go, which was all well and good, but she was putting herself at risk.
Lisa frowned down at the institutional greyed carpet. And when Nan went, what then? She didn’t do feeling sorry for herself. Most of the time she refused to think about it, but when Nan went … she would be on her own. There were some second cousins in Glasgow, a generation older, with their own families now and hundreds of miles away. Family by blood, but not much else.
Lisa’s chest tightened thinking about it. But Nan had years left … if she followed the doctor’s advice.
Dr Gupta’s face was stern when he came out and Nan’s a pallid white.
Lisa jumped up. ‘Is everything alright?’
Dr Gupta started to shake his head, but Nan glared up at him with a basilisk stare. ‘I’m fine. Old age and fussing. Just a lot of nonsense.’
‘Make sure you get the prescription from the pharmacy and,’ his voice hardened, ‘take the tablets.’ He looked at Lisa, his face softening fractionally, ‘She needs to make sure she takes her medication regularly. Not,’ he sighed, ‘a tablet or two, here and there.’
‘She is the cat’s mother,’ Nan sniffed, her prune mouth wrinkling, ‘and I’m not in La La Land yet, y’know.’
‘Just take the medication, Mrs Whitaker.’ Dr Gupta’s thin lips sealed in a terse line.
Lisa could understand his frustration. He could have an armful of medical degrees and boy-scout badges but Nan would still know best.
‘Can we go home, Lisa? I don’t like the smell. It smells of hospitals. Old people and cat pee.’
Nan marched towards the door and, as Lisa turned to follow, the doctor laid a hand on her arm. ‘You need to make sure she takes the tablets. She’s at very high risk of a stroke, which might not be fatal but could seriously impair her life. Do you know the signs of a stroke? What to do, if she should have one?’
Lisa shook her head, mute, fear clutching at her heart.
He nodded towards the receptionist. ‘Take some leaflets with you.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Remember, with a stroke, the faster you act the better the outcome.’
Chapter 4 (#u030500e9-3bb7-5f7b-b484-aa99009338f0)
‘Lisa, Bellissima,’ Giovanni slid his hand across the table and took hers. ‘You’re very quiet. Is everything okay?’
Resisting the urge to snatch it back, she said, ‘Sorry,’ dredged up a smile and gave his hand a more business-like squeeze back before pulling away. She should have postponed this evening. ‘I’m a bit worried about my nan.’
Not to mention rather worried that Giovanni had got the wrong end of the stick. When she’d arranged to meet him at the pub, she’d hoped to disabuse him of the wrong idea and that being surrounded by people they both knew would rob the occasion of any sense of romance. Unfortunately, he’d insisted on coming to eat at a restaurant instead.
Coming here after Nan’s hospital visit this morning probably hadn’t been the best idea. Bloody Google had provided her with more information than she wanted to know, which now buzzed around her head, along with a threatening dark-grey halo of depression and indecision.
She gave him a wan smile. ‘Sorry, I’m not the best company tonight.’
Leaning over the table, he took her chin and lifted it, his solemn, dark eyes staring down with great tenderness. In another mood, Lisa might have giggled. Giovanni was lovely but he did tend to take himself rather seriously. He saw himself as arch protector and had a great sense of chivalry, which was damn nice in this day and age and she should give him a break. It made a pleasant change.
‘You’re always good company, Bellissima. Your smile makes up a room.’
Lisa’s lips twitched. Only the fractured Italian accent allowed him to get away with the outrageous compliments.
‘I wanted some help with something, but I’m worried about Nan.’ Despite the doctor’s advice, Lisa had left her tucking into her battered cod and chips, along with her bosom buddy, Laura. The two of them had been cackling like a pair of old witches, planning a marathon soap-opera session. Since discovering Netflix, the two of them had become Friday-night binge-watchers and Lisa had yet to fathom their obsession with Season Two of Breaking Bad. When Nan had wondered aloud about the feasibility of planting marijuana in among her dahlias, Lisa prayed that it had been her warped sense of humour rather than a serious pension-booster.
Giovanni gave a wary nod. Nan hadn’t hesitated to show her disapproval where he was concerned. Luckily he had a healthy Italian respect for all things ‘family’ and didn’t let it bother him, unlike Will who seemed to hold Nan in mutual dislike. Nan disliked most men on principle, Giovanni double lucked out because he was Italian.
‘Is she ill?’
‘No, but she will be if she doesn’t take doctor’s orders.’
Giovanni smiled. ‘My Nonna is the same. That generation … they lived through the war. They think they’re indestructible. They’re made of strong stone. Marble.’
Lisa hoped so.
She straightened up, the menu in her hand. ‘What are you going to have?’
Giovanni sighed and looked mournful. ‘I don’t know. It’s too hard to choose.’
Who knew that an Italian could have such a passion for Chinese food? It amused Lisa no end.
‘Duck? You like that with the pancakes and the hoisin sauce.’
His face brightened and then his mouth drooped, ‘Yes, but they never bring enough pancakes.’
Lisa let out a peal of laughter. ‘You can always ask for more.’
‘Yes, I can, can’t I?’ He smiled back, happy again now.
She took a sip of wine and decided the way to do this was to dive right in, otherwise she’d been fending off Giovanni’s flirtatious overtures all evening.
‘I wanted to ask you to help me.’
‘Yes. I will help you.’
Lisa shook her head, amused by his enthusiasm. ‘But you don’t even know what it is yet?’
‘For a beautiful lady, anything.’
‘I … need to find my father.’
‘Ah, yes, Signore Vettese.’ Giovanni had claimed kinship as soon as he’d heard her Italian surname.
‘I think he’s in Rome.’
‘You don’t know?’
She shook her head, trying to pretend nonchalance. She never talked about this stuff. ‘He was a jockey. When I was two, he left my mum – I don’t know why – and went to work at a racing stables in the north of England. After my mother died, my Nan contacted him. He came to the funeral.’ She swallowed hard. That was the bit that hurt. He didn’t stay or take her with him. ‘After the funeral he went back to Italy and Nan never heard from him again.’
Giovanni pulled a sympathetic face but didn’t say anything.
‘I need to … to try and track him down.’ For the second time in as many days, she relayed the story of the sketchy clue of the old photograph as to his whereabouts, but for some reason she omitted mention of the ring.
‘I’ve done some research on Google, but I can only find out so much. I think it’s because I’m not in Italy. I think the searches would bring up more if I were in the country and I don’t speak Italian.’
‘You would like to go to Italy?’ He straightened, his eyes gleaming with sudden interest.
‘No,’ she laughed at the boyish enthusiasm. ‘Can’t afford it. But you’re going back soon and I wondered if you might help me. Do some research on the internet for me, while you’re there.’
Giovanni looked disappointed, then with a shrug he replied. ‘For me this would be no problem. But I think it would be better for you to come to Italy yourself.’
His face stilled and then he beamed. ‘You will be on the school holidays soon. You could come then, to Rome, with me.’
‘That’s very kind of you but …’
‘No.’ He sat up straighter, as if blindsided by a thunderbolt. ‘But you must come!’ With sudden fervour, he said, ‘I have friends there who work in the local government in Rome. They will know someone at the Commissione Elettorale Comunale. That is the Municipal Electoral Commission.’
‘I …’ Lisa forced herself to appear positive. Quite frankly, she’d give her right arm to go to Rome. Anywhere. But, seriously, daydreams apart, she couldn’t afford to go to Rome.
‘Yes.’ Giovanni looked as if he’d made a monumental discovery. ‘You must come to Rome. We can find your papa and I can show you the Eternal City.’
‘I can’t.’ Lisa wished she could.
‘Why not? You must come. This is the very good reason.’
‘It might be, but I don’t have a very good bank balance.’
Giovanni looked blank.
‘I can’t afford it.’
But she had a credit card. She could book the flights on that and blow the car fund on a budget hotel. If worst came to worst, she could always buy a bicycle.
He frowned and then broke into a broad grin. ‘Bellissima. My parents have a big apartment in Rome. With lots of room.’ He grabbed her hand across the table. ‘I can show you all the sites, the Colosseo, Fontana di Trevi, San Pietro, Piazza Di Spagna.’
Lisa flinched. ‘Stop!’ The temptation rose in her mind. She’d love to see all those places.
‘Lisa, Lisa.’ Giovanni smiled broadly, drawing himself up straight. Lisa could almost imagine him clasping the hilt of a sword. ‘I would do this thing for you. Family is important. Together we will find your papa. Besides, I will be in Italy for the month anyway.’
‘That’s kind of you, but …’ She didn’t dare tell him she had no intention of reconnecting with her father. All she wanted was to give him the ring back. And tell him that he was welcome to it. She’d really like that. Make it clear that she’d done just fine without him.
And see Rome for a week. That would be wonderful.
‘Tell me when you want to come. I can meet you at the airport.’
Lisa hesitated. ‘What about your parents? Would they be okay having a complete stranger staying with them in their apartment?’
Giovanni let out a bark of amused laughter. ‘No proper Roman stays in the capital for the summer. My parents leave to visit my Nonna. She has a house a long way north of the city. Rome is too hot and too full of tourists.’ Giovanni’s face darkened as he said the latter part.
‘But I would be a tourist,’ she teased.
‘A beautiful one.’
It was very tempting. ‘I could look into flights.’ They’d probably be far too expensive.
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