‘That’s very kind of you, but I need to clear up this mess and bake another cake, and Harry’s been locked in the house all day, so if you don’t mind—’
‘Basta…enough,’ said Dario, removing his jacket, then rootling through the cupboards for the tea things. ‘I will help.’
‘No, really. I’m—’
He put on a fierce expression. ‘Please do not argue with a Carabinieri officer. Sugar?’
Tea made, Dario flipped on the radio then disappeared again, returning with a broom, and began sweeping the floor.
‘Allora,’ he said, rolling up his sleeves and scrubbing his hands. ‘La torta! The cake!’
Lucy tried to hide a smile as he took one of the aprons off the hook and pulled it over his head, tightly tying the strings around his waist.
She giggled. ‘You can’t bake, Dario.’
‘How do you know until I try?’
‘Besides, you don’t have time.’
He shrugged and picked up Granny Oona’s recipe from the counter. ‘When I want to do something I make the time. Translate for me please.’
With all the ingredients measured and laid out, Lucy said, ‘Take the flour and the baking powder and sift them into the bowl.’
‘Like this?’ he asked, holding the sieve high above his head with one hand, while tapping the other side, like a tambourine.
‘Maybe just a little lower?’ Lucy spluttered, trying not to choke on her tea. ‘Now beat the sugar and butter in the other bowl… now add the eggs one at a time…’
‘Hey, Lucy, do you know this old Italian song?’ Dario asked, turning up the volume on the radio, then cracking each egg into the bowl in time to ‘Quando, Quando, Quando’.
Lucy snorted a giggle. It felt surreal, watching this strong-armed, uniformed police officer, brow furrowed in concentration, carefully sifting flour, creaming butter, soaking almonds, mixing cherries and dried fruit to the rhythm of the samba.
‘Perfetto,’ said Dario, slamming closed the oven door and wiping his hands on his apron. ‘How long?’
Lucy sighed. ‘One hour forty-five minutes, I’m afraid.’
Dario sat down beside her, concerned. ‘How is your arm?’
Before she had time to reply, he gently removed the cold compress and applied some cool aloe vera gel with his long, tanned index finger.
Lucy gasped at the contact.
‘Is painful?’
‘No, I mean… a wee bit.’ She peeked up at him through her fringe and smiled. ‘Grazie, dottore.’
‘Prego.When the cake is ready, I drive you home, I take Harry for a walk, thenIgo home.’
‘What time is your shift?’
‘Eh, early, but don’t worry.’
‘How early?’
Dario shrugged.
‘Please, let me call a—’
His intense gaze took her breath away. She blushed.
