swiftly laid, took it from him. ‘You don’t hang something like this over a radiator as if it’s any old chain store raincoat. This kind of quality costs a fortune and it needs tender loving care.’ She checked the label. ‘Dark Angel.’ She looked up. ‘Angel?’ she repeated and then, with a look of open admiration, ‘Is that you, Geli?’
‘What? Oh, yes,’ she said, grateful for the distraction. Falling into bed for fun with a man was one thing. Falling into anything else was definitely off the agenda... ‘Dark Angel is my label.’
‘You’re a fashion designer?’
‘Not exactly. I make one-off pieces. I studied art but I’ve been making clothes all my life and somehow I’ve ended up combining the two.’
‘Clothes as art?’ She grinned. ‘I like it.’
‘Let’s hope you’re not the only one.’
‘Not a chance. This is absolutely lush. Did you make the choker, too?’ she asked. ‘Or is that an original?’
‘If only...’ Geli touched the ornate Victorian-style lace and jet band at her throat. ‘It’s recycled from stuff in my odds and ends box. I cut my dress from something I found on the “worn once” rack at the church jumble sale and—’ if she kept talking she wouldn’t grab Dante Vettori ‘—my coat was made from stuff I’ve collected over the years.’
‘Well...wow. You are so going to fit in here. Upcycling is really big in Isola.’
‘It’s one of the reasons I’m here. I want to work with people who are doing the same kind of thing.’
‘And I suggested you might want a job behind the bar.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘If you’ve got something you want to exhibit I’m sure Dan will find space for it.’ She glanced at him, but he offered no encouragement. ‘Right, well, I’ll go and find a hanger for this,’ she said, holding the coat up so that it didn’t touch the floor. She’d only gone a couple of steps when she stopped. ‘Geli, there’s something moving... Omigod!’ She screamed and, forgetting all about its lushness, dropped the coat and leapt back. ‘It’s a rat!’
The musicians stopped playing mid-note. The patrons of the café, who had resumed chatting, laughing, eating, turned as one.
Then the kitten, confused, frightened, bolted across the floor and pandemonium broke out as men leapt to their feet and women leapt on chairs.
‘It’s all right!’ Geli yelled as she dived under a table to grab the kitten before some heavy-footed male stamped on the poor creature. Terrified, it scratched and sank its little needle teeth deep into the soft pad of her thumb before she emerged with it grasped in her hand. ‘It’s a kitten!’ Then, in desperation when that didn’t have any effect, ‘Uno kitty!’
She held it up so that everyone could see. It had dried a little in the shelter of her pocket but it was a scrawny grey scrap, not much bigger than her hand. No one looked convinced and, when a woman let loose a nervous scream, Dante hooked his arm around her waist and swept her and the kitten through the café to a door that led to the rear.
As it swung shut behind him the sudden silence was brutal.
‘Uno kitty?’ Dante demanded, looming over her. Much too close.
‘I don’t know the Italian for kitten,’ she said, shaken by the speed at which events had overtaken her.
‘It’s gattino, but Lisa is right, that wretched creature looks more like a drowned rat.’
And the one word you didn’t want to hear if you were in the catering business was rat.
‘I’m sorry but I found it shivering in a doorway. It was soaking wet. Freezing. I couldn’t leave it there.’
‘Maybe not—’ he didn’t look convinced ‘—but rats, cats, it’s all the same to the health police.’
‘I understand. My sisters are in the catering business.’ And in similar circumstances they would have killed her. ‘I only stopped to ask for directions. I didn’t mean to stay for more than a minute or two.’
Epic distraction...
She was about to repeat her apology when the door opened behind them. Dante dropped his arm from her waist as Lisa appeared with her coat and bag over one arm and trailing her suitcase, leaving a cold space.
‘Have you calmed them down?’ he asked.
‘Nothing like free drinks all round to lighten the mood. Bruno is dealing with it.’
Geli groaned. ‘It’s my fault. I’ll pay for them.’
‘No...’ Lisa and Dante spoke as one then Lisa added, ‘The first rule of catering is that if you see a rat, you don’t scream. The second is that you don’t shout, It’s a rat... Unfortunately, when I felt something move and that something was grey and furry I totally— Omigod, Geli, you’re bleeding!’
Geli glanced at the trickle of blood running down her palm. ‘It’s nothing. The poor thing panicked.’
‘A poor thing that’s been who knows where,’ Lisa replied, ‘eating who knows what filth. Come on, we’ll go upstairs and I’ll clean it up for you.’
‘It’s okay, honestly,’ Geli protested, now seriously embarrassed. ‘It’s late and Signora Franco, the woman who owns the apartment I’ve rented, will be waiting for me with the key. I would have called her to let her know my plane had been delayed but her English is even worse than my Italian.’
Geli glanced at her watch. She’d promised to let her sisters know when she was safely in her apartment and it was well past ten o’clock. She’d warned them that her plane had been delayed but if she didn’t text them soon they’d be imagining all sorts.
‘There’s no need to worry about Signora Franco,’ Dante said.
‘Oh, but—’
‘Via Pepone has been demolished to make way for an office block,’ he said, his expression grim. ‘I hoped to break it to you rather more gently, but I’m afraid the apartment you have rented no longer exists.’
It took a moment for what Dante had said to sink in. There was no Via Pepone? No apartment? ‘But I spoke to Signora Franco...’
‘Find a box for Rattino, Lis, before he does any more damage.’ Dante took her coat and bag from his cousin and ushered her towards the stairs.
Geli didn’t move. This had to be a mistake. ‘Maybe I have the name of the street wrong?’ she said, trying not to think about how the directions on the map she’d been sent had taken her to a construction site. ‘Maybe it’s a typo—’
‘Let’s get your hand cleaned up. Are your tetanus shots up to date?’ he asked.
‘What? Oh, yes...’ She stood her ground for another ten seconds but she couldn’t go back into the restaurant with the kitten and if there was a problem with the apartment she had to know. And Lisa was right—the last thing she needed was an infected hand.
Concentrate on that.
