Italian Passion (3 page)

Vanessa stared back at Maria, stunned
by the girl’s vehemence. Frankly, it had not occurred to her that she could
continue her holiday alone. Yet, Maria was right. Why should she slink back to
Bristol like a whipped cur? Richard had left her and was now consoling himself
in Tara’s arms. She had looked forward to this holiday for months. Maybe it was
time she stopped running after a man who had never really wanted her. Maybe it
was time she did something just for herself.

“Okay,” Vanessa smiled back at Maria.
“Why not?”

***

Vanessa leant back in her seat and
raised her face to the warm sun. Then she lifted a glass flute to her lips and
took a sip of chilled
prosecco
.  Around her, the streets of Florence
pulsed with life. Scooters chugged past, mothers with children in prams
navigated the uneven pavement, lovers strolled arm in arm; and tourists, glued
to their cameras, edged their way past the street-side coffee bar where Vanessa
was taking her
aperitivo
– a before-dinner drink.

Taking another sip of the dry,
sparkling white wine, Vanessa silently thanked Maria for convincing her to stay
on in Tuscany for another five days. The hotel they had booked was perfect, and
her room was on the top floor, with a view over the Florentine skyline. To think
she had come close to missing this!

She flipped open her guidebook and
studied the map of Florence’s historic centre. There was so much to see that
she was not sure where to start. Tomorrow, she would start off with a wander
through the city’s famous leather market in the centre, before visiting the
Uffizi Gallery. Then, she would cross the river and visit the Boboli Gardens,
which were reputed to have an incredible view over the city. Snapping her
guidebook closed, Vanessa smiled. Now all she had to do was find a restaurant
to have dinner in, and enjoy the rest of her evening. This evening, she was not
going to get take-away pizza and feel sorry for herself.

Marco Tirelli was besotted. The cute
blonde four tables away had snared his attention from the moment she had sat
down, and he was attempting to gather the courage to approach her.

His friend, Ugo, was regaling him
with stories about his recent trip to Turkey, but Marco was only feigning
interest. His gaze kept stealing across to the girl, who sat sipping a flute of
prosecco
, bathed in sunlight. She had a sweet, elfin beauty and her
manner was so poised and content that she stood out a mile in the bar terrace
filled with chattering tourists and exclusive couples.

“Marco!” Ugo’s voice, tinged with
irritation, brought him sharply back to reality. “Are you actually listening to
me?”

“Er, sorry Ugo,” Marco brushed his
shaggy brown hair out of his eyes and gave his friend an apologetic smile.
“Your trip sounds really interesting, and usually I’d be hanging on every word
– but there’s a gorgeous girl over there who keeps distracting me.”

“What?” Ugo, his friend’s
transgression immediately forgotten at the mention of a beautiful woman, craned
his neck to the right, where Marco had kept glancing for the past fifteen
minutes. “Where? I can’t see her.”

Marco’s gaze shifted to the right, to
the table in the corner where the girl had been enjoying her
aperitivo
just moments earlier.

To his crushing disappointment Marco
realised that the table was empty.

***

Another beautiful morning dawned;
this one the hottest yet as spring inched towards summer. Vanessa got up early
and, against her better judgement, switched on her mobile phone. The mobile
trilled, and a message immediately appeared. It was from Richard.

Where are you?

Heart racing, Vanessa switched the
mobile off. 

Richard did not deserve to know where
she was. Vanessa slipped her phone into her handbag and made for the door. He
had nearly ruined her holiday once; she would not let him have a second attempt.

The hotel did not have a breakfast
room, so Vanessa had a typical Italian breakfast, standing shoulder-to-shoulder
with two impeccably dressed women at the coffee bar around the corner from the
hotel. She listened to the women ordering breakfast, marvelling at their crisp
accents, before copying them.

“
Un
cappuccino e cornetto per favore!”

It was noisy inside the bar, and
after she had finished her breakfast and wiped the crumbs from her blue
sleeveless summer shift, Vanessa ventured out into the street. Then, she
consulted her map and headed off in the direction of the leather market. In the
end, the market was easy to find – Vanessa just followed the crowds for a
couple of blocks before entering a square filled with stalls. The pungent smell
of cured leather greeted her as she stopped to inspect a stand selling leather
and suede jackets. Maybe, she should treat herself to one? The chocolate brown
suede jacket at the end of the rack looked a perfect fit, and she decided to
try it on.

Marco froze mid-step, causing the
American tourist walking just a few steps behind, to barrel into him.

It was her.

“Sorry,” Marco ignored the tourist’s
glare and stepped aside to let him pass, before glancing back at where he had
seen the blonde girl from yesterday standing, haggling with a stall owner over
a suede jacket.

She looked even lovelier than the day
before. Yesterday, her hair had been pulled back into a pony-tail, but today it
hung loose around her shoulders. She wore a clinging blue shift-dress that
finished just above the knee, revealing shapely calves above elegant wedge
sandals.

He had to ask her out, now before she
disappeared again.

At that moment, Marco’s mobile phone
began to ring. Cursing under his breath, he dug into his jeans pocket and
glanced down to see who was calling. It was his boss – he knew he had better
answer it.

“
Ciao Vincenzo, dimmi!
”

“Hi Marco,” his boss’s gravelly voice
echoed in Marco’s ear. “Sorry to bother you when you’re on leave, but I was
wondering if you could work tomorrow?”

“But I’m off until Wednesday.”

“I know, I know, but Carlo’s father
died this morning. We can cover him for today, but if you could come back a day
early, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Okay,” Marco agreed with a sigh.
They had all known that Carlo’s father was unwell so this should not have come
as a surprise. “What time do you want me to start?”

“At 2pm?”

“Sure, see you then.”

“Thanks Marco – I really appreciate
it.”

“No problem,” Marco rang off and
stuffed his mobile back in his pocket. It had been weeks since he’d had longer
than a day off at a time. His job as chef in a restaurant in the centre of
Florence was exhausting. It could be worse, he consoled himself. At least he
had today off.

Now, he had a girl to approach.

Marco glanced back at the stall,
expecting to see the blonde still haggling over the jacket. Yet, she had
disappeared, and the stall owner was chatting to someone else. Marco looked
around wildly, hoping to catch a glimpse of her in the crowd, before realising
that he had lost her for the second time.

***

Vanessa walked down the hill, through
the gates and out of the Boboli Gardens. Her feet were starting to ache, after
a day spent standing in queues, visiting the splendours of the Uffizi Gallery
and climbing up to the lookout at the top of the Gardens. After a full-day –
and with a beautiful new suede jacket to bring home – Vanessa was feeling
exhausted but happy. Now all she needed, before going back to her hotel to rest
for a few hours, was a
gelato
.

Fortunately, there was a tiny
gelateria
across the street from the entrance to the gardens. Vanessa paused while a
stream of traffic nosed its way past, before crossing to the other-side.
Waiting in the queue, she peered over the shoulder of the man in front of her
and tried to decipher the ice-cream flavours – they were so different to the
ones she was used to. Here she could choose pistachio, eggnog, nutella, custard
with nougat – and many other exotic flavours she had never seen before. Vanessa
reached the head of the queue. She could have gone with chocolate and
strawberry, but deciding she was tired of playing it safe, she instead ordered
a cone with eggnog, nutella and pistachio – topped with a dollop of whipped
cream. Then, attempting to eat her ice-cream without getting it all over her
nose, Vanessa stepped back out into the street. 

Marco Tirelli stepped out of the main
entrance to his building and pulled the heavy door closed behind him. Since
this was his last day off, he was damned if he was going to waste it sitting
around at home. His lack of luck in approaching the mysterious blonde girl he
had seen twice now, had made him feel a little despondent. He would have liked
to have asked her out for a coffee at least. Unlike many of his male friends,
who approached women with ease, Marco was often paralysed by shyness.
Sometimes, it cost him dearly.

Pocketing his keys, Marco turned
left, with the intention of taking a walk into the centre, across the famous
Ponte
Vecchio
and through the tangle of streets beyond.

Then he saw her.

She was standing on the pavement,
making a valiant attempt to eat an enormous ice-cream without spilling it down
her front. The sight of her made his heart race, and his palms break out into a
sweat. Yet, Marco swiftly made up his mind.

This time, he would not let her slip
away.

“Damn!” Vanessa looked down at where
a large gob of eggnog
gelato
had just dropped off her cone and was now
nestling in her cleavage. Italian women made eating
gelato
look so easy;
if only she could handle it with the same aplomb.

“Excuse me – do you need one of
these?” A man’s voice, in English with a lilting Italian accent, made Vanessa
look up into a pair of warm, chocolate-coloured eyes. A slender man with a mop
of light brown hair and a boyish face stood before her. He held out a tissue.

“Er, thank you,” Vanessa felt her
cheeks flame as she took the tissue from him. “I’m afraid I’m making a bit of a
mess.”

The man laughed and her stomach
dipped as she realised how much she liked the sound. “Don’t worry – you haven’t
seen me eat ice-cream. It’s a disaster.”

She guessed he was around thirty and
was dressed in well-fitting jeans and a loose t-shirt. There was something
incredibly magnetic about him. Flustered, Vanessa mopped discreetly at her
cleavage before giving him a shy smile.

“Thanks again.”

“No problem – I’m Marco.” He was
smiling at her, with a warm intensity that made Vanessa feel as if she was
standing next to the sun. She could see he had no intention of moving on once
he had come to her aid – and strangely, she did not mind.

“I’m Vanessa.”

“I’ve seen you around,” Marco
continued. Vanessa saw his cheeks flush slightly, despite his olive complexion.
“I saw you yesterday at a bar – and this morning at the leather market. I
couldn’t believe it when I saw you again. I thought I should introduce myself
and see whether you’d like to have dinner with me.”

Vanessa stared at him, stunned. He
had got the last two sentences out in such a rush, that she was not sure she
had heard him right. Was a complete stranger asking her out? This never happened
to her in Bristol – or anywhere for that matter.

“Excuse me?”

“Would you like to have dinner with
me this evening?” he was starting to look flustered and looking into his eyes,
Vanessa realised that he was struggling to keep his composure. This was no Italian
lothario but a shy man who had obviously worked up the courage to speak to her.
There was something in his gentle manner and warmth that made Vanessa trust
him. It seemed so long since a man showed genuine interest in her – especially
in the cold light of day while sober, that she welcomed his offer.

“Thank you Marco,” she smiled back at
him shyly. “I’d like that.”

Vanessa picked up her fork and dug it
into the plate of steaming
ravioli
in front of her. Then, she took a
mouthful and glanced across at Marco. He gave her a soft smile that melted her
insides.

Vanessa looked back down at her plate
and forced herself to concentrate on her delicious meal. This evening, she was
having to stop herself from grinning like an idiot. What had started off as the
holiday from hell, had turned into something magical. She had not thought
Florence could get any lovelier – that is, until she had met Marco Tirelli.
From the moment he had spoken to her, she had felt comfortable in his presence.
She knew it was folly to trust a complete stranger but her instincts told her
she was safe with Marco.

Once she had finished her
gelato
,
they had walked, chatting all the while, across to the
Ponte Vecchio
.
There, they had continued talking while they watched tourists amble back and
forth across the bridge and buy jewellery at one or other of the numerous gold
shops on the bridge. After that, they had walked back towards Piazza della
Signoria and taken an
aperitivo
together, in a street just behind the
Uffizi. Now, as the light faded and the sky turned indigo, they had sat down to
a meal together at Marco’s favourite restaurant.