Chapter 3
It was busy at the port. Of course it was.
July was always busy at the port and Gabri stubbornly refused to accept it every time he had to take a trip to Portoferraio, the biggest town on the island.
The only parking space for miles was miles away – not actual miles.
Exaggerating was a bad habit – one of many that were causing background nerves at the prospect of a week spent with another person after living blessedly alone for more than five years.
But Toni Goschl wasn’t a stranger. He’d become a friend over the course of a year of chatting online. And besides, a man who worked for an outdoor travel company had to be used to rustic accommodations – and Gabri’s house was certainly rustic.
Leaving the car mercifully in the shade of a scrubby pine, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his cropped linen trousers and made his way along the waterfront, the sun making him squint even behind his aviators.
Over his shoulder, the historic centre spread out along a peninsula, colourful render and red roofs.
The ferries docked by the esplanade lined by palm trees and squat, modern apartment buildings.
Portoferraio was only a fraction of the size of Milan, the city that had made him, but leaving the sanctuary of his hillside shack for what counted as the big smoke on the island always made him jittery.
Motorini zipped past and he couldn’t smell anything except salt water and a hint of petrol fumes.
In the distance, the wooded hills that covered most of the island rose soothingly. Up there, he was more at home, with the scent of lavender and rosemary and the maturing fruit on the strawberry trees.
Toni had always been more interested in the plants than most people he knew – and he’d never made a single comment about Gabri’s current profession, as though he didn’t see anything strange about a male florist. Even his own mother couldn’t hold in the occasional jibe about his flower arrangements.
But Toni seemed… different to his other male friends. It put Gabri at ease.
He noticed a ferry making its way past the harbour to the pier, but it hadn’t docked yet. Unloading would take a while longer.
Time for a quick espresso at the bar.
He was pleased with his decision ten minutes later when a line of cars had disembarked safely and the small crowd of foot passengers had thinned and there was still no one who looked like a man called Toni Goschl – although Gabri was kicking himself for not asking for a photo, as awkward as that would have felt.
Five minutes after that, there was only Gabri leaning on the bar table, his long-empty espresso thimble before him, and a woman wearing a summer dress with a floral pattern, hovering near the bar and looking lost as her short bob caught the wind.
He checked his phone. Toni must have been delayed. The next boat was due in an hour or so and it wouldn’t be worth returning home. He eyed the woman, appreciating for a moment the lines of her shoulders as she turned to take in the view of the fortress presiding over the port in the north.
She looked as though she’d been light-footed and smiled a lot at one time in her life, but that time was not today. The sigh she gave was not from enjoyment of the view.
‘Signorina?’ She didn’t turn, so he raised his voice a notch. ‘Signorina? C’è qualcosa che non va?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t speak Italian.’ Her eyes scanned the area again – fruitlessly, apparently.
‘You are looking for someone?’ He caught the waiter’s eye and held up a finger for another espresso.
‘Yes.’ She tugged her phone from a rather tatty rucksack and frowned at it.
‘You want an espresso while you wait?’ He raised his hand to summon the waiter again before she answered.
She appeared to see him for the first time, her gaze settling on his several days of beard, the moustache he always forgot to trim.
He ran a hand through his too-long hair self-consciously, continuing to his rumpled shirt while her eyes followed the movement.
She had pretty eyes, warm and brown, like summer grass after a dry season.
He guessed she was around his age – meaning not young any more, but nowhere near old.
‘I’m also waiting for someone,’ he said.
The waiter was about to leave again, so he stretched out farther, holding him there with the power of an Italian hand gesture.
‘Okay,’ she finally answered. ‘An espresso seems like the best course of action.’ Her smile couldn’t be described as anything other than complicated.
He had a weakness for complicated women – or he had in his past life. He was supposed to be beyond that, but he enjoyed the way that smile grew wry as she dragged her suitcase to his table and plonked her elbows onto the top.
She said nothing at first, her gaze out to sea. Her skin was pale, with a few freckles – the kind of skin that required sunblock. It was the same on her shoulders.
When the waiter brought their two cups, he swiped his as soon as it landed on the table in an attempt to stop himself from studying her skin. A pretty woman was not on his list for today.
‘So, is the person you’re waiting for female? Young and pretty?’
His eyebrows shot up at her question. Was that a teasing tone? ‘No, in fact. A friend. What made you think that?’ His thumb brushed of its own accord against the base of his ring finger – his bare ring finger.
‘Oh, if this were a film,’ she began with a little shrug of those lovely shoulders, ‘that would be the storyline, right? Handsome guy waiting for his lover who never shows.’
The dismissive flick of her hand softened the impact of her words, but warmth stuck in his throat as he tried to ignore the word ‘handsome’. A quick glance confirmed her ring finger was bare as well.
‘If this were a movie, the main character might instead fall for the woman he meets by chance at a bar at the port.’
Holding his breath for her response, he was rewarded with a low chuckle. They were flirting. He couldn’t pretend otherwise. But her teasing and that guarded smile made him certain it was harmless. Besides, she’d started it.
‘I’m not really a main character type,’ she said, leaning farther over the table. Wow, she was pretty. Not Hollywood knock-your-socks-off perfection, but the kind of beauty that crept up on you the more you looked. It was the single dimple, on the left, the amusement in her expression.
‘What type are you, if not a main character?’
Another laugh. ‘I’m the “Mum” character. Always that.’
His stomach sank. ‘Ah.’ He forced his gaze back to his coffee. He hadn’t been looking to further this acquaintance anyway.
‘Or the widow,’ she added, leaning closer, as though in challenge.
‘I’m… sorry.’
‘People always are,’ she said lightly, taking up the espresso cup and knocking it back with a wince.
She could leave at any second, call whoever had failed to pick her up – and hopefully tell them off for abandoning her at the port.
Despite the enormous red flag she’d waved provocatively in his direction, he was reluctant to let her go.
‘How old are your children?’ he asked.
‘My child – I have one. He’s nine.’
‘You don’t often leave him,’ Gabri guessed. He could hear it in her voice.
She shook her head. ‘This is the first time I’ve been out of the country without him. He’s with my parents and I’m supposed to be having a relaxing week away from real life.’ She glanced at her phone with a frown as she spoke.
‘Is it a man? The person you’re meeting?’
‘My film character? A handsome Italian lover?’
He suspected she was joking, but her words still made the tips of his ears hot, as though she could mean him.
He could picture it a little too clearly, spending a week trying to make her smile, brushing his hand down her arm to take her hand as she let go of the shadows in her eyes for the short time they had together.
He knew these things were never simple, had spent years rebuilding his life to gain the quiet balance he craved – but still he hoped she wasn’t meeting a man.
‘No, I’m also waiting for a friend. I can’t imagine what’s keeping her and why she hasn’t texted.’
At the sight of tight lines at her mouth, he realised he shouldn’t hold her up any longer, even if the thought of never seeing her again was disappointing. ‘Maybe you should call her.’ He could call Toni and work out where his own friend had been delayed.
Picking up her phone with an apologetic smile, she tapped the screen and raised it to her ear, taking a few steps away. His own phone lit up just as he grasped for it, the rather embarrassing old pop song he had as a ringtone sounding overloud between them.
He felt her surprised look as he lifted his sunglasses to peer at the screen: Toni Goschl. Good, he could work out what had gone— A kick of his heart accompanied a flash of suspicion. No. The call was a coincidence. Toni’s flight had probably been delayed.
But what was Toni short for? Had he ever asked?
Swallowing unease, he connected the call. ‘Ciao, Toni.’ His voice shook.
A loud gasp was the only sound – a sound he saw as it happened, his gaze locked onto the woman he’d just flirted with over coffee. He squeezed his eyes shut, as though he could push away the realisation.
When he heard her voice, it wasn’t over the phone. ‘Gabri?’