to pick up one of the jars and to slowly turn it around in his long, sensuous fingers. ‘Each one unique.’
Emily smiled inwardly. He was a man of few words, his somewhat sparse way of communicating clearly suggesting that his English was about as good as her Italian.
‘They’re…very…attractive,’ she murmured, speaking slowly. ‘How much…?’
Now he smiled down, his glistening, perfect teeth enlivening the density of his tan. Without taking his eyes from her, he pointed to the small price tag at the base of the jar, raising one eyebrow quizzically.
‘Of course—I should have spotted that,’ Emily said quickly, taking her purse from her bag.
‘No problem.’ He spoke carefully—and Emily thought, well, he’d obviously learned the necessary phrases to get by. So far he’d only uttered about six words, but he was doing all right. Quite well enough to run this small, unassuming shop. She smiled up at him, handing over her euros, conscious that his fingers seemed to linger on hers for several seconds longer than was necessary but admitting that she’d not objected to the feel of his hand on hers like that. He was not offensive in any way, just…just warm…warm and even affectionate. What she had seemed to need just then.
She watched as he carefully wrapped the jar in brown paper before putting it into a small bag. He handed it to her slowly.
‘For you?’ he asked.
Emily couldn’t help smiling at him again. ‘No. A gift,’ she replied, her comments as economically spoken as his. ‘For my father. He…he likes to make his own marmalade these days.’ Now why had she bothered to tell the man that? He was only being polite. He didn’t need to know her business.
‘Ah, yes.’ The dark eyes grew solemn for a moment. ‘Your father…He is alone, yes?’
She hesitated. ‘My mother died. Not so long ago,’ she said quietly, and suddenly his brown hand caught hers again and squeezed it gently-not like before, but impulsively, sympathetically.
‘I’m sorry,’ he murmured, letting her go and moving away. Then his eyes twinkled again and the moment had gone.
Emily turned decisively. ‘Thank you very much…for the jar,’ she said.
He bowed his head slightly to one side. ‘You are very welcome,’ he replied formally.
Emily walked away and up the street, admitting that she felt strange inside. What on earth was the matter-had she got sunstroke? But that unlooked-for encounter with possibly the most overtly sensuous Italian male she’d ever spoken to had shaken her up. Had made her feel quite giddy. What on earth had they put in that ice cream?
With slightly narrowed eyes he watched her as she walked away. Of course he’d seen her coming up the street towards him a few minutes ago, his natural antennae homing in on her delectable appearance, on the cool, straight dress just above the knee, revealing gently tanned slim legs, her long fair hair falling casually onto her shoulders, her glitzy strappy sandals twinkling in the heat as she strolled. She was obviously in no hurry, he’d thought as he’d observed her enjoying her ice cream. She’d paused briefly a couple of times as she’d licked at the ice cream, then he’d watched as she’d nibbled at the last piece of the biscuit before taking a tissue from her bag to wipe her lips. He’d recognized at once that she was not of his own nationality—probably English, he’d thought, or German—or Swedish. A familiar shiver of desire had rippled right down his spine as he’d seen the slight figure come nearer, and he’d deliberately lowered his head even further on his chest while still maintaining his undisturbed scrutiny of her. And then she’d given him the perfect opportunity to come and stand close to her as she’d stopped to examine some of the merchandise on display. And to buy something. He had taken his time wrapping up what she had chosen, inhaling the light, tantalizing drift of her perfume.
Now, he sighed as he watched her disappear out of sight. She had been like a welcome apparition in the rather sickly afternoon heat, and now she had gone. He glanced at his watch, feeling somewhat irritable. He only had another hour here before someone came to relieve him, and then he could go and have a long, satisfying drink to cool himself down.
Emily had some difficulty finding the restaurant on her list that she wanted to visit—no one seemed to know where it was—but eventually she tracked it down and had a brief interview with the manager. It seemed a friendly, well patronized place, just the sort she herself might like to eat in, she thought and, taking away some menus and other literature, she hailed a taxi and went back to the hotel.
Coral was lying on her bed reading a magazine.
‘Oh, good, you’re back,’ she said. ‘Did you manage to finish what you had to do?’ She stared at Emily for a second, thinking how pretty her friend looked. She had the same slim figure she’d had when she’d been in her teens. ‘You look as cool as a cucumber, Ellie—and you’re very lucky you don’t burn in this sun,’ she remarked. ‘Not like me. With your fair skin you ought to look like a lobster.’ She sighed. ‘There’s no justice.’ Coral’s red hair and freckled skin needed a lot of protection in these conditions.
‘Well, I may not look burned up, but I feel it right now—’ Emily smiled ‘—so it’s a cool shower for me.’ She took a long cotton skirt and fresh top from the wardrobe and went into the bathroom. ‘Shan’t be long.’
Later, refreshed and looking forward to their evening, the two girls left the hotel and took a taxi to the centre of town.
‘With your experience and expertise, you ought to know all the best places to eat,’ Coral said as they strolled along the busy streets.
‘I still have a lot to learn,’ Emily said. ‘I’ve only been sent here once before, but there’ll certainly be plenty of choice.’ They went on, passing one restaurant after another, the early evening atmosphere muted and relaxed, and presently they stopped for a moment outside a particularly well-lit place to examine the menu. ‘This looks good,’ she said. ‘Shall we try it?’
They took their seats at a table outside under the sun awning and Coral sighed. ‘Why does the thought of food always fill me with such delight?’ she asked, glancing across at Emily. ‘At this moment in time, I do not wish to be anywhere else, with anyone else,’ she added meaningfully.
Emily smiled at the words, knowing that Coral had always loved food. But since the split with her boyfriend, Steve, a month ago, she had definitely started to look thinner—and it didn’t suit her. Coral’s normal appetite was legendary, and it went with her popularity and usually bright outlook on life.
‘The only thing to complete this idyllic picture,’ Coral said as she examined the menu, ‘is for a drop-dead gorgeous Italian male to present himself at my feet and whisk me off to some exotic rendezvous. But not until I’ve had my meal,’ she added.
Emily felt pleased that a change of scene seemed to be having a positive effect on Coral’s frame of mind. Her recent depression seemed to be less in evidence, anyway—at least for the moment. Coral and Steve had been an item for four years—with neither, apparently, wanting to commit themselves, when one day, out of the blue, he’d announced that enough was enough and he wanted to call it a day. To describe it as an emotional bombshell was an understatement and Emily had felt it too-the girls shared their lives in a flat together. It was horrible to see the normally happy-go-lucky Coral so downcast.
As she ran her finger along the huge menu, Emily frowned slightly. It was all very well thinking
