From Rome with Love: Escape the winter blues with the perfect feel-good romance!. Jules Wake
out the photograph of her father, touching the glossy front. It felt furtive to hide the picture and she had nothing to hide, but she slid it between the pages of her guide book and into her handbag. Having heard plenty about handbag-snatchers and pickpockets in Rome, she popped the ring box in amongst her underwear.
With that done she glanced around the room, giving the narrow, single, walnut-wood sleigh bed a cautious glance. While there was barely room to swing a hamster, let alone a cat, it was exceptionally pretty, with its pale-blue and white lace-trimmed bedding, matching curtains and ornate plasterwork on the ceiling. Moreover, it was her own room, so Will could stuff his earlier insinuations.
With a quick spritz of perfume, regretting her confiscated deodorant, she was ready to go. Giovanni had suggested they go out to a local bar in ten minutes and having had a brief look at the tiny kitchen and the sparse contents of its fridge, it was clear that any eating to be done wasn’t going to be here. There wasn’t even any beer in the fridge.
Will met her in the hall, looking annoyingly fresh, his hair damp.
‘Have you had a shower?’ she asked accusingly, wishing she’d had time to explore the bathroom situation.
‘Yup.’
‘A record-breaking one. Have you even unpacked?’
Will shrugged with complete unconcern. ‘Nope.’
‘Boys.’ She looked over his shoulder into his room, where she could see a trail of clothes on his floor leading to a door on the other side – obviously an en-suite bathroom.
‘I was hot. And Giovanni said …’ Will looked at his watch.
They were bang on time and Giovanni had yet to emerge from his room on the opposite side of the hallway. She looked again at Will’s room.
‘Nice room,’ she commented, unable to keep the acidic tone out of her voice.
‘It’s okay, how’s yours?’
‘Fine,’ she said tightly. How come he’d got the better room? ‘How long are you staying?’
Will smiled. ‘Fed up with me, already?’
‘I’m always fed up with you.’
His smile deepened, lazy amusement dancing in his eyes, making her want to punch him hard in the washboard stomach and wipe it off his handsome bloody face.
‘After tonight you won’t see me. I’ve got my first appointment fixed up in the morning. I’m off to visit a place outside Rome where they make cheese to die for and then I’m seeing a guy who runs a restaurant in Trastevere. I’m here to work.’
That was one thing about Will. He worked hard. It was typical that he’d got everything thoroughly organised, while she had a hazy itinerary and a goal, which as yet, she had no idea how to achieve.
At last, Giovanni emerged from his room, his Hugo Boss aftershave arriving before him.
‘Ah, we’re all ready. Let’s go.’
It was heaven to be outside in the warm evening, the streets busier now. Her heart lifted, her steps light. This felt like being on holiday. She was in Rome. Unfamiliar cars lined the kerbs, nose to tail, like ants on a mission, and crammed into every available space, making the street look impossibly narrow. A scooter whizzed by, the driver’s shirt billowing out as a girl behind, her bag strapped across her, hung on to him, her hands gesticulating as they zipped by, their heads topped by old-fashioned-styled glossy coloured helmets that reminded of her bowling balls. Ahead, blocking their way, an elderly woman, her wiry hair ruthlessly dyed black, paused to let a tiny dog on a lead nose at the gutter.
Giovanni swung by her, chatting in cheerful Italian, and she raised a hand and patted him on the shoulder.
‘Do you know her?’ asked Lisa, thinking that the gesture was so Italian; even in the big city people knew each other, had a sense of community.
‘No.’ Giovanni grinned. ‘I told her she’d better get a move on or she’d miss the game.’
He looked at his watch and picked up his pace. They turned into another street, with a few shop fronts. ‘Nearly there.’
Lisa bit back the slight sense of disappointment as he ushered them through the doorway of small fairly insignificant-looking bar. Not quite what she’d imagined on her first night in Rome. She looked about her but, then, it was probably one of those places only known to the locals, which had an amazing atmosphere and fantastic food.
It certainly didn’t match the image she’d had in her head since she’d set off this morning, which included eating outside on pavement tables as she watched the world go by. This was not that restaurant.
‘Giovanni!’ called the barman as soon as they walked in, unleashing a torrent of teasing Italian and coming forward to slap Giovanni on the back as he grinned with an approving nod at Lisa. She might not have understood the words but she could get the gist of it. It was a fairly unsubtle thumbs-up and impossible not to smile back.
‘They love blondes in Italy,’ muttered Will in her ear. Trust him to take the shine out of the moment.
‘Lisa, this is Alberto.’
‘Ciao,’ he nodded, with an immediate flirtatious smile. ‘Welcome.’
‘Thank you, it’s lovely to be here.’
She didn’t think she’d ever seen quite so many bottles crammed into such a small space. Tall, slender glass bottles containing liqueurs in a variety of startling colours and shapes alongside shorter, fatter bottles with dark glass masking their contents. Most were coated with a fuzzy layer of dust, which suggested they might have been there since the days of Ancient Rome. Campari, Galliano, Sambuca, Limoncello, Strega, Grappa, Aperol, Fernet Branca. Half of them she’d never even heard of, let alone tasted.
Unfortunately, no such riches awaited on the food front. The glass-fronted fridge offered an extremely sad selection. She scanned the few pathetic-looking slices of pizza, topped with rubbery-looking mozzarella, alongside a couple of limp sandwiches, pale, drooping lettuce escaping from the sides and a solitary indeterminate pastry, which had left translucent patches of grease on the paper around it.
Alberto caught her eye and shrugged. ‘We’re closed tomorrow, but we have plenty to drink.’ With a proud flick of the wrist he waved behind him.
‘You certainly do,’ said Lisa, wondering if she should be brave and try something local, except she wouldn’t know where to start. Nan had brought her up on plain, sensible fare and she wasn’t much of a drinker. The recent conversion to gin was down to Siena’s influence.
Will stepped forward. ‘I’ll have a Peroni. Lisa, what would you like? Giovanni?’
‘The same,’ she said, relieved, not having a clue what Peroni might be. Leaving Will to sort out the drinks, Giovanni ushered her on to the back of the narrow bar, where their progress was halted by loud shouts.
‘Gio!’
‘Ciao!’
In the crossfire of Italian, she had no idea what was being said, but it was clear everyone was happy to see Giovanni. There was also a definite festive atmosphere, but she didn’t think it was triggered by the return of the prodigal son. Although lots of the insistent young men wanted to be introduced to Lisa, shaking her hand and making teasing comments to Giovanni, their attention was only half on the job of flirting with the blonde newcomer.
She followed as Giovani wove his way through the tight formation of Formica tables. A locals’ place, it held all the glamour of a school cafeteria and pretty much the same atmosphere, with its noisy chatter from the predominantly male clientele in the room, all of whom were transfixed by the large TV screen