Chapter Eleven
It was seven-forty before Jade hurried under the sun-bleached red canopy belonging to Bar Rita because, as she’d been leaving, a grumbling guest had collared her to complain that his shower wasn’t draining.
Although she’d immediately fetched a pair of rubber gloves and gone up with him to clear the shower trap of gunge and hair, the guest had groused as if Jade had kept him waiting for a fortnight and then charged him a thousand euros.
Suppressing the urge to force-feed him the gunk from the drain, she’d smiled sweetly and said, ‘All done now.’
She found Leo waiting at a small round table. Bar Rita was its usual faded self, with chipped paint and no tablecloths. Her explanation was economical. ‘Sorry I’m late. Guest.’
He nodded understandingly. ‘Shall we order? You look knackered.’
‘Thanks,’ she answered wryly. But she rapidly selected pasta all’arrabbiata and rosé, took his order for spaghetti alle vongole and beer, and hurried to the bar. Returning with the drinks, she plonked herself down opposite him and took a couple of gulps of wine, light but fruity and delicious.
‘Some idiots have grabbed the pool table before us.’ He glanced at three young Italian men gathered around the table.
‘Oh dear,’ she replied unconvincingly, because she was, as he’d observed, knackered. Staying where she was, with wine, was appealing.
In fact, they never did get on the pool table that evening, because once they’d eaten their pasta and ordered another drink, a bunch of Brits were hogging the cues and Jade was flagging. ‘Sorry.’ She smothered a yawn.
‘Long day.’ He finished his beer and stretched as if he, too, was feeling it. ‘I’ll walk you back. It’s on my way.’
It was and she didn’t mind having his escort as they stepped outside into the evening, where the pavement bars were thronged and pulsing music filled the air.
She tried hard to resist a hovering like old times feeling.
It was just that she was vulnerable over the myriad changes in her life, she told herself.
And today Leo had helped her when she needed it.
‘Tourist season.’ Leo nodded towards crowded tables.
The sinking sun was creating candy-floss-pink clouds and by the time they reached Piazza Cavour, it was edging the western foothills with glorious vermillion.
To the side of Three Sisters, the tables of Anton’s Bistro were doing good business, alive with diners and drinkers.
Jade put out a hand to bestow a friendly touch on Leo’s arm. ‘Good night.’
At the same time, Leo rested his hands on her shoulders and went to drop a light kiss on each of her cheeks in the traditional Italian salute.
Something odd happened. As each leant in towards the other, it was as if invisible hands pressed gently at their backs – and somehow their mouths brushed.
Jade froze. Should she ignore it? Laugh it off? Instead, she found her gaze locked on his lips.
He moved in slowly, giving her plenty of time to step back.
But she leant in, until his features blurred and she shut her eyes.
As if magnetised, they angled their heads and suddenly they were kissing properly, right there in the street, familiarly and naturally, as if he’d never abandoned her for the UK.
As if he’d never lived with Isabella. As if her relationship with Edoardo had not been.
His mouth was soft and hot, and its caress shot sparks through her body.
His tongue brushed her lips and seemed to upend every hair on her neck.
If the human body could melt, it would feel like this . . .
Slowly, he straightened, his pupils enormous in stunned eyes.
Heart pounding, Jade stumbled backwards under the arch that bore the name Pensione Three Sisters. One strained smile, then she whisked around and bolted through the glass doors, past the office, across Reception, around the desk to the sanctuary of the apartment.
She performed her evening routine in a daze. Once in bed, she stared into the darkness, wondering what had happened. One moment it had been kisses on cheeks and then it had been open mouths . . . Had she instinctively sought out his lips? Had she? Or had it been him?
Or both of them?
When her phone lit up on a text, she read it apprehensively, half-fearing that it would be from Leo asking why they’d shared a kiss as hot as the sun.
But it was an apologetic message from Vittoria to say she’d have to see the week out with her sister’s family.
After that, her sister’s ex would be able to look after the kids as he’d managed to book annual leave.
She did close her eyes then, but only in frustration. Not till Monday, a whole week away? By then, she’d be exhausted. Unless Leo came every day to help . . .
Dangerous thought.
Don’t go there.
But Leo didn’t return the next day, which was Tuesday.
Jade awoke before the alarm, remembering last night’s kiss with a tingly disbelief. Showering and dressing, she and her butterflies wondered whether he’d return this morning. And, if so, would the air crackle? Or would they coolly pretend those heat-driven moments had never happened?
But it was Sheenagh who arrived at 7 a.m. in black trousers and polo shirt, freckly from the summer sun. Behind her wandered Ferdinando, thinning hair damp from the shower, black-framed glasses over his twinkling eyes.
Jade was stocking the buffet and she regarded them in shock. ‘Ciao, you two! What are you doing here?’ Her gaze travelled past them, but Leo wasn’t there.
Sheenagh’s eyes danced. ‘We’ve come to work a shift.’
‘Oh, but—’
‘But nothing. Nothing!’ Ferdinando threw his arms wide. ‘We come to help our friend.’ He gave her a huge, avuncular hug, squeezing so much air from her lungs that she had none left for protests.
Sheenagh’s more elegant embrace was no less warm. ‘It’ll be fun. Just run us through how things go.’
As two guests had arrived, Jade took their orders for coffee then spirited her new ‘help’ into the kitchen where they could wash their hands and see where things were kept.
Then, as she had with Leo yesterday, she remained in the kitchen while they attended the tables, chatting to guests as if they’d worked here for years.
Left alone to scramble eggs, apart from a couple of forays to answer the reception bell, Jade wondered what she’d done to deserve such wonderful friends.
It gave her a choked, hot-eyed feeling that Sheenagh and Ferdinando had given up their time for her.
Of course, they’d been close friends with Gran since Sheenagh had come to Como and met and married Ferdinando, but even so . . .
She did wonder a leetle bit where Leo was. Maybe that sudden mouth-to-mouth magnetism last night had frightened him away. Perhaps he thought that she’d expect something from him now. Maybe he’d found more grout to scrape from tiles.
But when Sheenagh bustled into the kitchen with a tray of dishes, she said, ‘Leo told you about the hotel in Riva? Last night, he received an email from the vendors supplying the figures he’d been waiting for.
He wants to see our accountant today.’ She paused, eyes soft.
‘Ill health is horrible for the sellers, of course, but it’ll be fantastic to have him back in Italy. ’
Jade concentrated on slicing more bread ready for toast and mashed avocado, hiding a wriggle of relief that, apparently, he wasn’t absent to avoid her or what had happened last night. ‘Of course. Fantastic.’
Ferdinando bustled in with a tray. ‘More cornetti?’
‘Coming up.’ Jade busied herself with sliding pastries from box to tray.
They didn’t chat again until the last guest had vacated the breakfast room. Then Sheenagh looked longingly at the coffee machine. ‘Quick break before we start clearing?’
Jade felt she could only agree. The three of them carried steaming cupfuls to a table in the breakfast room, empty save from crumb-bedecked tables and haphazard chairs.
Then Sheenagh linked an arm through Jade’s.
‘Are you going to tell us about your sisters?’ Her smiling eyes held concern and compassion.
Jade swallowed, not liking to mention that she had rooms to clean after they’d finished downstairs.
How could she, when Sheenagh and Ferdinando had helped her, and so early on a bright summer morning when their own hotel must be heaving?
So, she explained that things hadn’t gone badly .
. . ‘But we’re very different. Erin’s career-minded, only looking up from her phone when she decides something needs organising.
She mentioned several times that Gran had written her a letter, but didn’t tell me what it said.
Not that I have a right to know,’ she added fairly.
‘Rosalie’s more . . . Well, I suppose she’s more like Joey, which isn’t shocking.
Casual and laid back, all tattoos, boho and ripped denim.
When we asked about him, she soon got defensive.
’ She stirred her cappuccino. ‘She said Joey hated people nosing into their business and I think she’s much the same. ’
Sheenagh squeezed her hand. ‘I only knew him for a couple of years before he left, but I suppose he was closed-off then, too.’
‘He would row away on the lake and lie in the boat with a book.’ Ferdinando lapsed into Italian, reminding Jade of when Nonno was alive and he and Gran would chat, she in English and he in Italian, each understanding the other but finding it easier to express themselves in their native tongue.
A poor opinion of Joey was the norm for Jade, but she suddenly felt guilty about Erin and Rosalie.
‘We got on OK in the circumstances,’ she said.
‘They were mindful about how tricky it’s been for me and that learning about the inheritance was a good shock for them, but a bad shock for me.
’ She sighed. A few minutes later, when they’d emptied their cups, she said, ‘Better clear up,’ and climbed to her feet.