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One Summer in Rome: a deliciously uplifting summer romance!
Samantha Tonge
‘A taste of Italy and a summer read you won’t forget!’ Mandy BaggotTo Rome…with love?Mary Smith is turning her very ordinary life upside-down! She’s bought herself a one-way ticket to Rome and is ready for a summer she’ll never forget.Men might be off the cards for waitress Mary, but within hours of arriving at the utterly charming family-run La Dolce Vita pizzeria, she’s already fallen in love with the bustling capital!Only Dante Rossi, the mysterious (and drop-dead gorgeous) chef seems displeased with her arrival. And in the heat of the kitchen, it doesn’t take long for long-buried secrets to surface and sparks to fly…A deliciously heartwarming romance to have you dreaming of summer. Perfect for fans of Debbie Johnson and Caroline Roberts.Praise for One Summer in Rome:‘Food, family and a Roman romance – this is the perfect summer read!’ Heidi Swain‘A book you won’t regret picking up if you love Jenny Colgan or Cathy Bramley’s books!’ Being Unique Books‘A perfectly uplifting story to enjoy in the sunshine!’ Fraser’s Fun House‘A charming novel!’ The Library Corner‘I couldn’t put this book down… A truly beautiful read.’ Nemesis Book Blog‘Light-hearted and feel-good.’ Pretty Little Book Reviews‘A lovely and summery read!’ The Cosiest Corner


To Rome…with love?
Mary Smith is turning her very ordinary life upside-down! She’s bought herself a one-way ticket to Rome and is ready for a summer she’ll never forget.
Men might be off the cards for waitress Mary, but within hours of arriving at the utterly charming family-run La Dolce Vita pizzeria, she’s already fallen in love with the bustling capital!
Only Dante Rossi, the mysterious (and drop-dead gorgeous) chef seems displeased with her arrival. And in the heat of the kitchen, it doesn’t take long for sparks to fly…
A deliciously heartwarming romantic comedy to have you dreaming of summer. Perfect for fans of Debbie Johnson and Caroline Roberts.
One Summer in Rome
Samantha Tonge


ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES
Copyright (#ulink_48adf52c-63d5-5708-9523-45d62ccd9da5)


An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018
Copyright © Samantha Tonge 2018
Samantha Tonge asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © May 2018 ISBN: 9780008239176
Version: 2018-03-21
SAMANTHA TONGE lives in Cheshire with her lovely family and a cat who thinks it’s a dog. Along with writing, her days are spent willing cakes to rise and avoiding housework. A love of fiction developed as a child, when she was known for reading Enid Blyton books in the bath. A desire to write bubbled away in the background whilst she pursued other careers, including a fun stint working at Disneyland Paris. Formally trained as a linguist, Samantha now likes nothing more than holing herself up in the spare room, in front of the keyboard. Writing contemporary romance novels is her passion.
samanthatonge.co.uk (http://samanthatonge.co.uk/)
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For Martin, Immy and Jay.
Thanks for the memories we made together in Rome.
Piano! Piano!
Contents
Cover (#u19ed8554-7b56-5995-9d4e-6cf2c63f37ec)
Blurb (#u341f91e6-1176-5631-80bd-0bc477a92ff9)
Title Page (#ubbbda372-bdac-5755-aa98-99f4d7048710)
Copyright (#ulink_d37cf87f-f147-5080-8910-e25a9a7e20d7)
Author Bio (#udd164454-350b-501d-b236-c8584415bcd4)
Dedication (#ua9571a10-8260-5a31-8a56-092f4b56cbb0)
Chapter One (#ulink_6e8fd435-6309-532e-8ca5-d88c71e05ebb)
Chapter Two (#ulink_b5693019-08f8-5644-b5d7-37bc32a245b0)
Chapter Three (#ulink_f8276186-fe35-56fe-bec2-2a746e4e7727)
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Acknowledgements (#ub3a2b91d-eb18-5068-85b2-db121bf73c8a)
Excerpt (#uc41d1649-01fe-53ae-b899-35a3a7fce1a7)
Endpages (#u7084ad95-f20c-536c-9f62-281107168255)
About the Publisher
Chapter One (#ulink_d52a2f22-8498-5530-9da2-2d04d888bdbe)
‘Excuse me! Sorry, was that your bag?’ Mary bent down to set the small case upright and under the glare of its owner, squeezed her way through the crowds. An out-of-breath Jill followed closely, red in the face due to lack of oxygen and the indignant comments of passengers inadvertently pushed out the way. But Mary had precisely thirty minutes left to check in and board. Finally she reached the appropriate desk and handed over her passport and paperwork.
How had this happened? Plain Mary Smith heading for Rome? A wry smile crossed her face. She blamed the travel agency, located right next to the job centre. On finally quitting her waitressing position at The Black Swan pub, she’d been determined to sign on. However, in the window of the shop next door was a stunning poster of the Coliseum. Ten minutes later, Mary found herself heading home with a bagful of Italian holiday brochures. Until the early hours, she flicked through them, each turn of a page increasing her flurry of excitement.
‘We’ve closed,’ said a tight-lipped young woman, after casting a cursory eye over Mary’s details. ‘This flight has had its last call.’
Jill, The Black Swan’s chef, caught up. ‘Huge apologies. You see the traffic …’
The woman raised one eyebrow as if she’d heard it all before.
‘My young friend can run fast,’ said Jill and she gave a beaming smile. ‘All she needs is for you to weigh that luggage.’
The check-in assistant consulted her watch and shook her head, ponytail swishing like a horse’s tail irritated by a fly.
‘Come on, Jill. Let’s go. It doesn’t matter,’ said Mary, feeling like a customer who tried to buy a drink after last orders. ‘I’m not going to beg to go on a trip I’m having doubts about anyway. I should never have handed in my notice.’ Perhaps this was fate’s way of saying … her? Rome? That’s make-believe. Mary didn’t know whether the tension in her stomach was disappointment or relief.
Jill shook her head and Mary studied the greying curls and wrinkle-free cheeks, filled out by nature’s own Botox – a love of carbs. This friendship represented the closest relationship she’d ever had – apart from Jake.
‘You should have left months ago,’ said Jill. ‘I only stay because the hours suit for looking after Dave. Brenda falsely accused you of undercharging a customer – again. She’s never happy. Why would you want to work again for the landlady from hell?’
Because, Jill, experience has taught me that change could make things worse. Aged eight, she’d been so excited to leave her second set of foster parents. Their biological daughter hated Mary and the bathroom smelt. But the third couple couldn’t get rid of her quick enough when they unexpectedly found themselves expecting a child of their own.
A puzzled look on her face, the assistant leant forward. ‘Don’t you want to go on holiday? Or at the least have a fortnight of the most fabulous ice cream?’
‘Holiday? No. It’s a one-way trip. You’ll be doing me a favour, to be honest. Take the decision out of my hands, because I can’t afford to buy another flight.’ She shrugged. ‘As if I could reinvent myself in the sunshine … I don’t know what I was thinking when I booked my ticket.’
‘Last-minute nerves,’ mouthed Jill, speaking as if she were sharing something taboo.
The check-in assistant stared for a moment. ‘I’m all for reinventions,’ she said, eventually, in much friendlier tones. ‘Take last year, when my boyfriend dumped me. I dyed my hair blonde. Applied for this job. I’m dating an air steward now.’
With supersonic speed she weighed the small navy case. Mary swallowed. So this was really happening? Half-heartedly she took the boarding ticket and muttered her thanks. They left the check-in desk.
‘Right, off you go,’ said Jill. ‘We made it. No regrets now. It’s too late for those.’
Unable to budge, Mary bit her thumbnail. ‘But what if I’m making a mistake? Now that I’m here …’ She gazed at her passport. ‘What was I thinking? People like me don’t—’
‘Stop right there. Don’t write yourself off. We all have the potential to achieve whatever we want.’ Gently Jill reached out for Mary’s hand and moved it away from her mouth. ‘We’ve been through this – over and over since I picked you up three hours ago. You have nothing to lose …’
‘Just my self-esteem if I fail.’
‘Rome is beautiful …’
‘So is Hackney. Kind of. At night. If you squint.’
‘… and you love pizza …’
‘I hate tiramisu.’
‘… and what could be worse than working for Brenda?’
Jill had got Mary there. Still. This was like a bungee jump except there was no elasticised cord. No safety net. No back-up plan in case things went wrong.
‘I don’t understand. At first you were so cautious about me taking this job.’ Mary stared at the floor. ‘I know I’ve moaned a lot since Jake left. Sorry about that. At least you won’t have to put up with my romantic problems once I’ve taken that flight.’ She gave an extra bright laugh. ‘You’ll probably be glad to see the back of me.’
‘Poppet …’
Mary lifted her head.
‘You know our friendship means the world to me. These last few months …’ Jill’s voice broke. ‘You’ve been so supportive, listening to me talk through all my worries about Dave. I don’t know how I’d have managed without you …’ her eyes glistened as she smiled ‘… or your particularly uplifting triple chocolate cookies. But I’ve seen such a change in you, these last couple of weeks – until you started having reservations as departure day loomed. Your whole face has upturned as if gravity is having the opposite effect. And you’ve never been so animated as last Tuesday night when you came around to show off that Italy guide book.’ Jill straightened up. ‘So I’m not going to be selfish and persuade you to stay. Now pull yourself together this instant. You can always come back if it doesn’t work out.’
‘But I’ve got no flat. No job,’ she whispered.
‘You’ve got the sofa in my lounge,’ Jill whispered back. ‘I’ll miss you heaps …’ Her voice wavered. ‘But it’s not as much as you’ll be missing if you turn down this chance. Dave is right.’
And with that, Jill delivered the sucker punch. Mary nodded as the words of her friend’s ill husband came to mind. He had acute lymphocytic leukaemia. The prognosis wasn’t good. Go for it, Mary. Step out of your comfort zone because there is nothing comfortable about regrets when you’re facing your own personal journey of no return.
Mary stared at her friend and allowed herself to be wrapped in those squidgy arms. Jill always wore the same sandalwood body spray. Mary breathed it in and hoped to retain the memory of that fragrance. It might be months before she smelt it again.
So, Mary Smith was really going to jack in her London life. Toby and Tilly, the little twins she babysat next door to her flat, in the tower block, had both burst into tears. They called her Mary Berry. With a wry smile Mary wondered who they’d miss more – her or her biscuits.
This was it. Mary Smith was on the move. Heading across the Channel to work in the exotic-sounding Pizzeria Dolce Vita.
‘Okay, okay, this is the right decision,’ said Mary.
‘It absolutely is,’ said Jill, ‘as long as … just bear in mind …’ She shuffled from foot to foot.
Mary raised an eyebrow.
‘As long as you aren’t doing a geographical.’
‘What do you mean?’
Jill bit her lip. ‘Much as I’m going to miss you, there was another reason I was cautious about this move, at first. Just don’t expect to escape all your inner … your inner …’
‘Issues?’ said Mary and she smiled. ‘Just you wait and see – I’m leaving all of that particular baggage well behind.’ The baggage of being the little girl nobody wanted. Oh, Mary had understood once she got older – prospective adoptive parents wanted a baby, not a shy five-year-old who soon became eight, eleven, fourteen … but those feelings of rejection never left and they made it all the harder when Jake had dumped her.
Mary stood taller. One thing was for sure: she wouldn’t be looking for romance in Rome.
‘That’s what Sarah thought,’ said Jill, softly. Her niece had just got back from Rome. Mary was replacing her as a waitress, at Pizzeria Dolce Vita. ‘She took the job to escape the baggage of her stressful career in the city but the problem wasn’t the job, it was her perfectionist streak – Sarah believing she was never good enough. And it caught up with her big time. Whilst working for Alfonso, she also did evening courses in Italian culture and wine-tasting …’
‘That’s why she had another breakdown and had to come back?’
Jill nodded.
‘Well, you know what? That’s helped me realise leaving is so the right decision because my problems are nothing like Sarah’s.’ She kissed Jill on the cheek and fingered the black haematite bead bracelet around her slim wrist. One of the heavier crystals from her collection, it bore the power to boost self-confidence.
She pictured a dusky pink sunset behind the Vatican. Comforting bowls of spaghetti. Laughing street entertainers in one of the many piazzas. ‘You don’t need to worry, Jill. This is my fresh start and I’m more than capable of leaving my demons well and truly behind.’ She gave a broad smile. ‘It’s going to be the answer to all my troubles.’
Chapter Two (#ulink_db98cb8d-06cb-534c-bd2e-1f38100c7532)
The aeroplane revved its engines, turned onto the runway, and took off. Heart pounding, Mary looked out of the window and watched a nearby city shrink into a Lego village. The pilot could be drunk. What if a terrorist was aboard? Perhaps they’d hit a storm?
Okay. Deep breaths. Mary needed to think baking – that always calmed her down. ‘There isn’t anything a good biscuit can’t cure,’ one of her foster mums would declare. At the time Mary agreed as, instead of receiving sorely craved hugs, she’d been given comforting sweet treats in abundance. It was hard when the following foster couple had introduced a strict, calorie-controlled diet. Kale instead of cake? That plan was never going to encourage a close relationship between fourteen-year-old Mary and her new carers.
Knuckles white, she clenched a smooth, coffee-coloured crystal in her hand. The plane was bound to crash. It was so heavy. Massive in length, with nothing underneath to support it. As the engines eased, Mary tore her glance away from the windows. Watching light, fluffy cloud only served to reinforce her sense of fragility. Instead, she gazed around at the June holidaymakers who had smugly beaten the July schools-off tourist crush. Happy faces filled the length of the plane and the female flight attendants, especially, were just as smart as she’d expected, with their pencil skirts and full make-up.
Mary was the only person travelling on her own – or so it had seemed, until a businessman had sat down next to her. He was middle-aged with eyelashes so thick they made up for the receding hairline.
Hands shaking a little, she flicked through the in-flight magazine.
‘Nervous flier?’ asked a deep voice.
Mary smiled shyly.
‘Nothing to be ashamed of. I’m always glad to land safely on the other side. I’m John. John Jones.’
Her shoulders relaxed. It was nice to meet someone with a name as boring as hers. ‘Mary Smith. And I don’t really know about being nervous. I’ve never flown before.’
His eyes crinkled. ‘It’s one of the safest forms of travel. The worst bit is over now. So, this will be your first trip abroad? Rome is an excellent choice.’
Why couldn’t she have made her first big journey a girls’ break in Ibiza or day trip with school? Oh no, Mary’s had to be on the back of ditching her old life – lock, stock, and barrel. She slipped the in-flight magazine back into the pouch on the seat in front and gazed at the crystal in her hand. Beautiful it was, with its cappuccino shades.
John nudged her elbow. ‘That your lucky charm?’ He delved into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small, pink teddy on a key ring. Its fur was worn and it was missing one eye. ‘My young daughter insists that I carry this. Says that Little Ted will keep an eye on me. One eye, literally.’
Pulse slowing, Mary grinned. ‘That’s really sweet.’
He returned the teddy to his pocket and nodded at the stone. ‘My sister’s into healing crystals. They helped her through a rough patch last year. Never goes anywhere without her rose quartz bracelet. As you probably know it’s—’
‘The crystal of love.’ Mary smiled. ‘Yes. It can help you move on from heartbreak or a broken friendship.’
John’s face turned purple for a second. ‘Treated like dirt, she was, by her ex-husband. But one year on and she’s met a decent bloke.’
Mary loved her crystals. Believed wholly that they worked, but she had stashed her rose quartz away after Jake left. She was convinced nothing or no one could ever unbreak her heart.
‘Which crystal is that?’ he asked. ‘What’s it supposed to—’
Mary squirmed.
John groaned. ‘Jeez. Listen to me, getting carried away. Ignore me. The missus is always telling me to curb my chat. But it goes with the job, you see. I’m an international recruitment consultant. I ask people questions for a living.’ He smiled. ‘It’s too easy to get stuck in business mode and be a right nosy parker.’
She was being precious. John’s sister had crystals, so he wouldn’t judge. ‘It’s okay. This is quartz too – smoky quartz, a protective crystal, great for travelling. I’ve got some yellow citrine in my handbag, as well – that’s the crystal of good fortune. It should help me take my life in a new direction and bring prosperity and success.’ She shrugged. ‘Not that it’s money I’m after. Just a new chapter.’ Her voice wavered. ‘A better life, I guess.’
John eyed her curiously and then reached down and pulled a dog-eared book out of his briefcase. ‘I don’t know much about crystals. My sister tried to explain how they work. Something to do with atomic vibrations …’
Mary nodded.
‘Talking of chapters, I’m more of a self-help book man. Found them really useful, over the years. You know the sort – Become a Millionaire in One Year.’
‘That clearly worked, seeing as you’re stuck in Economy,’ she said and gave a shy grin.
John chuckled. ‘No. But it gave me some ideas on how to push my career forwards. Anyway …’ He passed Mary the book. She didn’t grip tight enough and it almost slipped to the floor. She swallowed. Jake always used to playfully tease her for being clumsy. ‘This is my current favourite.’
‘Hook, Line, and Sinker,’ said Mary. Her brow knitted. ‘No offence, but I’m not interested in learning about fishing.’
John chuckled again. A warm sound it was, and comforting, like hearty soup simmering on a stove. ‘Me neither. No, this book is about setting goals and achieving them. It’s helped me get fit and draw up a savings plan so that the missus and me can eventually move house.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Have you got a job lined up?’ John pretended to bite his fist. ‘Aarghh, Mr Parker is doing it again …’
Mary slipped the crystal into her shorts’ pocket and smiled. ‘In a pizzeria. With lodgings. It was too good an opportunity to miss.’
He gave a low whistle. ‘Good on you. That takes guts. So, where do you see yourself in five years? What’s your plan?’
‘Should I have one?’ Up until now, her plan had just been to take one day at a time. Pay the rent. And her bills. Hold down a job. Be independent.
‘Good grief, yes. Otherwise life just passes you by. At around your age, let me see …’ He thought for a moment. ‘I gave myself five years to buy my own car and put down a deposit on a home. And I managed that – albeit the wheels were an old banger and the new pad a tiny flat.’
The flight attendant offered them a drink and crisps, whilst Mary digested everything John had said. Perhaps this was her problem – she rarely made concrete plans for the future. There would have been no point in having aspirations, as a child. Her life was wholly in the hands of others. But now could she really, finally, work towards building a solid future of her own volition?
‘Hook, Line, and Sinker contains some great tips,’ said John and yawned. ‘It helps you set realistic goals, so that you aren’t heading for disappointment. It doesn’t matter how small and it says to concentrate on three areas – work, health, and love.’ He yawned again. ‘Right, I’m going to get some shut-eye. Little Ted’s owner kept me and her mum up most of the night.’
As he snuggled back into his seat, Mary looked through the book. Work, health, and love. She could do that – make three resolutions. She stared out of the window and awe extinguished fear as she marvelled at wisps of cloud. If humans could put a giant metal bird in the air then she could take control of her destiny.
First, work – learning to assert herself had to be the number one goal. Landlady Brenda had walked all over her. At twenty-six the legacy of a life in care was that she still feared being rejected by anyone holding an important position in her life. That meant she put up with being taken advantage of, when it came to the nine to five. What if her new boss had the biggest Italian temper? Or didn’t let her keep tips? So that was her first resolution – to stand up for herself at work, whatever the cost, even if it meant returning to England within the first month.
Secondly, health. She took out her iPod and put in her earphones. Her favourite pop salsa song came on. Of course! She should learn to dance. It has always been a dream since she’d first started watching her favourite ballroom dancing television programme. The sparkles and spray tans offered such an escape from the daily humdrum. Back in England she’d felt too self-conscious to join a ballroom class. It meant dancing with a partner and Jake would have rather spent an hour in a straitjacket than Lycra. But in Rome, no one would know her. Okay. So that was her second resolution decided upon.
Now for love. Jake’s last ever words to her still resounded in her ears. Don’t say I didn’t invite you to join me. For Christ’s sake, most people would jump at the chance of moving to Dubai! But not you. Well suit yourself – and thanks for helping me waste the last year of my life.
Santa beards of cloud, floating by, became blurry as she turned down the music. One year. That was the longest she’d ever dated anyone. Her chest tightened as she recalled the feeling of normality she’d revelled in, at becoming part of a couple. She’d come the nearest ever, with him, to emotionally letting go – or rather, letting him in. She’d risked getting close and had opened up her most vulnerable areas … shared some of her fears and dreams.
Mary had dared ask the question – could he be The One? Yet still she’d held back from telling him the things she’d never even told Jill. Just in case, like everyone else, he left – a defence mechanism she appreciated now. They’d had a terrible argument, in the end. He’d shouted that she suffered from attachment disorder – blamed her biological parents.
Mary squeezed her eyes tight. It had been hard to explain to him exactly why she couldn’t commit. But it was nothing to do with her birth mum and dad. She’d never met her father and up until the age of five, from what she could remember, had only felt love from her mum. Whereas her grandparents – that was a different matter. She recalled no hugs nor kind words, yet couldn’t blame them for giving her up. Time had given her perspective, as had getting to know Toby and Tilly next door. A small child was a lot of work for a couple who were heading towards their seventies – and who’d been estranged from their daughter.
‘Talk about an ice queen!’ Jake had shouted. ‘Didn’t the last twelve months mean anything?’
Maybe he should have worked it out – that, in fact, the last year had meant so, so much. That was why she felt hurt that he was effectively abandoning her, just like every person in her childhood. Oh, he’d asked her to go with him, but his plans – his future – were already in place. Cancelling or postponing Dubai, if she said no, never got a mention. Jake was leaving, regardless of her decision.
‘I’d be mad to turn down an opportunity like this,’ he’d said.
‘If anyone’s got attachment problems it’s you,’ a heartbroken Mary had muttered and she swore that her heart actually broke in two ragged halves that could never fit together again.
Jake was just like the social workers who passed her case on. Just like the foster parents who got pregnant or moved abroad. Mary never felt like she truly belonged. Social Services didn’t encourage the use of the words “Mum” and “Dad” and that was hard for a little girl. Plus, looking back, Mary could see that the front she’d put on had probably fooled foster parents. The stories she’d heard, of other foster children, made her realise she must have appeared to be quite solid. Unaffected. Strong.
‘You’re lucky,’ said one social worker. ‘My last client is four and has never seen a piece of fruit.’
‘What a relief to look after a child who’s so well behaved,’ said one foster parent. ‘In the past we’ve opened our wallets to children but still they’ve stolen from shops. You’re a good girl.’
And she was. Clean and tidy. She’d never committed a crime. Mary went to school. The records and diaries her carers had to keep were probably very short. And because of that, they’d never guessed that inside she was howling for attention.
Perhaps she expected too much of grown-up life – to be someone’s Number One. And she tried to remind herself that there were always others who were worse off.
Mary opened her eyes and sat up straighter in the aeroplane seat. She shook herself. Rome was about her future, not her past.
‘Get a grip and stop feeling sorry for yourself, Mary Smith,’ she murmured. She reached into her handbag and pulled out an envelope. Sarah had given it to Jill who had passed it on, a couple of days ago. Apparently Alfonso had sent strict instructions for her to open it on the flight. Naturally, Mary had obeyed and waited until this moment. She slid her finger under the top flap, and pulled until it broke all the way along. She tugged out … a photo. Without studying it closely, Mary turned it over.
We are all so excited to meet you, Maria! See you soon. Buon Viaggio!
‘Maria,’ she whispered and her face broke into a smile. Somehow her new life sounded better already. More exciting. Vibrant. She turned the photo back over and scrutinised every detail. A group of people stood in front of the ground floor of a building – the restaurant. A white canopy stretched forwards and underneath it stood eight tables, each covered with a pretty green gingham cover topped with a vase containing a rose. Clouds of cooling mist came out of jets, at the side of the restaurant. Above the canopy a scarlet sign read Pizzeria Dolce Vita. Dolce Vita. The good life? What was that exactly, Mary wondered?
Perhaps it simply meant happiness, as the customers certainly appeared cheerful. As for the group standing in front, the middle-aged man was Alfonso. Portly. Hairless – apart from an impressive moustache. And chunky fingers giving a wide-fingered wave. His whole face shouted Welcome! – although his expression triggered a sense of sadness and she wasn’t quite sure why. In the end she decided it was because the smile only came from his mouth, not his eyes.
She recognised him easily from her Skype interview. He wanted another English waitress, like Sarah. Apparently with her GCSE in Italian and experience in catering Mary had outshone the other candidates. He was effusive and friendly and immediately put her at ease.
Alfonso’s arm was draped around the shoulders of a woman in her early twenties – that was bubbly Natale, who’d joined him during the interview to say hello. What a beautiful floral dress and long brunette waves that could have starred in any shampoo advert. She looked like Catherine Zeta Jones out of Jill’s favourite old show, The Darling Buds of May.
Natale held hands with a little girl – no doubt the granddaughter, six-year-old Lucia, with her mop of black curls. A real Mediterranean Annie with a scampish grin, except she was no orphan; she was surrounded by family. Perhaps Mary should have felt a pang of envy, but she didn’t. Lucia looked around the age she was when Mary’s grandparents had handed her over to Social Services and she never saw her mum again.
To the left stood a slim man, perhaps in his early thirties, with a high hairline and Harry Potter glasses. He wore black trousers, a white shirt, and black bow tie. In his hand was a pen. He looked like someone with little time to spare. That had to be Rocco, the head waiter the family employed. Sarah didn’t get on with him – said he’d always been standoffish. Her stomach squeezed. Was it just bad luck that the camera had caught him frowning?
Finally, her gaze settled upon …
A tide of heat spread up her neck. A sensation she hadn’t experienced for months. To the right, next to Natale, that had to be Dante. Broad. Bronzed. Thick, burnt-caramel hair. She couldn’t determine his height as he crouched, one hand casually in his pocket. The other wrapped gently around the most adorable-looking dog. That’s what pulled Mary in most. Such tenderness, as if the pet was his most precious possession ever. Dante wore a wide smile – or was he simply squinting, in the sunlight? Mary wished he wasn’t wearing those trendy aviator sunglasses, but they matched what looked like expensive designer jeans that perfectly showed off his strong thighs.
She’d wondered why he’d kept so quiet on Skype as Alfonso had encouraged Natale to ask questions and said it was a family interview. He’d simply sat in the background looking stern. Jill had mentioned something about a tragedy the whole family suffered a couple of years ago. Plus something about Dante facing his own problems. Looking for clues, she scrutinised his face. Did he have a drink problem? A physical illness? Depression? She looked at her watch. It wasn’t long before she’d find out.

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