To Rome, with Love

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‘I’m going for a swim. See you later.’ She spotted a raft a little way out, with a figure sitting on it, and headed for it, using a slow, gentle breaststroke. The seabed sloped very gradually and she found that her feet could still touch the bottom even after almost a hundred metres. This reminded her of the last holiday she had had with James, in Cancun at the end of the previous year. If everything had gone to plan, she should have been back there with him now, on her honeymoon. She gave a sigh and ducked her face into the water to clear her head before rolling over onto her back, staring up at the pale blue sky. This, she told herself, had been a great day, just like old times. And, she reminded herself, old times meant the days before she had finally given in to James’s constant moaning and had transferred to an office job. She had been on some amazing trips and had made lasting friendships with people from all over the world. Now James had removed himself from her life, she found herself free to pursue her chosen career once more. Somehow, this thought cheered her a lot. Maybe James’s cowardly little letter really had done her a favour.

A few minutes later she looked up and discovered that the figure already on the raft ahead of her was Miles. Not really keen to talk shop, she would have turned round and headed back to shore, but for a sense of fatigue brought on by the exertions of the day. Reluctantly, she swam the last few metres and climbed out up the conveniently located stainless-steel ladder, finding it remarkably hard work to haul herself out of the water. She gave Miles a sweet smile and sat down a discreet distance from him, her feet dangling in the water.

‘You feeling all right, Sarah? You look tired.’ His expression wasn’t unfriendly, but he wasn’t smiling. Presumably, she thought to herself, as no tourists were around, he felt there was no need. She took a deep breath and ensured that the smile on her face remained sweet.

‘I’m fine, Miles. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.’

To her surprise, he nodded. ‘Join the club. I haven’t slept well for months, years.’

‘Something on your mind?’

He didn’t answer for a while. When he did, his voice sounded as tired as she was feeling. ‘Just thinking about stuff, you know.’

‘Work stuff?’ She wondered if the anticipated restructuring of the company might be playing on his mind, but he wasn’t prepared to admit that, if indeed it was the case.

‘Just stuff. Anyway, what about you? Everybody says you never stop working. That’s not good for your health, you know.’

Sarah was secretly pleased he had heard of her efforts. ‘The bush telegraph says the same about you.’

‘Sometimes it’s the best thing to do.’ The way he said it, and the grim expression on his face, made her turn and glance at him, wondering if this was the time to repeat her offer of a shoulder to cry on, if indeed that was what he needed. Instead, she did her best to cheer him up.

‘Well, you’ve got the best part of two weeks ahead of you now to relax.’

He managed a grin that transformed his whole face. ‘Relax? Aren’t you forgetting the small matter of cycling a thousand kilometres?’

In spite of herself, Sarah’s eyes flicked across his muscular torso and powerful thighs. ‘Somehow, Miles, I don’t see you having any trouble on that front.’

He didn’t respond to the compliment, his face returning to its usual undemonstrative state. There was an uncomfortable silence before he changed the subject ‘So, are we going to have a good dinner tonight?’

‘I certainly hope so. Maybe not quite as good as last night, but it should still be good. Seeing as we’re right by the sea, we’ll hopefully get some fish.’

‘And the hotel manager tells me there’s going to be a dance band here tonight after dinner. Did you organise that?’

Sarah’s heart sank. She had forgotten about the dance. The last thing she felt like was dancing. Yes, she had surprised herself with how easily she had managed to slip into her jolly, tour leader persona today, but dancing was a step too far, pun or no pun. All the same, she slid the smile back into place and answered as cheerfully as she could. ‘No, that was the hotel. Anyway, I’m sure the group will love it.’ She glanced at Miles and risked a bit of familiarity. ‘What about you, Miles? Are you going to strut your stuff for us this evening?’

Miles glanced at her and gave a shake of the head. To underline this non-verbal statement, he wagged his finger at her, just touching her elbow briefly as he did so. This had a very unexpected effect on Sarah. As she felt his touch, a tingle ran up and down her arm. Unsure what was going on, she decided this would be a good time to leave. She turned towards him, doing her best to sound normal. ‘Now I’ve got to go back and talk to Gianluca about the route for tomorrow. See you at dinner.’ With that, she slipped forward, dropped into the cool water, and set off back to the shore, still trying to work out why Miles’s touch had affected her in that way, not least as she could still feel it when she reached the sandy beach. It was only when she was rubbing herself dry after coming out of the warm shower that the sensation finally disappeared, but her bewilderment didn’t go away.

***

The dance band put in an appearance at nine o’clock, just as dessert was being served. The dining room was surprisingly full and their group was spread over half a dozen tables, but there must have been at least fifty or sixty other diners in there as well. The meal, while not quite in the same league as the previous night, was still very good and there were a lot of clean plates at the end of it. As she had hoped, there was some excellent fish and the tuna steaks proved very popular, as did the plaice with asparagus and vine tomatoes that she’d chosen for herself.

She had resolved to try to sit down with all the members of the group early on in the trip so as to gauge reaction and iron out any problems before they developed into anything bigger. The only problem to surface at her table tonight had been Chuck’s backside. He arrived with a fleece that he folded and then proceeded to use as a cushion as he sat down.

‘If you’ll pardon my bringing the subject up at table, I’m afraid I’ve got a sore ass.’ He looked around with an embarrassed grin. The other two on Sarah’s table were Véronique, this time separated from Jean-Pierre, and Terri. As it turned out, Terri was able to use her experience of pro cycling to help resolve Chuck’s problem.

‘Tell, me, Chuck, what sort of shorts have you got?’ She, like Sarah and all the others, had opted for padded cycling shorts. Chuck was quick to confirm that he had done the same.

‘I spent a fortune before I came away buying a couple of pairs of really good, padded shorts, just like the professionals use, but it’s no good. I start sweating, my boxers get all ruckled up and then it all starts hurting.’ He looked even more embarrassed, as well as apologetic. ‘Sorry, you guys, I’m sure there are better things to talk about at table than my ass.’

‘Did you say you wear underpants?’ Terri looked aghast. Chuck nodded and Terri nodded sagely in her turn. ‘Well, that’s your problem. Take your pants off and you’ll be fine.’ Her comment coincided with a slight lull in conversation and her voice carried to the next table. Sarah saw Mike and Dan crease up with laughter. Mike looked back over his shoulder towards their table.

‘What, here? Get a room, will you.’

Terri waved him away and explained for Chuck’s benefit. ‘You should never wear any kind of pants under your shorts, especially anything cotton that’s going to get soggy and do exactly what happened to you today.’ She tapped him on the arm with her minute forefinger. ‘Promise me you’ll go commando tomorrow, and from here on in. You’ll be amazed at the difference.’

Chuck glanced round at the others and noticed their nods of agreement. ‘No underwear?’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, I’ll try anything to make that damn saddle feel more comfortable. All right, Terri, I promise. And thanks for your advice.’ He was smiling now. ‘When a woman tells me to take my pants off, I take my pants off.’

He didn’t get a chance to say any more as he suddenly and unexpectedly leapt to his feet, banging the table with his knee as he did so and tipping over a couple of, fortunately empty, glasses in the process. There was an expression of agony on his face as he clutched his right thigh and started hopping about like a man possessed, swearing under his breath. Terri and Sarah both recognised the symptoms.

‘Cramp?’

‘Jee… romino, and how! Wow, that hurts.’ It took him a full minute of dancing like a dervish before the muscles relaxed and he sank back down onto his chair again. Unfortunately, this produced another grimace as his bottom reminded him of his saddle sores. He composed himself, looked round the table and apologised. ‘Sorry, ladies. It appears I started the dancing all by myself.’

As if on cue, the band struck up and Chuck immediately persuaded Terri to join him on the dance floor. Sarah looked across at Véronique. ‘You going to be dancing, Véronique?’

‘I reckon so. Jean-Pierre loves to dance.’

Just at that moment, Sarah intercepted an exchange of glances between Véronique and Jean-Pierre on the next table. ‘I get the impression Jean-Pierre likes you a lot.’

Véronique blushed. ‘I’ve worked with him for years. He’s a lovely guy.’ She leant across the table towards Sarah. ‘He went through a horrible divorce a while back and this is just about the first time I’ve seen him relaxed and happy for ages.’

‘That’s the thing about fresh air, exercise and good food. Somehow, you can’t avoid feeling happy under these circumstances.’ As she spoke, Sarah found herself wondering if her boss would also begin to reap the benefits of the open-air life. Certainly, he needed to.

Gradually a few more people began to get up and dance and it wasn’t long before all the women, Sarah, Terri and Véronique included, found themselves in demand. Very reluctantly, Sarah accepted Chuck’s invitation and made her way out onto the dance floor. In fact, her first dance with Chuck was so hilarious, it put her in a good mood for the rest of the evening. As he threw himself enthusiastically into his dancing, it was difficult to work out whether his grimaces and jerky movements were an attempt to follow the rhythm or a painful reaction to the discomfort he was feeling in his nether regions. Sarah had a fit of the giggles and, from then on, actually started to enjoy herself. Almost everybody came out onto the dance floor and Sarah noticed Polly spending a lot of time dancing with Dan, the quietest of the trio of Americans. Glynis was well away, dancing with, as far as Sarah could see, every man in the group. Paul was much in demand and, in particular, she noticed that Diana spent a lot of time with him.

Sarah danced with almost all the men in the room, even waltzing with a couple of elderly Italian gentlemen who were dining there that night. There was no doubt in her mind that the best dancer of all was Lars. He had a way of moving that looked so natural and his sense of rhythm was infectious. Sarah danced with him more than with anybody else.

The one person who didn’t ask her to dance and, as far as she could see, didn’t ask any of the others either, was Miles. In fact, although Sarah and most of the others were still dancing right up to just before midnight, by then she realised she hadn’t seen Miles for well over an hour, maybe longer. Presumably he had disappeared up to his room to carry on working. At least, she hoped he was working. There had been one moment, early on, passing near his table in search of a drink, when her eyes had met his and, just for a second, she had again read something on his face that bothered her. What she had seen, she now felt sure, was sadness.

Chapter 5 (#ulink_67c63490-a739-510d-ac14-327088711679)

Sarah didn’t sleep well that night either. Part of the reason was probably that her air-conditioning wasn’t working properly and also, to begin with, she had been thinking over the route for the next day. She, Polly and Gianluca had sat down together before dinner and worked out a way of avoiding all major roads, preferring to stick to quieter country roads, even though this inevitably lengthened the distance travelled. Their route to Rome wasn’t a direct one, anyway, as they planned to zigzag through the hills of the regions of Marche, Umbria and Lazio, crossing the peninsula to the opposite coast, and one of the main reasons for this had been to avoid busy roads as far as possible. But the route wasn’t the only thing that kept her from falling asleep.

First, inevitably, there were the unwanted images of what she was now coming to refer to in her head as her previous life. The evening of music and dancing had awakened memories of her and James in happier times. He had been a great dancer, maybe as good as Lars, and they had spent many hours on the dance floor together. The thought of dancing with him brought memories of more intimate moments with him and she found herself shaking her head in annoyance, throwing off the single sheet covering her and getting up for a drink of water to take her mind off him. She took a big mouthful of tepid water, but it didn’t help.

Infuriated by the noisy, inefficient air-conditioning unit, she turned it off and opened the window in the hope of letting in some cooler air. She wandered round the room for a bit, peeking out of the shutters at the deserted promenade and the skeleton of what would probably become a big dipper. Through the open window she could hear the distant whisper of the sea on the sand and, at last, she found that it had a soporific effect on her. After a while, she got back into bed and gradually drifted off to sleep. It was then that things got more complicated.

She was swimming in the sea and the sun was setting right in front of her, half blinding her with its red glow. Behind her was a long, sandy beach, covered in deckchairs, while ahead of her was a raft, bobbing up and down as little waves came through. Sitting on the raft were four or five people, but she was too far away to recognise them. She swam and she swam, getting more and more tired, but it took an age to get close enough to see who they were. At last she got within range and made out five familiar faces. They were all men, sitting there, sunning themselves and dangling their legs in the water. She immediately recognised Lars. Being so tall, he stood out from the crowd. Alongside him, of all people, was James; hunky, handsome, self-centred James. Both of them looked relaxed and happy and they were chatting amicably, unaware of her presence. Stranger still, sitting along the side of the raft were three other figures. There was Paul, chatting to a heavily tattooed man holding three silver clubs, and to their left, all on his own, she recognised the brooding presence of Miles, his eyes trained on her as she swam up to the raft.

She was feeling more and more tired now but none of the men noticed her. She tried to touch the seabed with her toes, but it was too deep. She called out, but only Miles saw her. She held out her hands towards him, but he didn’t make any kind of move to help her.

As the waves broke in her face, she woke up again, bathed in perspiration.

She lay in the darkened room, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling cast by a lone street light, doing her best to slow her spinning mind. It took a long time, but she finally managed to get back to sleep; but it was a broken, uncomfortable night. When she finally surfaced next morning, it was barely light outside, but she didn’t feel like dropping off and struggling with her subconscious again for a while, so she took her now bone-dry bikini from the towel rail and went out for an early morning swim. The coast road was deserted, all but a dust cart noisily hoisting bins into the air and emptying them into its capacious bowels. The sun was now above the horizon, but still a deep orange colour, shining directly into her eyes. She made her way blindly through the surreal landscape of the deserted funfair and across the sand to the water. When she got there, she found she wasn’t alone. A lone swimmer was already in the water, heading towards the raft with an easy front crawl. She waded out into the water, its touch cold against her superheated body after the stuffy night she had just passed, lowered herself in and started swimming.

Partway out towards the raft, she rolled over onto her back and looked back inland. The beach was still almost deserted, apart from a couple of big dogs racing each other through the shallows, while their owner sat on his haunches and smoked his first cigarette of the day. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the sun on the top of her head was already warm. She rolled back round again until she was looking out to sea. The lone swimmer had reached the raft by now and was standing on it, looking back towards the beach. She carried on, out towards the raft, and, as she approached, she struggled to recognise who it was, the sun directly behind him casting a deep shadow across his face. He had broad shoulders and muscular arms and looked familiar. She swam closer and then heard his voice.

‘You’re up early, Sarah. Couldn’t you sleep either?’

‘Hi, Miles, still not sleeping?’ She felt suddenly very pleased to see him. Whether this was just a result of her dream or something else was difficult to decide so, in her usual pragmatic way, she did her best to dismiss the problem. She pulled herself up the steps onto the raft and stood beside him.

‘It’s going to be one hell of a fine day.’ She noticed he didn’t answer her question. ‘Sunscreen definitely essential.’

‘Yes, indeed. So you didn’t sleep well? Was your aircon broken as well?’

He shook his head. ‘No, the temperature was fine. It’s just my head. I kept waking myself up.’

Sarah very nearly told him the same had happened to her, but stopped herself in case he wanted to know what sort of dreams she’d had. She looked at him. ‘You did manage to get some sleep, though, right, Miles? There’s a space in the minibus with Polly if you feel tired.’

‘Thanks, Sarah, but I’ll be fine. It’s mainly just the usual work stuff that keeps me awake. You know my dad’s retiring soon?’

‘Yes, I had heard that. And you’re taking over from him?’ Miles nodded. ‘And what about Paul? Is he going to be working alongside you?’

His expression hardened. ‘Perish the thought. No, he’s going to the States to take over the US operation where I’ve been for the past five years.’

Seeing as they were surrounded by water and nearly naked, Sarah felt she could ask a more personal question. ‘And you aren’t too happy about that?’

Miles turned towards her and shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe it’ll all work out.’ Probably realising that he shouldn’t be talking about family matters with a member of staff, albeit quite a senior one, Miles changed the subject. He glanced at her, his eyes briefly flicking across her body. ‘You’re looking good for seven o’clock in the morning.’

‘You should have seen me at six-thirty…’ She gave him a big smile, surprisingly pleased he had been looking at her.

‘And you’re looking more cheerful. Tell me, Sarah, has there been something wrong? When I saw you in your office the other day, you looked awful.’

‘You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself, don’t you, Miles?’ Sarah was doing her best to keep it light.

‘I’m sorry, you know what I mean. You looked… I don’t know, sad.’

Sarah really didn’t want the story of her aborted marriage to get out so she just shook her head. ‘Just a bit of boyfriend trouble. I’ll be fine.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. And surprised. I should have thought he was a lucky man.’ No sooner had he spoken than he looked as if he regretted his words. Springing to his feet, he patted her lightly on the arm. Once again, puzzlingly, his touch made her tingle. ‘Anyway, that’s your business. I’d better get back. Breakfast’s in half an hour.’

He turned and executed a very tidy dive into the water. Sarah didn’t quite feel up to diving so she just slipped back in and followed him to the shore.

***

Their route took them inland, heading for the historic city of Ferrara. Sarah had never visited the city and was looking forward to it. As predicted, the cycling was flat and easy, with just a hint of a light headwind, but not enough to make things difficult. Gianluca, accompanied by Terri, took the lead, while Sarah brought up the rear. Polly, driving what Gianluca referred to as the Broom Wagon to sweep up stragglers, followed some distance behind. Unsurprisingly on such a flat, easy route, there were no takers. As they rode along a very straight, very narrow back road through low-lying, swampy terrain, Sarah was joined at the back by Paul.

‘Hi, Sarah. Another lovely day in prospect.’

‘I hope you’re all creamed up. That sun’s hot.’

‘Certainly is. I’m plastered with factor fifty.’ He gave her a grin. ‘I hope our friend Chuck’s all creamed up where the sun don’t shine. Fancy wearing boxers under cycling shorts…’

‘Saddle sores are the worst. I hope he’s all right. He was looking good on the bike yesterday otherwise.’

‘And you were looking good on the dance floor yesterday as well.’

She shook her head. ‘Save the flattery for somebody more receptive, Paul. Anyway, you and your brother are looking fit, too. What’s your secret? Diet, maybe?’

Now it was his time to shake his head. ‘The day they invent a food that gives you a six-pack, those guys’ll make a fortune. No, I’ve just been hitting the gym as often as possible. As for Miles, I bullied him into it. I saw him a year ago looking a bit paunchy, a bit puffy, like he’d been letting himself go, and I managed to persuade him to follow my example. Watch out, car coming.’ He braked and dropped in behind her as a rusty old three-wheeled vehicle that looked as if somebody had grafted a box onto a motorbike came chugging past, belching out blue smoke. As it disappeared behind them, Paul reappeared at Sarah’s elbow. ‘Anyway, Miles being Miles, he doesn’t just go to the gym a few times a week. He’s been in there almost every day, working out and lifting weights. You’d think he was training for the Olympics. He even had a treadmill installed in his office in New York, apparently.’

Seeing as Paul had brought up the subject of his brother, Sarah risked a direct question. ‘Is he a bit obsessive about work as well? He seems to be on his phone an awful lot.’

Paul didn’t reply straightaway. Finally he nodded. ‘The old expression about losing yourself in your work comes to mind. He’s always been a hard worker, far more than me, but he’s had it pretty rough over the past couple of years and he’s thrown himself into his work probably as a means of escape. People often do that, you know. Work is a sort of therapy to some folk; it can be a useful anaesthetic.’