tutto bene,’ she reassured him. ‘Niente di male.’ All is well. No harm done.
Still in Italian he said, ‘But you’ll let me buy you a drink to say sorry.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Another tequila?’ asked the barman.
‘Certainly not,’ said the newcomer. ‘Serve this lady a glass of the very best Chianti, then bring another round of drinks to me and my friends over there.’
He retreated and the barman placed a glass of red wine in front of Charlotte. It was the most delicious she had ever tasted. Sipping it she glanced over at him, and it was no surprise to find him watching her. She raised her glass in salute and he raised his back. This seemed to disconcert the women sitting on either side of him, who asserted themselves to reclaim him, Charlotte was amused to notice.
Despite being in the heart of Rome they were speaking English. She was sitting close enough to overhear some of the remarks passing back and forth, half sentences, words that floated into the distance, but all telling the tale of people who lived expensive lives.
‘You were on that cruise, weren’t you? Wasn’t it a gorgeous ship? Everything you wanted on demand…’
‘I knew I’d met you before… you were at the opening of that new…’
‘Look at her. If she’s not wearing the latest fashion she thinks…’
Leaning back, Charlotte observed the little gathering with eyes that saw everything. Two of the women were watching Lucio like lions studying prey, but they were in alliance. She could have sworn that one murmured to the other, ‘Me first’. She couldn’t hear the words, but she could read their expressions: watchful, confident that each would have their turn with him.
She could understand their desires. It wasn’t merely his striking looks and costly clothes, but his air of being in charge, directing his own life and that of others. This was a man who’d never known doubt or fear.
She envied him. It must be good to know so certainly who you were, what you were, how others saw you and where you belonged in the world, instead of being that saddest of creatures—a woman who drank alone.
As if to emphasise the point the seat beside her was occupied by a woman gazing devotedly at her male companion, who returned the compliment with interest, then slid an arm about her shoulders, drew her close and said fervently, ‘Let’s go now.’
‘Yes, let’s,’ she breathed. And they were gone.
At once the man in the alcove rose, excused himself to his companions and swiftly claimed the empty seat before anyone else could try.
‘Can I get you another drink?’ he asked Charlotte.
‘Well, just a small one. I should be leaving.’
‘Going somewhere special?’
‘No,’ she said softly. ‘Nowhere special.’
After a moment he said, ‘Are you alone?’
‘Yes.’
He grinned. ‘Perhaps you’d be better off with someone to protect you from clumsy guys like me.’
‘No need. I can protect myself.’
‘I see. No man necessary, eh?’
‘Absolutely.’
A voice called, ‘Hey, Lucio! Let’s get going!’
His companions in the alcove were preparing to leave, beckoning him towards the door.
‘Afraid I can’t,’ he said. ‘I’m meeting someone here in half an hour. It was nice to meet you.’
Reluctantly they bid him goodbye and drifted away. When the door was safely closed he breathed out in obvious relief.
‘Hey, your friends are crazy about you,’ she reproved him lightly. ‘You might at least return the compliment.’
‘They’re not my friends. I only know them casually, and two I never met before today.’
‘But you were dousing them with charm.’
‘Of course. I’m planning to make money out of them.’
‘Ah! Hence the charm!’
‘What else is charm for?’
‘So now you’re girding up for your next “victim” in half an hour.’
He gave a slow smile. ‘There’s no one coming. That was just to get rid of them.’
She looked down into her glass, lest her face reveal how much this pleased her. He would be a welcome companion for a little while.
He read her exactly, offering his hand and saying, ‘Lucio—’
His last name was drowned by a merry shout from further along the bar. She raised her voice to say, ‘Charlotte.’
‘Buona sera, Charlotte.’
‘Buona sera, Lucio.’
‘Are you really Italian?’ he asked, his head slightly to one side.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because I can’t quite pinpoint your accent. Venice? No, I don’t think so. Milan? Hmm. Rome—Naples?’
‘Sicily?’ Charlotte teased.
‘No, not Sicily. You sound nothing like.’
‘You said that very quickly. You must know Sicily well.’
‘Fairly well. But we were talking about you. Where do you come from?’
His bright smile was like a visor behind which he’d retreated at the mention of Sicily. Though intrigued, she was too wise to pursue the matter just yet. Later would be more interesting.
‘I’m not Italian at all,’ she said. ‘I’m American.’
‘You’re kidding me!’
‘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,
