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His eyes, gliding significantly over her, made his meaning plain beyond words, and suddenly she was aware that she looked several years younger than her age, that her figure was ultra-slim and firm, thanks to hours in the gym, that her eyes were large and lustrous and her complexion flawless.
Every detail of her body might have been designed to elicit a man’s admiration. She knew it, and at this moment she was passionately glad of it.
It might be fun.
He was certainly fun.
Berto arrived with clam pasta, breaking the mood—which was a relief, since she hadn’t decided where she wanted this to go. But a moment ago there had been no choice to make. What had happened?
He was watching her face as she ate, relishing her enjoyment.
‘Good?’
‘Good,’ she confirmed. ‘I love Italian food, but I don’t get much chance to eat it.’
‘You’ve never been here before?’
‘I had a holiday in Italy once, but mostly I depend on Italian restaurants near my home.’
‘Where do you live?’
‘In London, on a houseboat moored on the Thames.’
‘You live on the water? That’s great. Tell me about it.’
At this point she should have talked about her serious day-to-day life, with its emphasis on work, and the occasional visit from her grown up son. Instead, unaccountably, Della found herself describing the river at dawn, when the first light caught the ripples and the banks emerged from the shadows.
‘Sometimes it feels really strange,’ she mused. ‘I’m right there, in the heart of a great city, yet it’s so quiet on the river just before everywhere comes alive. It’s as though the world belongs to me alone, just for a little while. But you have to catch the moment because it vanishes so quickly. The light grows and the magic dies.’
‘I know what you mean,’ he murmured.
‘You’ve been there?’
‘No, I—I meant something else. Later. Tell me some more about yourself. What sort of work do you do?’
‘I’m in television,’ she said vaguely.
‘You’re a star—your face on every screen?’
‘No, I’m strictly behind the scenes.’
‘Ah, you’re one of those terrifyingly efficient production assistants who gets everyone scurrying about.’
‘I’ve been told I can be terrifying,’ she admitted. ‘And people have been known to scurry around when I want them to.’
‘Maybe that’s why I thought you were a schoolteacher?’
‘You’ve got quite a way with youngsters yourself.’
But he dismissed the suggestion with a gesture of his hand.
‘I’d be a terrible teacher. I could never keep discipline. They’d all see through me and know that I was just one of the kids at heart.’
‘You had them hanging on your every word.’
‘That’s because I’m crazy about my subject and I want everyone else to be crazy, too. I believe it can make me a bit of a bore.’
‘Sure, I’m sitting here fainting with boredom. Tell me about your subject.’
‘Archaeology. No, don’t say it—’ He interrupted himself quickly. ‘I don’t look like an archaeologist, more like a hippie—’
‘I was thinking a hobo myself,’ she said mischievously. ‘Someone not very respectable, anyway.’
‘Thank you. I take that as a compliment. I’m not respectable. I don’t pretend to be. Who needs it?’
‘Nobody, as long as you know your stuff—and you obviously do.’
Carlo grinned. ‘Why? Because I kept a few youngsters quiet? That’s the easy part, being a showman. It’s not what really counts.’
She’d actually been thinking of his string of qualifications, but remembered in time that she wasn’t supposed to know about them.
‘What does really count?’ she asked, fascinated.
That was all he needed. Words poured from him. Some she understood, some were above her head, but what was crystal-clear was his devotion, amounting to a love affair, to ancient times and other worlds.
All his life he’d had soaring ambitions, hating the thought of being earthbound.
‘I used to play truant at school,’ he recalled, ‘and my teachers all predicted I’d come to a bad end because I was bound to fail my exams. But I fooled ‘em. I used to sit up the night before, memorising everything just long enough to pass with honours.’ He sighed with happy recollection. ‘Lord, but that made them mad!’
She couldn’t help laughing at the sight of him, transformed back into that rebellious schoolboy.
‘I couldn’t face anything nine-to-five,’ he said. ‘Not at school, not at work. The beauty of being in my line is that you get to fly.’
‘And you really have to fly,’ she teased. ‘I guess when you get near the earth you crash.’
‘Right. That’s why I could never be a teacher, or a museum administrator. I might have to—’ He looked desperate.
‘Might have to what?’ she asked through her laughter.
He glanced over his shoulder and spoke with a lowered voice.
‘Wear a collar and tie.’
He sat back with the air of one who had described unimaginable horrors. Della nodded in sympathy.
‘But doesn’t it ever get depressing?’ she asked. ‘Spending so much time surrounded by death, especially in Pompeii—all those people, petrified in the positions they died in nearly two thousand years ago?’
‘But they’re not dead,’ he said, almost fiercely. ‘Not to me. They’re still speaking, and I’m listening because they have so much to say.’
‘But hasn’t it all been said? I mean, they finished excavating that place years ago. What more is there?’
He almost tore his hair.
‘They didn’t finish excavating. They barely started. I’m working on a whole undiscovered area—’
He stopped, and seemed to calm himself down by force of will.
‘I’m sorry. Once I get started there’s no stopping me. I told you I’m a bore.’
‘I wasn’t bored,’ she said truthfully. ‘Not a bit.’
In truth, she was fascinated. A fire was flaming within him and she wanted to see more, know more.
‘Go on,’ she urged.
Then he was away again, words pouring out in a vivid, passionate stream so that she caught the sense even of the bits she didn’t understand. After a while she stopped trying to follow too closely. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he could make her see visions through his own eyes. It was like being taken on a journey into the heart of the man, and it was exhilarating.
‘You’ve let your food get cold,’ he said at last.
At some point they had passed onto the next course, and it had lain uneaten on both their plates while he took her on a journey to the stars.
‘I forgot about it,’ she said, feeling slightly stunned.
‘So did I,’ he admitted.
The voice of caution, which normally ruled her life, whispered, A practised charmer, but the warning floated away, unheeded. Something more was happening—something that would make her get up and leave now, if she had any sense.
But she didn’t want to be sensible. She wanted to go on enjoying this foolish magic, as crazy as a teenager. No matter how it ended. She would relish every moment.
Carlo watched her without seeming to. It was becoming important to him to ‘capture’ her in his mind, as though by doing so he could fit her into some niche where he would know what to make of her. Luckily the hours stretched ahead, full of time to get to know her better.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, Carlo saw an acquaintance come into the restaurant, and he cursed silently. The man was well-meaning but long-winded, and if he didn’t act fast his evening would be in ruins.
‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ he said hurriedly, leaving the table.
His worst fears were fulfilled. His friend greeted him with bonhomie, and a determination to join him at all costs. Carlo just managed to head him off at the pass, and finally made his way back to the table, determined on escape.
Della was talking on her cellphone as he approached, and he heard her say, ‘It’s lovely to talk to you, darling.’
It wasn’t so much the word that troubled him as the soft adoration in her voice, the glow in her eyes.
For pity’s sake, he chided himself. You’ve only known her a few hours. What do you care who she calls darling?
He wished he knew the answer.
She was laughing, her face alight with affection.
‘I’ve got to go now. I’ll call you again soon. Bye, darling.’ She hung up.
A moment later Carlo reached the table, showing no sign that he’d heard the call or even knew she’d made one.
‘Perhaps we should move on?’ he said.
She nodded. She had seen him talking urgently with a man, blocking his way so that he could not disturb them.
Outside, he took her hand and headed for the car, but then stopped suddenly, as though something had struck him.
‘No—wait! The time’s just right.’
‘Right for what?’
‘I’ll show you.’
He turned and began to lead her in the opposite direction. Gradually the houses fell away and they were going towards the shore, reaching the road that ran beside it and crossing over onto the beach.
‘Look,’ he said.
The tide had gone out, leaving the fishing boats lying lopsided on the wet sand. Water lay in the ridges and the tiny pools, and the last rays of the setting sun had turned it deep red.
She gazed, awestruck, at so much dramatic beauty before finally breathing, ‘It’s magic’
‘Yes, it is. Not everyone sees it, but I thought you would because of what you told me about dawn on the Thames. To some people it’s just wet sand and a few boats. If you see them by day they’re old and shabby. But like this—’
He stopped, almost as if hoping that she would finish his thought.
‘Another world,’ she said. ‘A special world that only appears for a short time.’
She thought he gave a little sigh of pleasure.
‘Just a short time,’ he agreed. ‘Soon it will be dark, and the special world will vanish.’
‘But it’ll return tomorrow.’
‘It may not. It isn’t always like this, only when everything is right. It’s like you said: you have to be ready to catch the moment before it vanishes.’
He was leading her out in the direction of the sea, leaving the conventional safety of the land behind, taking her into an unfamiliar world.
‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Let me take off my shoes before they get wet.’
She did so, shoving them into her capacious shoulder bag. He removed his own and she grabbed them, putting them, too, into the bag, and taking his hand again.
Not speaking, they walked towards the horizon, until the shallow water just covered their feet.
‘This is when it’s at its best,’ he said quietly.
The setting sun covered the beach and the film of water with blazing red in all directions, so that they might have been standing in a fire. It drenched them with its mysterious violent light.
Carlo looked at her, smiling, and she braced herself, knowing that this was exactly the right moment for a skilled charmer to kiss her, and that he, who clearly knew all the moves, would be bound to make this one. But then she saw that there was something awkward, almost shy, about his smile. While she was trying to puzzle it out, he raised her hand and rubbed the back of it against his cheek.
