been so sure a man like Orlando de Luca—capable, practical and gorgeous—would be married to a wife who adored him, with several children who adored him even more and a menagerie of dogs and cats he’d rescued over the years.
‘I won’t be long. What does your bag look like?’
‘It’s a trolley suitcase—about so big.’ She described the size with her hands. ‘And it’s, um, bright pink.’
‘Bright pink,’ he echoed. His voice was completely deadpan, but there was a sparkle of amusement in his eyes—as if he thought she’d chosen something completely frivolous and un-doctor-like.
She wished now she’d bought her luggage in a neutral colour. Grey, beige or black. She’d just thought that a bright suitcase would be easier to spot at the airport.
He smiled at her and went over to one of the airport staff. During the conversation, the man nodded, looked over at Eleanor with an expression of respect, said something to Orlando, and then strode away.
‘He’s going to check for you,’ Orlando confirmed when he returned. ‘I explained that our flight was late in because of a medical emergency on the plane. You saved the patient’s life and we should be looking after you, not losing your baggage.’
She felt colour flood into her face. ‘I didn’t save Giulietta’s life on my own. You did the chest compressions and got a patient history from her daughter. I couldn’t have done it without you.’
‘Teamwork, then. We worked well together.’ His eyes narrowed as he glanced at her. ‘You look tired. You’ve had a long journey, plus the stress of dealing with a cardiac arrest in a cramped space without the kind of equipment you’re used to, and now your baggage has disappeared. Come and sit down. I will get you some coffee.’
He was taking over and Eleanor knew she should be standing up for herself, telling him that she appreciated the offer but she really didn’t need looking after. Her feelings must have shown on her face because he said gently, ‘It may be a while until they locate your luggage. Why stand around waiting and getting stressed, when the coffee-shop is just here, to our right, and you can sit down in comfort and relax?’
And he was right. She was tired. Caffeine was just what she needed to get her through the rest of this evening until she got to the hotel.
‘Do you take milk, sugar?’ he asked when he’d settled her at a table.
‘Just milk, please.’
There was something about the English dottoressa. Orlando couldn’t define it or even begin to put his finger on it, but something about her made him want to get to know her better.
Much better.
He’d liked the way she’d been so cool and calm on the plane, got on with her job without barking orders or being rude to the flight attendants, and had even tried speaking the little Italian she knew to help reassure Giulietta’s daughter. There was a warmth to Eleanor Forrest that attracted him.
A warmth that had suddenly shut off when he’d asked her a personal question.
And he wanted to know why.
He ordered coffee and cantuccini, then carried a tray over to their table.
‘Biscuits?’ she asked.
‘Because I missed them in England,’ he said simply. ‘Your English biscuits fall apart when you dip them in coffee. These don’t.’ He smiled at her. ‘They’re nice dipped in vin santo, too, but I think for now coffee is what you need.’
‘Thanks. Odd how just sitting around can make you feel tired.’
‘Don’t forget you saved a life in the middle of all that,’ he reminded her.
She ignored his comment. ‘How much do I owe you for the coffee?’
An independent woman. One who’d insist on paying her way. He liked that, too: she wouldn’t take anyone for granted. She was the kind of woman who’d want an equal. ‘My suggestion, my bill.’
He caught the expression on her face just before she masked it. Someone had obviously hurt her—hurt her so badly that she wouldn’t even accept a cup of coffee from a man she barely knew, and saw strangers as a potential for hurt instead of a potential friend.
Softly, he added, ‘That puts you under no obligation to me at all, Eleanor. Whatever you might have heard about Italian men, I can assure you I’m not expecting anything from you. I haven’t put anything in your coffee and you’re not going to wake up tomorrow morning in a room you can’t remember seeing before with no clothes, no money and one hell of a headache.’
‘I…I’m sorry. And I didn’t mean to insult you or your countrymen,’ she said, looking awkward and embarrassed.
‘No offence taken. You’re quite right to be wary of strangers offering drinks. But I’m a doctor buying a mug of coffee for a fellow professional. And this really is just coffee.’
‘And it’s appreciated.’
He settled opposite her. ‘So, are you on holiday in Naples?’
‘Sort of.’
Not a straight yes or no. And she didn’t offer any details, he noticed. He had a feeling she’d clam up completely if he pushed her, so he tried for levity instead. ‘Your mamma told you never to talk to strangers, is that it?’
‘No.’ Her voice went very quiet. ‘Actually, my mother died just before Christmas.’
Six months ago. And the pain was clearly still raw. ‘Mi dispiace, Eleanor,’ he said softly. ‘I didn’t intend to hurt you.’
‘You weren’t to know. It’s not a problem.’
But he noticed she didn’t explain any further. And those beautiful brown eyes were filled with sadness. He had a feeling it was more than just grief at losing her mother. Something to do with the man who’d made her wary of strangers, perhaps?
Yet she’d put her feelings aside and gone straight to help a stranger when the flight attendants had asked for a doctor. Eleanor Forrest was an intriguing mixture. And Orlando wanted to know what made her tick.
He switched to a safer topic. ‘You’re an emergency doctor?’
‘Yes.’
OK. He’d try the professional route: say nothing, just smile, and give her space to answer more fully. Just like he did with his shyer patients. If he waited long enough, she’d break the silence.
She did. ‘I work in a London hospital.’
Something else they had in common. Good. ‘London’s a beautiful city. I’ve just spent a few days there with the doctor I used to share a flat with, Max. It was his son’s christening.’
There was the tiniest crinkle round her eyes. ‘I don’t know if I dare ask. Were you the…?’
‘Padrino? The godfather, you mean?’ So under her reserve there was a sense of fun. He liked that. Enough to want to see more of it. He hummed
