The Secret That Changed Everything

‘No, I’m not. I come from New York.’

‘And you speak my language like a native. I’m impressed.’ Someone squeezed by them, forcing them to draw back uncomfortably. ‘There’s no room for us here,’ he said, taking her arm and drawing her towards the door.

Several pairs of female eyes regarded her with frank envy. It was clear that the watching women had their own ideas about how the evening would end.

Well, you’re wrong, Charlotte thought, slightly irritated. He’s a nice guy and I’ll enjoy talking to him, but that’s all. Not everything has to end in amore, even in Italy. OK, so he’s suave, sophisticated, expensively dressed and fantastically good-looking, but I won’t hold that against him.

‘So why Italian?’ he asked as they began to stroll along the Via Vittorio Veneto.

‘I was always fascinated by foreign languages. I studied several at school, but somehow it was always Italian that stood out and attracted me more than the others. So I learned it through and through. It’s such a lovely language.’

‘And in the end you got a job here, probably working at the U.S. Embassy, just up the street.’

‘No, I don’t work here. I’m a translator in New York. I do Italian editions of books, sometimes universities hire me to look over old manuscripts. And I suddenly thought, it’s about time I actually saw the country and drank in what it’s really like. So I caught the next plane out.’

‘Literally?’

‘Well, it took a couple of days to make arrangements, but that’s all. Then I was free to go.’

‘No ties? Family?’

‘I’ve got parents, siblings, but nobody who can constrain my freedom.’

‘Freedom,’ he mused. ‘That’s what it’s really about, huh?’

‘One of the things. I’ve done some mad, stupid things in my life, and most of them have been about staying free.’ She gave a wry laugh. ‘It’s practically my family nickname. Ellie’s the beautiful one, Alex is the lovable one and I’m the crazy one.’

‘That sounds fascinating. I’d really like to hear about your craziness.’

‘Well, there’s the time I set my heart on marrying this guy and my parents said no. We were only seventeen, which they thought was too young.’

He considered this with an air of seriousness that had a touch of humour. ‘They could have had a point.’

‘The way I saw it they were denying me my own way. Hell would freeze over before I admitted they could be right. So we eloped.’

‘You married at seventeen?’

‘No way. By the time we’d covered a few miles I could see what a juvenile twerp he was. To be fair I think he’d spotted the same about me. Anyway, I got all set to make a run for it, and bumped into him because he was making a run for it, too.’

Lucio roared with laughter. ‘What happened when you got home?’

‘My mother’s a very clever woman. She knew better than to make a fuss. When she caught me sidling in she glanced up and said, “Oh, there you are. Don’t make a noise, your father’s asleep.” We had a talk later but there were no hysterics. By then she was used to me doing stupid things.’

‘But would getting married be the path to freedom? Husbands can be very restrictive.’

She chuckled. ‘I didn’t think of that at the time. I just pictured him doing things my way. Luckily I saw the truth before too late.’

‘Yes, husbands have this maddening habit of wanting their own way.’

‘Oh, I learnt the lesson.’

‘So you still don’t have a husband?’

‘No husband, no nothing.’ She added casually, ‘These days it’s the way to be.’

‘You’re a true woman of your age. At one time an unmarried girl would wonder why no man wanted her. Now she wonders what’s the best way to keep them off.’

‘Right,’ she responded in the same teasing voice. ‘Sometimes you have to be really ingenious. And sometimes just ruthless.’

‘You talk like an expert. Or like a woman who’s been kicked in the teeth and is going to do some kicking back.’ He saw her wry face and said quickly, ‘I’m sorry, I had no right to say that. None of my business.’

‘It’s all right. If we all minded our own business there’d be precious little of interest to talk about.’

‘I’ve got a feeling I should be nervous about what you’re going to say next.’

‘I could ask about Sicily, couldn’t I? Is that where you keep a secret wife, or perhaps two secret wives? Now that would really be interesting.’

‘Sorry to disappoint you but there’s no wife, secret or otherwise. I was born in Sicily, but I left it years ago, and I’ve never been back. The life just didn’t suit me. Like you, I went exploring the world, and I ended up with a family who owned vineyards. Vines, wine-making, I loved it from the start. They were wonderful to me, practically adopted me, and finally left the vineyards to me.’

And he’d turned them into a top money-making business, she thought. That was clear from the way he dressed and the way others reacted to him.

They were reaching the end of the street. As they turned the corner Charlotte stopped, astonished and thrilled by the sight that met her eyes.

‘The Trevi Fountain,’ she breathed. ‘I’ve always wanted to see it. It’s so huge, so magnificent….’

This was no mere fountain. A highly decorated palace wall rose behind it, at the centre of which was a triumphal arch, framing the magnificent, half-naked figure of Oceanus, mythical god of water, ruling over the showers that cascaded into the pool below. Everywhere was flooded with light, giving the water a dazzling glitter against the night.

‘I’ve read about it,’ she murmured, ‘and seen pictures, but—’

‘But nothing prepares you,’ he agreed. ‘Some things have to be experienced before they become real.’

Nearby was a café with tables out on the street. Here they could sit and watch the humming life about them.

‘Nice to see people having a good time,’ she murmured.

‘Does that mean your life is unhappy now?’

‘Oh, no,’ she said quickly. ‘But it does tend to be a bit too serious. Legal documents, history books. Not exactly filled with fun. And sometimes you need to remind yourself about fun.’

He regarded her curiously, thinking that a woman with her looks could have all the fun she wanted with all the men she wanted. So there was a mystery here. But he was too astute to voice the thought.

‘But Italy should remind you of fun,’ he said. ‘It’s not all cathedrals and sober history.’

‘I know. You’ve only got to stroll the streets of Rome in the twilight, and see—well, lots of things.’

His grin and the way he nodded spoke volumes about his own life. Doubtless it was full of ‘twilight activities’, she thought. And they would be fun. She didn’t doubt that either.

‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘my favourite Italian was—’