‘Italiana?’
‘Sì.’
‘You are on holiday?’
‘No,’ she’d said shyly, looking at him from under her long lashes. ‘I am here to study English. You?’
‘I am here for one day only. For business. My family has a mozzarella factory in Torre Annunziata, near Naples and—’
‘Madonna mia!’she spluttered. ‘This is my home town.’
They stared at one another momentarily in disbelief.
‘Do you know Pizzeria Lorenzo in Via Sepolcri?’ she asked.
‘Of course! Franco, the owner, is one of our customers.’
‘He is my father. And Lorenzo was my great-grandfather.’
‘No way. I was there only last Saturday.’
She almost choked on her takeaway Starbucks and sighed. ‘How I miss strong, Italian coffee.’
‘The best place for coffee in Torre Annunziata—’ he began.
‘Antonio’s, near the station,’ she jumped in. They high-fived one another, hot coffee landing on the cuff of his crisp, white shirt.
‘Scusi,’ she groaned, grabbing a tissue from her shoulder bag, more coffee spilling onto the floor, much to the disapproval of the other passengers.
The train was now slowing into Marble Arch station. Grabbing her briefcase, Elena said, ‘Well, it was nice to meet you.Arrivederci.’
The doors beeped shut and she was gone.
As the train sped on through the tunnel, he cursed under his breath.Imbecille.
Giancarlo was not in the habit of chasing young women, but though it was irrational, he’d felt a powerful connection with her; not just because they were from the same town, but there was something more, a feeling he’d never experienced before, and he was sure she’d felt it too. He didn’t even know her name, but he had to find her somehow.
Fortunately, there was only one School of English in Marble Arch. After his meeting, Giancarlo waited outside the gates for almost three hours in the pouring rain. He didn’t dare move in case he missed her. He pretended to read theMetro, studied his phone and checked his watch, so that students and passers-by didn’t think he was some crazy psychopath, hanging around for his next victim.
Elena had found it hard to focus in class that day. Her mindhad kept wandering to the handsome stranger she’d bumped into earlier. She was a firm believer in happy coincidences. Could it be serendipity? She’d noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. She wasn’t in the habit of stalking, but there was something about him, and there was no harm in giving fate a gentle nudge, was there? That shouldn’t be too difficult, since her father was one of his customers. In fact, if she offered to work full-time in the restaurant during the holidays, she was bound to bump into him again. She’d pretend she’d almost forgotten their first brief encounter;
‘Oh yeah, I think I remember you now. Didn’t we meet on the London underground?’
That way she wouldn’t appear too keen, like she was chasing him.
But as she emerged through the gates, her heart skipped a beat. There was no need to deploy her cunning plan after all, for there he was, holding a sodden newspaper over his head.
‘Hello again,’ she said, trying to sound casual, her attention drawn by his kind and intense gaze. ‘What are you doing here?’
He grinned, his espresso-brown eyes twinkling. ‘A good question.’ He shrugged sheepishly and held out his hand to her. ‘Giancarlo Moretti.’
‘Elena Benedetti.’
There were now just over two hours left until he had to check in for his return flight. They ran for the Heathrow Express, talking and laughing freely together like kids, jumping over puddles and getting drenched by passing cars, without a care in the world.
They grabbed a coffee at the airport, and though their time together was all too short, they talked openly about their hopes, their disappointments, their dreams for the future.
She planned to open a School of English overlooking the Amalfi Coast. He envisaged the family business expanding internationally. As they held hands over the Formica-topped table, their conversation turned deeply personal, sharing their views and experiences of life and love. By the time they said goodbye at the departure gate, they had exchanged phone numbers and their first kiss.
