Reunited with Her Italian Ex

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‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘It isn’t necessary to believe something to persuade other people that it’s true.’

‘I wonder if you’re right.’

A flash of anger made her say quickly, ‘You know I’m right. We all know it at heart.’

‘So—’ he hesitated ‘—you’re telling me that you’ve toughened up?’

‘By a mile. So beware.’

‘No need to tell me that.’

‘So I’ve got you worried already? Good.’

For a wild moment he was tempted to tell her of the confused reactions that had rioted in him when he first saw her on the stairs. There had been an incredible moment of pleasure that the sight of her had always brought him, and which even now remained. But it had collided with a sense of alarm, as though a warning bell had sounded, letting him know that she would bring fear and darkness into his life.

But he suppressed the impulse to speak. How satisfied she would be to know that she could still throw him into confusion.

‘Don’t tell me I’m the only one who’s toughened up,’ she challenged him. ‘Haven’t you?’

‘No doubt of it. It’s called survival.’

She nodded. ‘Right. As long as we both understand that, there’s no problem.’

For them there would always be a problem. But there was no need of words.

‘Now, I have a job to do,’ she said briskly.

‘Yes, let’s look around further.’

Suddenly there was a cry from the far side of the courtyard.

‘Buongiorno, amici!’

‘Amadore!’ Giorgio exclaimed, extending his hand in welcome.

The three men exchanged greetings in Italian, until Giorgio said, ‘Signorina, this is Amadore Finucci, a fellow member of the Comunità. Amadore, this is the Signorina Natasha Bates, who doesn’t speak Italian.’

‘Then it will be my pleasure to speak English,’ Amadore said, seizing her hand.

She gave a polite response and he carried her hand to his mouth.

‘Miss Bates,’ he said.

‘Please, call me Natasha.’

‘Thank you—Natasha. When did you arrive?’

‘Yesterday,’ Giorgio said. ‘Your father has invited us to dine at your hotel tonight.’

‘Yes, he told me. I must leave now, but I look forward to seeing you this evening.’

He departed. Natasha eyed Mario curiously, puzzled to find him frowning.

‘You’re not pleased about this invitation?’

‘That’s because his hotel is one of the most luxurious in town,’ Giorgio said. ‘Mario’s jealous.’

‘I’m not jealous,’ Mario said firmly. ‘I admit I envy him having a bottomless pit of money to spend on the place.’

‘His ballroom has to be seen to be believed,’ Giorgio told her.

‘Ballroom,’ she echoed. ‘Romeo and Juliet met in a ballroom.’ She turned to Mario. ‘Does your hotel have a ballroom?’

‘No. None of the other hotels do.’

‘Then that gives me an idea. Can we return to the hotel now? I need to get to work.’

‘Aren’t we going on to Romeo’s house?’ Giorgio asked.

‘I’ll do that tomorrow. Today, I have urgent things to do.

‘Could you please provide me with a list of every member of the Comunità, and their hotels? Then I can check their locations and assess their requirements.’

‘I’ll see to it as soon as we arrive.’

As they walked back to the car, Giorgio murmured to Mario, ‘A woman who knows her own mind. Perhaps we should beware.’

‘There’s no perhaps about it,’ Mario replied grimly.

On the way back to the hotel Natasha took out her notebook and wrote in it swiftly and fiercely. Ideas were coming to her in cascades and she needed to capture them fast. This was the part of any project that she liked best. So absorbed did she become that she was unaware of the journey, and looked up suddenly when the car stopped.

‘We’re here,’ Mario said. He’d been watching her silently.

‘I need something to eat,’ Giorgio declared. ‘Suppose we meet downstairs in half an hour, for a feast?’

‘Not me, thank you,’ Natasha said. ‘Perhaps you could send something up to my room?’

‘But we could all celebrate together,’ Giorgio protested.

‘We can celebrate when I’ve made a success of this job. Let’s hope that happens.’

‘It’ll happen,’ Giorgio said. ‘You’re going to be just fantastic, isn’t she, Mario?’

‘No doubt of it,’ he said bleakly.

‘You’re very kind, both of you. Now, excuse me, gentlemen.’

Giving them both a polite smile, she headed for the lift.

Upstairs, she plunged into work, making more notes about the morning before things went out of her head. She was so immersed in her work that at first she didn’t hear the knock on the door. It had to be repeated louder to capture her attention.

‘Sorry,’ she said, pulling it open, ‘I got so—’ She checked herself at the sight of Mario standing there with a trolley of food.

‘Your meal, signorina,’ he said.

She stared at the sight of the food. Someone had taken a lot of trouble preparing this meal, which Mario laid out for her with care.

‘Giorgio told the kitchen to produce their best, to make sure you stay with us,’ he said. ‘So you have chicory risotto, followed by tiramisù, with Prosecco.’

Her favourite wine. How many times had he ordered it for her in Venice? And he had remembered.