Amore and Pinot Grigio - a Guido la Vespa Christmas Tale [Guido la Vespa] (BookStrand Publishing Mainstream) (7 page)

And it had an outdoor section, around the ruins below street level, where the cats who had been spayed and neutered but were too feral for adoption lolled about, charmed tourists and Romans alike, and ate at the feeding stations situated among the ancient columns.

The ladies had greeted her warmly and complimented her Italian. “Yes,” they said, “We can always use volunteers, but the work is not glamorous. You will be cleaning litter boxes, giving insulin injections to diabetic cats, putting food out both indoors and outdoors, cleaning the dishes up afterward, grooming cats when needed and helping with transport of supplies and cats when necessary.”

“
Sarei felice
, I would be happy to do any and all of that,” Sigrid assured them. And she was. Christmas was one of the busiest times at any animal shelter. Sigrid knew this from experience. Not only did people go shopping for pets at Christmas, but tragically, people also abandoned pets they had been given during the holidays once they discovered that a pet is not a piece of furniture, but rather a sentient being requiring care and patience.

So this was how, a week before Christmas on a rainy, gray weekday morning, Sigrid found herself stringing up some extra decorations—a wreath and a
Babbo Natale
, the Italian equivalent of Santa—on the front door of the sanctuary’s greeting centre. She was having a heck of a time getting the wreath just right and it didn’t help that one of the outdoor cats had decided that the shoelaces on Sigrid’s Chuck Taylors made great toys.

“Careful, kitty,” she admonished. “I don’t want to step on you. Plus, you’re making it hard for me to concentrate.”

“You need to say that in Italian. He’s an Italian cat.”

Sigrid froze. That voice. She hadn’t even felt his presence behind her or heard him coming down the steps. He had just sort of appeared, as he had the night she met him. She was thrilled. And she was terrified. Dealing with the feelings Sandro inspired was more difficult than dealing with heartache. If only he would just stay away. And yet, she was happy he hadn’t.

She turned and faced him. Sandro was looking oddly vulnerable—again all in black but this time wearing a winter coat and with an elegantly-tied red scarf, a perfect festive touch, a nod to the season. His hair was wet from the weather and pasted to his cheeks, his lips sexier than she remembered. And oh, how she remembered. Before she went all mushy, she reminded herself of their last conversation and how unkind he had been, how insulting. Straightening up, she said, “You’re right. I’ll tell him that in Italian. Now, if you’ll allow me, I’d like to get back to my work.”

“I see you took my advice,” he said.

“What? About working here?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, well, it’s nearly Christmas and it is a good cause.”

“I have some news about Pinot you might like: his surgery went well and after a week in recovery at the animal hospital he is now in his new home and doing perfectly, all things considered. Thanks to what we did he can expect many more years of life, and a good life at that, not like the one he had on the street.”

“That’s wonderful news. Glad our little kitty amputee is doing well and getting the love he needs.” Sigrid was really quite happy about what Sandro had told her, but she didn’t want to let her guard down. “And if that’s what you’ve come to tell me, thank you. I’ve got to get back to hanging up
Babbo Natale
.”

“That’s not all I’ve come to tell you. It turns out that when you jumped the fence around
La Capanna
’s patio that night you did something to the alarm system. Because of you, we have had to get it all reset, which is costing a small fortune. My father was so worried about it he had to come down from Tuscany this week.”

“Oh my, I’m terribly sorry. But you know it was unintentional and for a good reason. You told me your father was very concerned about the cat so I’m sure he will understand. Please give him my sincere apologies.”

“You can apologize yourself, in person. In fact, I insist. Unless, that is, you want to get stuck with the bill for the work we have to get done.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Yes, I would. I insist you come and apologize.”

“Fine. I remember where it is.”
As though I could ever forget
. “I’ll be there later today. Right now I have to work.”

“I’ll help you and we can go back together.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Yes, you do. Look what you’ve done to poor
Babbo Natale
.”

Sigrid realized she had stuck a nail right through his eye. “Oh! Poor Santa!”

Sandro grabbed the hammer from her. “Let me take care of it. Is there anything else you must do?”

“Yes, I have to clean a bunch of litter boxes.” She smiled. “Care to help me with that? If not, I insist that you go back to the restaurant and wait for me there.”

Sandro laughed. “Still the wildcat! All right, I will help you. I have never been afraid of any kind of work.”

When Sigrid brought Sandro into the shelter’s welcome area, she saw that while these
gattare
may have mostly been senior citizens, they all still knew a beautiful man when they saw one. Body language changed, tone of voice changed and girlish giggling was barely stifled as he greeted each of them with a smooth, “
Piacere
,” and a kiss on both cheeks. Great, thought Sigrid. Even after menopause, there is no respite from men.

“He’s going to help me,” she said.

The ladies stared in disbelief. Sigrid found that amusing. They obviously didn’t think it odd for someone like her to be cleaning litter boxes, but for a man who looked and dressed like Sandro to do so?
Pazzo
! Crazy.

Sandro dutifully helped her, stopping though, to stare at all the cats in cages in the adoption centre. “
Poveri
,” he said. “The poor little things.”

When it came time to leave, the
gattare
again all huddled about, watching Sandro and giggling, a couple of them even winking at Sigrid. One of them approached Sigrid and took her aside, conspiratorially. “This man likes you very, very much,
Signora
Sigrid.”

“No, no, he doesn’t. You don’t know what is happening here,” said Sigrid.

“Yes, yes, I do. And I assure you, this man is, how do you say in English, smitten with you.”

Sigrid laughed and waved her off. “No, listen. I have to get going. I will see you all soon.
Ci vediamo
,
Signore
.”

“
Ci vediamo
.” More giggles as she left with Sandro.

Once up on the via Florida, Sigrid put on her helmet and walked to where she had parked Guido la Vespa. “I’ll meet you there,” she said. “I’m bringing Guido, as lovely as your Lancia is.”

“By all means, bring your Vespa. I haven’t got my Lancia with me. I’ve brought my Vespone. Do you want to see it? I’ve just parked it over here.”

Sigrid followed and saw a larger version of her bike, tan in colour. “It’s great,” she said. “Have you named it?”

Sandro shook his head. “Crazy girl. No, men don’t name their motorbikes. And most women don’t, either, just crazy Canadian girls. Anyway, now you have seen a Vespone, or ‘big wasp,’ in English. And you know that ‘Vespa’ means ‘wasp,’ don’t you?”

“Yes, I knew that. They were so named because supposedly that’s what they look like, wasps.”

“I can’t tell you anything, can I?”

“Obviously you can, since you’re forcing me out to the restaurant to apologize to your father in person, for something I’m sure he knows I didn’t mean to do and was done entirely in good cause.”

Sandro let out a sigh and put his hands out in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, look, just follow me on Guido. I don’t want to fight.”

The sight of Sandro from behind was distracting. He certainly looked enticing, no matter the environment or the angle—on a bike, in a restaurant, in a car, at an animal hospital or cat shelter, in bed…She managed to concentrate enough on road safety, though, to follow him through the route of winding back alleys and Roman boulevards he took to get to
La Capanna
.

Once there, they parked their bikes and removed their helmets, facing each other behind the patio where they had first met.

“I can’t believe it, Sandro.”

“What? You can’t believe what?”

“How come you don’t have helmet hair? I mean, your hair looks great in spite of the rain and the fact that you’ve had your helmet on.”

“Too bad I can’t say the same for you,” he replied, his mouth twitching into a smile. “You should see yourself right now.”

“Not sure I want to. Is there a ladies’ room in the restaurant? I don’t want to frighten your dad and if I look that terrible he might…”

“
Salve
.” A handsome, older man had stepped outside the patio into the laneway. Sigrid knew right away who it was and all of a sudden had an idea of how distinguished Sandro would look in forty years. “Who is your lovely friend,
mio figlio
?”

Sigrid began madly ruffling her hair and trying to duck behind Sandro.

“Stop, stop, you look lovely my dear. My name is Giuseppe Totti. I am Sandro’s father.
Piacere
,” he said, bowing so slightly and extending a hand to Sigrid.

“
Piacere
. My name is Sigrid O’Herlihy.”

Giuseppe Totti began laughing. “Oh, I’m afraid that is difficult for Italians.”

Sandro stepped in. “Just try ‘Sigrid,’
papà
.”

“And how do you know this lovely woman?
Americana, si
?”

“No, she’s Canadian.
And I met her the night I—well we, actually—trapped that gray cat that had you so worried.”

“
Davvero
? Really? Well please, come in, come in and be seated. Let’s have some coffee and biscotti. It’s not too late for a little more breakfast, is it?”

“Thank you,
Signor
Totti.”

“Giuseppe, please.”

“Your father is so nice,” Sigrid whispered to Sandro. “So what happened to you? Do you take after your mother?”

“Hey, never insult an Italian man’s mother,” he said, nudging her.

“I was just kidding.” Sigrid had to remind herself how Sandro had treated her and that she hated him, because he was intoxicating and being around him was causing her brain cells to leak right out of her head.

Seated at a table only a metre or two from where she and Sandro had begun their night of passion was discombobulating. Sandro caught her looking over at the bar many times and touched her calf with his foot, winking at her.

She felt herself blush and looked at his father. And she began to tell the tale of Pinot Grigio and how she probably knocked the alarm sensor off its spot, or at the very least disturbed the wiring.

Giuseppe looked amused. “My son neglected to tell me that he had help in rescuing that cat. He made it sound as though it were all his own doing.”

“Oh, did he? Fascinating.”

“Yes, he did. And I thought it was strange because he was never as passionate about animals as his old father.”

Sandro looked sheepish. “That isn’t important. What matters is the cat is okay and Sigrid has apologized for the broken alarm system. She was the one who climbed the fence, after all.”

“Oh that is nonsense, my son. She owes us no apology. None. She acted with good intentions. Honestly, Sandro, have you been making this poor girl feel guilty?”

Sigrid piped in. “It is not a problem, Giuseppe. I’m so pleased I got to come here and meet you.” And I’m also pleased to meet someone who can put bossy-boots Sandro Totti in his place, she thought.

“You are very generous. And I feel the same way. Now, I think I will leave you two young people alone. Sandro,” he said, eyeing his son knowingly. “Why don’t you take the afternoon off and visit some of the sites of Rome with this young lady and then come back here with her for dinner.”

“If you insist,
papà
, then it will be my pleasure.”

“I do. I don’t want her going back to Canada and saying Giuseppe Totti’s son is not welcoming to foreigners.”

“Oh, he’s been most welcoming already,” said Sigrid, kicking Sandro under the table. “He really needn’t show me around Rome.”

“I insist. It will do him good. You see, he has been most distracted around the restaurant lately, or so my staff tell me.”

“Really?” Sigrid smiled. “Distracted?” Maybe Sandro had been thinking about her as much as she had been thinking about him.

“Yes, also a bit severe with everyone. In fact…”

“
Basta
, enough. You’ve made a fine suggestion.” Sandro looked embarrassed. “I’ll be the very picture of a sunny Italian tour guide for our Canadian friend.”

“
Allora, buon pomeriggio
,” Giuseppe nodded at Sigrid as he left the table, and with him gone, Sigrid stood up. “I’ll just be going now, Sandro.”

“What are you talking about? You heard my father.”

“Well yes, I did. He is sweet. But you don’t want to spend the day with me anymore than I want to spend it with you.”

Sandro followed her out back. “That isn’t so. I want to spend the day with you. I do. And I think you feel the same way.”

Happy to see her stop in her tracks, he touched her shoulder. “Sigrid, it is my turn to apologize now. I was wrong to bring you here under false pretences today, but the truth is I wanted to see you. I have wanted to see you since that night.”

She faced him. “Really? Why?”

“Call it electricity or chemistry. Are you saying you didn’t have a great time and haven’t wanted to see me again?”