her handbag once more and flicked through it. Passport, phone, charger in bag and one in case, flight check-in on phone, a flight check-in printout, car hire confirmation details on phone, car hire printout, insurances on phone and in print, and two purses.
At the airport, after checking in her large case, she raced across the hall to security. The train journey had been delayed twenty minutes due to an ‘incident’, which had been announced on the train line from Bermondsey to Canning Town, and she was cursing as she rifled through her hand luggage to take out her Kindle, laptop, and phone, which all had to go separately into the security box.
‘Oh damn,’ she cursed again, as her Chanel sunglasses dropped to the floor. She bent down in a harassed stupor. Twisting around to grab them, she saw a large olive-skinned hand retrieve them and she stood back up.
‘Thank you,’ she said, grasping them and peering up, catching a sparkling glint from dark eyes behind heavy-rimmed specs. She stared for a few seconds. Too long, then in a fluster as the queue behind her seemed to be bustling, she thrust the glasses, along with her handbag, into another box and pushed it forward on to the small rollers in the security machine.
‘Prego,’ he muttered in Italian and proceeded to concentrate on his own box.
Olivia continued in a fluster through security, gathering her belongings on the other side and moving to an out-of-the-way area to reorganize herself before checking the screen and heading for the right gate. It was so chaotic and for some reason, being on her own, she felt so much more self-conscious. Maybe it was the handsome Italian who was making her more so.
Relieved to be on the plane, snuggled away in a seat next to the window, she blew out a sigh, placed her handbag by her feet, lifted out her Kindle, and switched it on. She was just starting to read the prologue of the book she had deliberately downloaded for her trip to Italy when a small hand waving in front of her face appeared.
‘Hello, Lady,’ the small child said peering over the chairs in front.
Olivia looked up. ‘Hello.’
‘Freddie, sit down. So sorry,’ said his harassed mother who was stashing bags into the overhead locker and carrying a baby on her back. ‘I’ll buckle him down as soon as I’ve put these away.’
‘No worries. He’s excited I imagine.’
‘Very.’
Olivia smiled and began the page again struggling to ignore the child as he began telling her about his baby sister. His large blue eyes soon had her hooked as he told her about his sister crying because she hadn’t had her dinner and his mummy crying because it was the wrong milk.
‘Oh dear, poor Mummy – she’s having a tough morning,’ Olivia told him, feeling helpless as his mother closed her eyes probably wishing the ground would swallow her up.
‘Can I help?’ she asked watching her wriggle the baby carrier off.
‘Here. Allow me,’ a deep Italian voice intervened. The man reached his tanned arms up to shut an overhead locker and then he reached for the baby carrier on the woman’s back. He held the weight of the baby in the carrier so that the woman could slip out her arms with ease.
‘Thank you. You’re very kind,’ she told him. Then the woman steered her eyes to Olivia. ‘You have a gem of a husband here.’
‘Oh, he’s not with me.’
‘Oh.’ The woman sniggered, covering her mouth. ‘Sorry, well, enjoy your journey. Hope we don’t disrupt it too much,’ she said squeezing in to the seat in the row in front, next to the toddler, and trying to get herself organized with the infant on her lap.
Olivia buried her head back into her Kindle, feeling slightly exhausted herself after watching the woman try to manage. It couldn’t be easy trying to cope with more than one child, she imagined. She wondered why the woman was travelling alone. Was her husband too busy with work or football to accompany her with the children?
Feeling satisfied her decision was sound at least, her mind centred on the long legs and rather pert bottom nearing her face. Sliding up to the seat beside her, was the man who had helped the woman, and retrieved her glasses, the mop of near-black hair and his thick-rimmed glasses seemed increasingly sexy as well as familiar, she thought, as she looked up and smiled.
‘Buongiorno, are you staying in Florence?’ he asked.
Olivia’s eyes once again met the Italian’s, which lit up as he smiled. She guessed his age to be less than her own.
‘Actually no. I’m heading a little way south, to a village up in the hills.’
He held out a hand. ‘Alberto Luciano.’
‘Olivia. Call me Liv.’ She took his hand and shook it. At the touch, notes of sophisticated aftershave raced up her nostrils, dispersing inside her and stirring rumblings of desire she barely recognized.
‘Ah, beautiful,’ he said placing his folded newspaper on his knees. Careful not to crease the quality fabric of his shirt, he slid the seat-belt locks together.
She gripped her Kindle, unable to control jittering, nervous hands.
‘And Olivia is also a beautiful Italian name. You should not shorten it. Do you live in the village?’
She cleared her throat. ‘No. My nonna – well, she did.’
‘Ah, that’s doesn’t sound good. So, you had family there?’
‘Yes, Nonna died. My mamma is still in Italy though.’
His brows furrowed, sincerely. ‘I’m very sorry. But it’s good that you are still part of the living masterpiece that is Chianti. I live in Florence and have got to know much of Tuscany: its villages, towns, the scenic vineyards. My mamma is also Tuscan, from north of Siena.’
‘How lovely,’ she said, meeting those luring eyes again and then clutching her hands suddenly either side of the seat as the aircraft lifted. ‘Well …’
‘You’ll be OK. We are up,’ he assured her.
‘It’s still unnerving, the take-off and landing,’ she told him, fanning her face. ‘Yes, Nonna was always urging me to go and see the region. She told me it was lovely. I just enjoyed seeing her and Mamma – Nonno too when he was alive at her villa. Their farm is so warm and welcoming, and the landscape is certainly spectacular.’
More heat rose to her head as she gazed at his succulent moist lips, which revealed a sensitive smile. She guessed although pretty confident on the outside he was levering outside his comfort zone within. She went on. ‘Oh, I believe I went to see the Duomo in Florence when I was younger with my nonna and my friend Chiara. The thing is, I only ever got to visit a few days at a time usually. I know I’ve been to the village on several occasions, and I remember the leaning tower in Pisa. We flew in to Pisa last time we came so, Wi … we walked around the town and around the cathedral, went up the tower. A rather gruelling day.’
‘Is we the husband?’ His gaze rested on her hands.
‘No, he was a boyfriend.’
‘Was. I’m sorry. You have now broken up?’
‘Yes.’
