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‘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, but I won’t hold that against him.
‘So why Italian?’ he asked as they began to stroll along the Via Vittorio Veneto.
‘I was always fascinated by foreign languages. I studied several at school, but somehow it was always Italian that stood out and attracted me more than the others. So I learned it through and through. It’s such a lovely language.’
‘And in the end you got a job here, probably working at the U.S. Embassy, just up the street.’
‘No, I don’t work here. I’m a translator in New York. I do Italian editions of books, sometimes universities hire me to look over old manuscripts. And I suddenly thought, it’s about time I actually saw the country and drank in what it’s really like. So I caught the next plane out.’
‘Literally?’
‘Well, it took a couple of days to make arrangements, but that’s all. Then I was free to go.’
‘No ties? Family?’
‘I’ve got parents, siblings, but nobody who can constrain my freedom.’
‘Freedom,’ he mused. ‘That’s what it’s really about, huh?’
‘One of the things. I’ve done some mad, stupid things in my life, and most of them have been about staying free.’ She gave a wry laugh. ‘It’s practically my family nickname. Ellie’s the beautiful one, Alex is the lovable one and I’m the crazy one.’
‘That sounds fascinating. I’d really like to hear about your craziness.’
‘Well, there’s the time I set my heart on marrying this guy and my parents said no. We were only seventeen, which they thought was too young.’
He considered this with an air of seriousness that had a touch of humour. ‘They could have had a point.’
‘The way I saw it they were denying me my own way. Hell would freeze over before I admitted they could be right. So we eloped.’
‘You married at seventeen?’
‘No way. By the time we’d covered a few miles I could see what a juvenile twerp he was. To be fair I think he’d spotted the same about me. Anyway, I got all set to make a run for it, and bumped into him because he was making a run for it, too.’
Lucio roared with laughter. ‘What happened when you got home?’
‘My mother’s a very clever woman. She knew better than to make a fuss. When she caught me sidling in she glanced up and said, “Oh, there you are. Don’t make a noise, your father’s asleep.” We had a talk later but there were no hysterics. By then she was used to me doing stupid things.’
‘But would getting married be the path to freedom? Husbands can be very restrictive.’
She chuckled. ‘I didn’t think of that at the time. I just pictured him doing things my way. Luckily I saw the truth before too late.’
‘Yes, husbands have this maddening habit of wanting their own way.’
‘Oh, I learnt the lesson.’
‘So you still don’t have a husband?’
‘No husband, no nothing.’ She added casually, ‘These days it’s the way to be.’
‘You’re a true woman of your age. At one time an unmarried girl would wonder why no man wanted her. Now she wonders what’s the best way to keep them off.’
‘Right,’ she responded in the same teasing voice. ‘Sometimes you have to be really ingenious. And sometimes just ruthless.’
‘You talk like an expert. Or like a woman who’s been kicked in the teeth and is going to do some kicking back.’ He saw her wry face and said quickly, ‘I’m sorry, I had no right to say that. None of my business.’
‘It’s all right. If we all minded our own business there’d be precious little of interest to talk about.’
‘I’ve got a feeling I should be nervous about what you’re going to say next.’
‘I could ask about Sicily, couldn’t I? Is that where you keep a secret wife, or perhaps two secret wives? Now that would really be interesting.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you but there’s no wife, secret or otherwise. I was born in Sicily, but I left it years ago, and I’ve never been back. The life just didn’t suit me. Like you, I went exploring the world, and I ended up with a family who owned vineyards. Vines, wine-making, I loved it from the start. They were wonderful to me, practically adopted me, and finally left the vineyards to me.’
And he’d turned them into a top money-making business, she thought. That was clear from the way he dressed and the way others reacted to him.
They were reaching the end of the street. As they turned the corner Charlotte stopped, astonished and thrilled by the sight that met her eyes.
‘The Trevi Fountain,’ she breathed. ‘I’ve always wanted to see it. It’s so huge, so magnificent….’
This was no mere fountain. A highly decorated palace wall rose behind it, at the centre of which was a triumphal arch, framing the magnificent, half-naked figure of Oceanus, mythical god of water, ruling over the showers that cascaded into the pool below. Everywhere was flooded with light, giving the water a dazzling glitter against the night.
‘I’ve read about it,’ she murmured, ‘and seen pictures, but—’
‘But nothing prepares you,’ he agreed. ‘Some things have to be experienced before they become real.’
Nearby was a café with tables out on the street. Here they could sit and watch the humming life about them.
‘Nice to see people having a good time,’ she murmured.
‘Does that mean your life is unhappy now?’
‘Oh, no,’ she said quickly. ‘But it does tend to be a bit too serious. Legal documents, history books. Not exactly filled with fun. And sometimes you need to remind yourself about fun.’
He regarded her curiously, thinking that a woman with her looks could have all the fun she wanted with all the men she wanted. So there was a mystery here. But he was too astute to voice the thought.
‘But Italy should remind you of fun,’ he said. ‘It’s not all cathedrals and sober history.’
‘I know. You’ve only got to stroll the streets of Rome in the twilight, and see—well, lots of things.’
His grin and the way he nodded spoke volumes about his own life. Doubtless it was full of ‘twilight activities’, she thought. And they would be fun. She didn’t doubt that either.
‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘my favourite Italian was—’
