Monday was quiet. And so was Dante, even though the tabloids who’d mentioned him had already turned their attention to a top minister having an affair. Wednesday arrived and his dark mood still hovered. It was his and Mary’s day off. That changed every week and this time coincided with their next five-thirty dance class. To help Enzo out, if Dante was ever off work, the day before he’d make plenty of pizza bases. The kitchen assistants knew the drill for applying toppings, although Dante’s regulars always knew when it wasn’t their favourite pizza-maker in the kitchen.
Mary sat opposite Dante at the breakfast table, having already been up a couple of hours, to make a fresh batch of biscuits. An old recipe from school called Melting Moments. These delicate, circular soft cookies literally disintegrated on the tongue and would be a great accompaniment to coffee, as long as customers realised they weren’t tough biscotti and couldn’t be dunked.
Natale had just left to drop Lucia off at a friend’s house for the day. Alfonso was downstairs, polishing the bar, even though there wasn’t a speck of dust or spilt drink. Over time Mary had worked out that when her boss was stressed, he worked as hard as a navvy. And the last few days, after the underground upset, he’d been up early to wash down the windows and sweep every millimetre of the floor.
‘It’s the first of August today,’ she said. ‘Two weeks exactly to the Lombardi List being announced – and our dance performance.’
Dante pulled a face. ‘I don’t think you and I are going to win. Paola’s been training Rocco every spare minute. Perhaps that’s why he is off-colour at the moment.’
‘How can you tell? Because I think you are right. He was rubbing his back most of yesterday.’ Rocco hadn’t looked right all week. He’d come in to work Monday snapping and irritable, with the palest of faces. Mary had tried to find out what was wrong but he’d just glowered. Just like he had when Mary first arrived.
‘His footsteps have moved much more slowly. And his voice … there is a quieter, more tired tone.’
‘Perhaps he is worried about Fortuna?’ Mary’s heart squeezed at the thought of that adorable mutt giving birth in some dirty makeshift kennel.
Dante’s brow furrowed.
‘You know – the dog he feeds every night. Didn’t he tell you she’s pregnant?’
‘No!’
‘Angelo won’t change his mind about pets being pests, so she can’t stay in Rocco’s flat.’ Mary bit into her pastry, generously spread with plum jam. As the deep, sweet taste swept across her tongue, Dante dropped into silence. She cleared her throat. ‘I was wondering – today … unless you’ve got other plans … would you do me a favour?’
‘Of course.’
Mary’s chest glowed. He always did that. If a family member or friend asked him for help, he’d say yes before knowing what they wanted – yes before knowing what she wanted. No one had ever been there for her, like that.
‘I’ve been here a few weeks and have managed to visit the Coliseum, the Roman Forum, various parks, and the Vatican … but I still haven’t been up close to the river Tiber. Natale told me about a lovely little restaurant, right down by the water. Bella Barca.’
A muscle in his cheek flinched.
‘I don’t fancy going on my own. How about you let me treat you? The upside to the increased business of the tourist season is the amount of my tips.’
‘You are so sweet, Mary,’ he said, in a flat voice. ‘But honestly. I’m okay. I don’t need a trip out to lift my spirits and probably wouldn’t be good company.’
So much for being subtle. ‘I … don’t have an agenda, Dante, just thought it would be nice to—’
He raised his hand.
‘Fair enough. Guilty as charged. But there’s no crime in trying to be there, for a friend. So go on. Humour me. I wasn’t lying. It won’t be as much fun to go by myself.’
Dante shrugged.
‘Hold on a second.’ Mary disappeared into her bedroom and came back with her fist curled. She sat down. Took Dante’s hand and unfurled her fingers. In the middle of her palm lay a jagged crystal. She gave it to him.
She’d never given one of her crystals to someone before – Lucia, who borrowed them anyway, didn’t count. But her chest had ached all week at the pain she’d seen etched in Dante’s face.
‘What colour is it?’ he murmured.
‘Shades of lilac and purple. Shiny. Beautiful. It’s amethyst that is good for emotions. For sensitive people. It has healing properties. I often keep a stone in my back pocket.’
Dante rubbed the crystal between his thumb and forefinger, before slipping it into the back of his jeans.
‘Grazie mille, cara Mary.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Although I’m fully aware it is also a bribe – to get me down to the river. Am I right?’
Mary grinned and nodded.
‘Are you nodding?’
Mary chuckled. Good. His humour had returned, at least for a second.
‘A bribe? I’m saying nothing,’ she said and stood up to clear the breakfast dishes away.
However, his low spirits had returned by the time they arrived at the restaurant. A small, timber, square-shaped building, with white painted frames, lots of windows, and potted plants. He led the way, past the wicker tables and chairs as if he worked there, and chose one of the furthest tables, right by the river. He sat down. The waiter arrived and adjusted the parasol so that they were both in the shade.
Dante ordered a Coke, Mary a lemonade.
‘It’s beautiful. So tranquil.’ She fanned herself with the menu and gazed down at the river bank. Car horns sounded in the distance, but didn’t drown out the rushing current of water and the quack of a passing duck. It was a very suburban river, with a tall concrete bank on the far side and the sparsest vegetation near to them. The Tiber’s turquoise shades beautifully contrasted with the stone bridge across it that boasted a warm golden retriever colour not dissimilar to Oro’s, thanks to the midday sun.
‘Do you want me to read out the menu?’ said Mary.
‘No. I’ll just have a Pizza Romana, please. And the pesto salad.’
‘I don’t know how you can eat anchovies.’ Mary scanned the list of dishes. ‘Don’t you ever get bored of pizza?’
‘Don’t you ever get bored of chocolate?’
‘Fair comment!’
The waiter took their order and they sat in silence. Dante put down his Coke and gave a sigh. ‘I guess you want to talk about this last week.’
‘Not unless you want to but, look, it wasn’t your fault, Dante. No one could have foreseen what the terrorist would do.’ Those words came from her heart but sounded trite. No doubt he’d heard them from other people, many times.
‘I should have been able to protect Hugo. I don’t blame his family. They were furious and slammed the phone down on me when I tried to change their mind about letting me go to the funeral. And then there was Mamma …’
What had his mum got to do with this?
‘You probably thought it strange that I rushed to the underground. When there was that safety scare. I just … it’s in my bones to try and look out for people.’
His frustration hung in the air.
Their meals arrived and Mary marvelled at the vibrant colours of Dante’s lettuce and pesto.
‘How did you know they’d serve that particular type of salad?’ she asked and almost closed her eyes in ecstasy as she savoured a plump pocket of tortellini pasta stuffed with spinach and ricotta.
Dante put down his knife and fork. He turned to face the river. ‘Do you see, directly across from here, there is a low hole in the wall?’
Mary squinted. ‘Yes.’
‘Sometimes rats nest in it.’ He turned back and shrugged. ‘Before going blind, I used to come here a lot. This was my favourite meal.’
‘You came with Natale?’
Dante pushed away his plate. After a moment’s contemplation, he took the amethyst out of his back pocket and rubbed it between his fingers.
‘Do you really think this works?’ he whispered.
‘Yes. I do.’
He bit his top lip. ‘I used to come here with my girlfriend. My ex-girlfriend. Alessia. Many a romantic evening we spent here. My home town – or rather city – is truly beautiful, lit up under the stars. I miss seeing that.’
Her chest tightened. Girlfriend? Something shifted inside her. Left her feeling uncomfortable. What was this Alessia like? As glamorous as her name? Had she worked in the force with Dante? Why had he fallen in love with her? Was this the woman who had broken his heart? Did … did he still have feelings for her?
So many questions.
‘I’m sorry – I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have suggested coming here if—’
‘Don’t worry. Perhaps it will do me good to visit old ground. I haven’t been back since I lost my sight – and lost her.’
‘Oh … was she sick?’
He gave a wry smile. ‘Si. You could say that. She was sick of me. Sick of my blindness. She fell in love with the Dante of old, a capable policeman. Then, because of me Hugo died and—’
‘Whoa! Stop right there. Hugo died because of that terrorist. I won’t allow any of that wallowing.’
‘How dare you!’ he hissed and a couple next to them tried their hardest not to stare. ‘If you’d been there …’
‘You lost a best friend. Blamed yourself. I lost both my parents. Spent years thinking it was my fault.’ She reached across and squeezed his hand. ‘I don’t pretend to know what you went through but I do know – from personal experience – that dwelling on the past serves no purpose and can only have damaging consequences.’
He shook her off.
‘It’s been a long journey for me, but one thing I’ve learnt to recognise is that the feelings of guilt, of being hard done by – that’s just my negative view.’ Mary shrugged. ‘And I can change that if I want – or hold on to it. You didn’t pull the trigger and shoot Hugo. You did the very best that you could at that moment in time – and no one blames you for that apart from a few cowardly anonymous officers who probably exaggerated their views to get as much money as they could from the papers. As for his family, they were grieving, Dante. That twists perspective. You are human – just like everyone else. Life gets messy but it is in your hands to turn things around.’
Mary’s body shook. She’d sounded just like her friend Jill. Where had those words come from? But they were the truth. The longer she stayed in Italy, the more Mary realised that her future, her destiny, it was down to her. ‘So … your girlfriend left you?’
Dante pursed his lips. ‘Just before the attack we decided to get married. She asked me. That was very Alessia.’
A spike of … she wasn’t sure what, pierced Mary’s chest. Was Dante still pining for his ex?
‘We’d been planning the wedding. Or, rather, Alessia had. She’d already chosen the dress and drawn up a list of one hundred guests. She’d wanted doves, ice sculptures …’ His shoulders drooped. ‘But she wasn’t used to having to care for me. Alessia did her best, in the beginning but … well, guess I wasn’t the most even-tempered patient.’
‘And understandably!’ Mary said, as heat rose through her chest. How could this woman have abandoned Dante when he needed her most? Water thinner than blood? But hadn’t they been in love?
‘The worst bit …’ His voice became hoarse. ‘She admitted to me – at the end – that she just didn’t feel the same about me, romantically, any more. I wasn’t the big protector. She felt she had to look out for me, instead. I hadn’t got Oro then and was much more dependent.’
‘This is the twenty-first century, Dante,’ she said and shook her head. ‘Couples should look out for each other. It’s all about teamwork. Equality. Why shouldn’t she have become your protectress?’
He shrugged. ‘You can’t fight instincts. Take my male ones, I mean …’ He gave a lopsided smile. ‘I love your clumsiness. It makes me want to look out for you.’ His mouth downturned. ‘Not literally, of course – because I can’t see, but …’
Mary’s stomach flipped. Don’t get carried away. He loved her clumsiness – that was hardly a declaration of love.
They ate in silence. Mary watched a seagull fly overhead. It made her realise how much Dante really had lost – not only his sense of freedom but also his sense of identity. Alessia couldn’t cope with that and so he lost her too. Mary guessed it must have been hard for her as well.
Poor Dante. How it must have shattered his trust. And then on top of that, because of Hugo’s death, he’d suffered so much guilt.
After the waiter cleared their table, they sat drinking coffee. Dante took out the crystal again and held it in the air.
‘This really does work,’ he mumbled. ‘I feel much better. Thanks, Mary. I’ve never been able to tell anyone all of that before.’
Really? He’d confided in her first? She blinked rapidly. Not many people had done that, in the past. They’d always had someone closer to tell. ‘But your family know that she ended it?’
‘I said it was mutual but I think they guessed. I was pretty upset for a while.’
Mary thought back to the night they’d kissed and wished she could take him to that place of ecstasy again so that, for a few seconds, he could forget the last two years.
However, running away from things, whether that was to another country or to a place of pleasure, offered no solutions. Mary could see now that Jill was right, with her talk of doing a geographical. The only way to get through life was to face things head on.
‘Come on,’ she said, after paying, and scraped back her chair. ‘Time we got moving or we’ll be late for dance class.’
As they left the restaurant Mary tentatively linked her arm through his. She glanced sideways at him. A small smile crept across his lips.
Life was weird! And wonderful. Like rainbows, made up of sunshine and rain. Only a few weeks ago they couldn’t have been more distant.
‘So where did you go, Sunday?’ she asked, warmth spreading through her limbs as she soaked up this new, contented familiarity between them. That new sense of belonging enveloped her as images came into her head of having breakfast with Dante, Natale, and Lucia and late-night mochaccinos with him, in the square. The hugs with Alfonso as he twirled the ends of his moustache. The kitchen dance moves with Enzo. And then there was Oro who really seemed to have taken to Mary and when “off-duty” would creep onto the sofa and sleep with her head on her lap.
‘Oh … nowhere important …’ he said and quickened the pace.
‘Don’t tell me – you’re secretly training with a different dance partner,’ she teased.
‘No. I … was staying with a colleague of mine.’
‘They like dogs, then.’
‘Like everyone, he loves Oro.’
It was true. The retriever had such a gentle nature – unless she thought Dante’s safety was under threat. Take last week when children had run in his direction, outside the restaurant, bouncing a ball. Protectively Oro had stood in front of her master until they’d passed, looking very stern indeed.
‘He lives in a quiet suburb, over the other side of the city.’
‘Sounds like a welcome break, compared to the noisiness of the piazza.’
‘Si. I felt anonymous. It was good. In fact …’ He stopped and turned to face her. ‘The family have known I’ve been thinking about this for a while. The flat next to his is up for rent. After recent events, I’ve finally decided – I’m moving out of Pizzeria Dolce Vita and into the vacant flat.’