Flirting with Italian

‘You have my name. Perhaps you will be good enough to answer my question?’ he said.

‘Of course. Someone I know visited the village a while ago and he was so full of it, the hospitality of the people,’ she added, heavily stressing ‘hospitality’, ‘that I wanted to see it for myself.’ It was as much as she was prepared to tell a perfect stranger. Almost a stranger. Not perfect … ‘Has anyone ever told you that your English is amazing?’

‘He must have been impressed,’ he said. Then, the smile deepening to something that could very easily make a woman’s heart beat faster, with or without the added kiss, ‘Has anyone ever told you that you can change the subject faster than the English weather?’

‘No, really,’ she assured him, doing her best to focus on the view instead of the way her heart was in sync with the pulse beating in his neck. It was a little fast, suggesting that he was not as calm as he would have her believe. ‘It’s not only the idiomatic speech. You’ve got both irony and sarcasm nailed and that’s tough.’

‘I had an English nanny until I was six. She was strong on all three.’

‘That would explain it. What happened when you were six?’ she asked, but rather afraid she knew.

‘She left, and I came home.’

‘Oh.’ Not what she’d expected.

He raised his eyebrows a fraction, inviting her to elaborate on that ‘Oh’, but, while his voice had been even, his lack of expression suggested that his nanny’s departure had not been a happy one. No doubt it had left a painful gap in the life of a small boy. Better not to go there …

She shook her head. ‘Nothing. She did a good job of teaching you English, that’s all. Considering how young you were.’

‘She was well rewarded for her dedication.’

Definitely something—and his ‘I came home’ was now suggesting, to her overactive imagination, that daddy had an affair with the nanny and mummy packed her bag. She really had to stop reading rubbish gossip magazines in the hairdressers.

‘I took a post-graduate degree at Cambridge,’ he offered, as if he, too, would rather change the subject. ‘That was a useful refresher course.’

‘I imagine it would be.’ She’d bet there were any number of girls queueing up to give him English lessons. She sighed. ‘I envy your ability to speak two languages so fluently. I’m doing my best to learn Italian, but without much success. I’m still struggling to order a sandwich.’

‘Then allow me to save you the bother,’ he said.

‘Of ordering a sandwich?’

‘I’d recommend something more substantial. You almost fainted, I think, and I’m not vain enough to believe it had anything to do with the fact that I kissed you.’

She’d almost done something, what or why she couldn’t have said, but he was definitely underestimating himself.

‘I skimped on breakfast,’ she admitted.

‘Always a mistake.’

‘Absolutely.’

‘And my rudeness could not have helped.’ He looked down at the phone he was still holding. ‘My cousin is an actress and we have problems with the press. Photographers.’

‘I’m sorry. I had no idea.’

‘No?’ He shrugged. ‘Well, Bella hasn’t yet made the leap to Hollywood so your ignorance is forgivable. Perhaps you’ll allow me to restore your faith in our hospitality by joining me for lunch.’

As he spoke, a woman appeared on the terrace below them and began to lay the table beneath the pergola. Without waiting for her answer, Matteo called down to her in Italian so rapid that she didn’t manage to catch a single word.

The woman waved to show that she’d heard and he said, ‘Graziella is expecting you. You cannot disappoint her.’

She could. She should.

Every atom of sense was telling her that if this was a movie she’d have been yelling at the stupid woman, dithering between going and staying, to beat it.

But she’d come to see the house and she’d never get another chance like this. It wasn’t as if she’d be alone with him.

‘I would hate to disappoint Graziella,’ she said.

‘And if you want to take another photograph,’ he said, ‘please go ahead.’

‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ A gesture assured her that he said nothing that he didn’t mean. ‘Well, to be honest, I was wishing that there was someone to take a photograph of me when you turned up.’

‘Were you? To prove to your friend that you were here?’

He was frowning, as if he couldn’t understand why she would want to take one in this particular spot.

‘Yes. No …’ She put her hands on the wall, using her heel against the rough stonework to boost herself up before he could help. ‘Why wouldn’t he believe me?’

‘I don’t know. But maybe, in future, you should be more careful what you wish for.’

‘I don’t know. This isn’t going so badly.’ She’d wished and Matteo di Serrone had turned up right on cue.

It hadn’t started out well, but things were looking up.

Ignoring her somewhat provocative response, he said, ‘Do you want to take off your dark glasses?’

‘Oh, right.’

She pulled them off, propped herself on her hands, leaning forward, looking straight at her phone.

‘Say … formaggio.’

She looked up at him, laughed, and he took the photograph.

CHAPTER THREE

ITALIAN FOR BEGINNERS

I went right off the tourist route and, as I stood in a village square taking these photographs, it felt as if nothing much has changed in a very long time.

Well, apart from the cars, satellite television, the internet and mobile phones …

AND so it begins, Matteo thought, as Sarah Gratton replaced her glasses. Hiding her eyes.

‘I can manage,’ she said, as he reached out to help her down.

‘I don’t think you should risk it in your enfeebled state.’