more science fiction than medical fact at the moment. Although we do have help from robotic technology.’ He grinned, gesturing towards the robotic arm that duplicated his own precise movements on a much smaller scale.
‘But you make the decisions. If I were on that table, I think I’d feel a lot more confident if it wasn’t a robot in charge.’
She seemed to make everything so human, so personal. Or perhaps he was the one that was making everything personal, and if that was the case then he should stop it.
‘I’m definitely the one in charge.’
She smiled, turning for the door. ‘Thank you for showing me. It’s fascinating.’
Matteo closed the lab, and decided that it was only polite to walk her to the lift. When the lift came, it seemed only natural to walk her to the main entrance. If he wasn’t going to follow her all the way home, he was going to have to say goodbye at some point.
‘Whereabouts are you digging?’ If she couldn’t answer in the next thirty seconds then he’d never know, because they were already outside and halfway to the car park.
‘Up in the hills, about five miles to the south of Palermo. There was a dig up there a couple of years ago that uncovered evidence of a small settlement.’
‘I know it. You’ve found something else?’
‘Yes, we’re excavating a Roman villa. It’s an important find.’ In the sunshine she seemed even more golden.
‘That’s interesting. My grandfather used to tell me stories of encampments in those hills. More recently than that, though.’
‘We’ve found a lot to indicate that the site’s been inhabited for many years. We’re always very interested in any local stories about the sites we dig.’ She paused for a moment as if thinking something over. ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to come and see the site, would you? I’d be very pleased to give you a tour, show you what we’re doing.’
The site sounded interesting. Matteo tried to think of a reason why he shouldn’t and found that the word no had just mysteriously disappeared from his vocabulary. ‘I’d really like that. If you have time.’
She gave him a look of mild reproof and opened her handbag, taking out her purse and extracting a card. ‘My mobile number’s on here. Give me a call and we’ll arrange a time.’
‘Thanks. I will.’ Matteo held out his hand, wondering how he should bid her goodbye. Somehow they seemed to be hovering insubstantially between Dr Di Salvo and Ms Palmer, and Matteo and Rose. Neither seemed to quite fit the bill.
‘Goodbye, then.’
She took his hand, giving it a brisk shake. ‘Goodbye.’ Clearly she wasn’t quite sure what to call him either.
He watched as she put William into the back seat of the car and got in, reversing out of her parking space, the card with her number on it seeming to burn a hole in his hand.
* * *
The early evening traffic in Palermo was a great deal less challenging than feeling that Matteo’s eyes were on her, watching her drive out of the car park. Rose relaxed a little as she rounded the corner, out of his view.
‘Mum.’ William’s voice sounded from the back of the car.
‘Yes?’
‘Are you going to ask him to be your boyfriend?’ William had been exploring the concept on and off for the last few months. His radar was just as perceptive as the delicate diagnostic equipment in Matteo’s lab.
‘No, sweetie.’ Rose injected as much certainty into her reply as she could, and started to count. Generally it took William about fifteen seconds to follow up one mortifyingly embarrassing question with another, even more embarrassing. At least he’d waited until they were in the car.
‘Wouldn’t he be a good boyfriend?’ It had taken William up to a count of twelve to formulate the thought.
‘I’m sure he’d make a very good boyfriend.’ Stupendous, actually. But in William’s mind the word was reserved for cars and superheroes. ‘Only I don’t want one.’
‘Why not?’
Why not indeed. Telling William that his father had been the only serious relationship she’d ever had, and that she’d made a complete and utter mess of it, probably wasn’t a good idea. Neither was telling him that she would never allow herself to get into a situation where she could make all those mistakes again.
‘Because I’ve got you. And Grandma and Grandad, and my job. And you. I don’t need anything else.’
‘Good. Because he’s my friend.’
‘Yes. I think superheroes ought to stick together.’
MATTEO DROVE ALONG the dusty, snaking road. He’d told himself that however interested he was in seeing the site, he wouldn’t go, but all the same he’d asked his grandfather to recount the old stories about the area when he’d visited him at the weekend. And once he’d transcribed them into English, it seemed only right that he should give them to Rose.
He sent her a text and she replied almost immediately. If he’d like to come to the site on Friday evening, she’d show him around.
He could see signs of activity up ahead of him, people taking advantage of the cool of the evening to work. Matteo turned off the road and parked his car next to the others that were lined up along the perimeter of the site.
She walked towards him as he got out of his car. Fair hair tied up in a messy ponytail at the back of her head, her arms bare, a thin white top with blue embroidery over a faded pair of denim shorts. Like the rest of the people working here, her feet were protected from the rocky terrain by battered work boots.
‘Hello. You made it, then.’
There had never been any real question about that. And now she was standing beside him he realised that he would have driven over to the other side of the island just for this one glimpse of her. Matteo wondered briefly whether her choice to wear blue was for his benefit, and decided that he had no right to hope that it was.
‘Yes, I made it.’
They stood for a moment smiling at each other and then Rose turned suddenly. ‘Come and see what we’ve been doing.’
She led the way over to a group of prefabricated buildings. Inside, long trestles held boxes of material, waiting to be sorted and cleaned.
‘I brought some notes from my grandfather.’ He felt suddenly unsure of himself. ‘I’m not sure they’ll be any use to you. They’re just old stories and some of them are pretty far-fetched.’
‘That’s just the kind of thing we’re interested in. Old stories are often embellished as they’re handed down but they usually contain a kernel of truth.’
‘I’m
