like willowy maidens in chiffon dresses belted at the waist.
‘It’s lovely,’ said Lisa, entranced by the beautiful room, which combined modern elegant comfort with period charm. Stylish plush-velvet sofas in deep plum faced each other across a contemporary glass-and-gilt table on a faded silk rug. Over by the windows, the sumptuous lines of a pale-grey chaise longue practically begged for someone to drop down and recline into its plump upholstery to enjoy the view out over the extensive gardens.
Giving the furniture a very wide berth, in case she succumbed to the urge to lie down and test the chaise, she crossed to one of the three floor-length French windows. Each one opened onto its own balcony, the central one being double the size of the other two and big enough to hold a small bistro table and two chairs.
‘Oh, this is gorgeous,’ she said, a broad grin taking over her face.
Directly opposite was a mansion-style house, perfectly placed in the centre of landscaped gardens, dotted with unfamiliar shrubs. The very grand entrance to the house had a twin set of staircases with cream balustrades curving up to meet each other at the imposing entrance, like a perfectly trimmed moustache.
‘Who lives there?’ asked Lisa, turning back to look over her shoulder, but either Giovanni hadn’t heard or didn’t know because he melted away with her case.
Will came to join on her on the balcony.
‘Hmm, very nice.’ He leaned on the railing and surveyed the grounds.
She waited for him to make some clever comment, but he seemed to be content to drink in the view.
The scent of pine teased the air and she tipped her face up to the sunshine, a sense of contentment filling her. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad with Will around.
‘Guess we’d better find out where we’re all sleeping. And what the price of the accommodation will be?’ With a barely suppressed smirk, he went back inside.
Who had she been kidding? Having Will around was going to be every bit as bad as she’d first thought.
Lisa unpacked quickly, stowing underwear in the shallow drawers of a French grey-painted dressing table and hanging a couple of dresses and pairs of trousers in the sort of wardrobe with little lace-dressed windows that ought to have some fancy name. Her jeans were sticking to her legs and she relished the cooler linen as she slid into a pair of loose trousers and yanked on a clean rose-pink t-shirt.
Thanks for letting me raid your wardrobe. Yay for linen!
She paused in her text to Siena and added Did you know Will was coming too??????!!!! He was on my flight. Sat next to me. Invited himself to stay at Giovanni’s place too. I could bloody kill him. Angry face, can’t find emoticons.
Crossing to the tiny dressing table, she plugged her ailing phone into charge. The battery was rubbish.
As she did, Siena’s response came back.
Nooooo! He said he was going away, but didn’t say where! Now I realise why he was being deliberately cagey. Obviously couldn’t bear to let you go! xxx
Lisa pulled a face as she read the text.
Ha! Yeah right. He says he’s got lots of business meetings, hopefully he’ll stay out of our way. Damn cheeky, though. Poor Giovanni could hardly say no. Typical bloody Will.
She pulled out the photograph of her father, touching the glossy front. It felt furtive to hide the picture and she had nothing to hide, but she slid it between the pages of her guide book and into her handbag. Having heard plenty about handbag-snatchers and pickpockets in Rome, she popped the ring box in amongst her underwear.
With that done she glanced around the room, giving the narrow, single, walnut-wood sleigh bed a cautious glance. While there was barely room to swing a hamster, let alone a cat, it was exceptionally pretty, with its pale-blue and white lace-trimmed bedding, matching curtains and ornate plasterwork on the ceiling. Moreover, it was her own room, so Will could stuff his earlier insinuations.
With a quick spritz of perfume, regretting her confiscated deodorant, she was ready to go. Giovanni had suggested they go out to a local bar in ten minutes and having had a brief look at the tiny kitchen and the sparse contents of its fridge, it was clear that any eating to be done wasn’t going to be here. There wasn’t even any beer in the fridge.
Will met her in the hall, looking annoyingly fresh, his hair damp.
‘Have you had a shower?’ she asked accusingly, wishing she’d had time to explore the bathroom situation.
‘Yup.’
‘A record-breaking one. Have you even unpacked?’
Will shrugged with complete unconcern. ‘Nope.’
‘Boys.’ She looked over his shoulder into his room, where she could see a trail of clothes on his floor leading to a door on the other side – obviously an en-suite bathroom.
‘I was hot. And Giovanni said …’ Will looked at his watch.
They were bang on time and Giovanni had yet to emerge from his room on the opposite side of the hallway. She looked again at Will’s room.
‘Nice room,’ she commented, unable to keep the acidic tone out of her voice.
‘It’s okay, how’s yours?’
‘Fine,’ she said tightly. How come he’d got the better room? ‘How long are you staying?’
Will smiled. ‘Fed up with me, already?’
‘I’m always fed up with you.’
His smile deepened, lazy amusement dancing in his eyes, making her want to punch him hard in the washboard stomach and wipe it off his handsome bloody face.
‘After tonight you won’t see me. I’ve got my first appointment fixed up in the morning. I’m off to visit a place outside Rome where they make cheese to die for and then I’m seeing a guy who runs a restaurant in Trastevere. I’m here to work.’
That was one thing about Will. He worked hard. It was typical that he’d got everything thoroughly organised, while she had a hazy itinerary and a goal, which as yet, she had no idea how to achieve.
At last, Giovanni emerged from his room, his Hugo Boss aftershave arriving before him.
‘Ah, we’re all ready. Let’s go.’
It was heaven to be outside in the warm evening, the streets busier now. Her heart lifted, her steps light. This felt like being on holiday. She was in Rome. Unfamiliar cars lined the kerbs, nose to tail, like ants on a mission, and crammed into every available space, making the street look impossibly narrow. A scooter whizzed by, the driver’s shirt billowing out as a girl behind, her bag strapped across her, hung on to him, her hands gesticulating as they zipped by, their heads topped by old-fashioned-styled glossy coloured helmets
