‘For the beautiful signorina . . .’
‘Gino, don’t overdo it.’
‘You do not think she is beautiful?’
‘Yes, but I don’t want her to run away before we’ve had the first course.’
Beth looked up from her menu. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to run away. Well, not until after the second course.’
‘And what can I get you to drink, signorina?’
‘A glass of white wine, please.’
‘We’ll have a bottle of Frascati,’ said William, recalling a wine his father often ordered, though he had no idea how much it would cost.
Once Gino had taken their orders, Beth asked, ‘Is it William or Bill?’
‘William.’
‘Do you work in the art world or are you a gallery groupie?’
‘Both. I became a gallery groupie at an early age, but now I work with the Art and Antiques unit at Scotland Yard.’
Beth seemed to hesitate for a moment, before she said, ‘So your visit to the Fitzmolean was just part of your job.’
‘It was until I saw you.’
‘You’re worse than Gino.’
‘And you?’ asked William.
‘No, I’m not worse than Gino.’
‘No, I didn’t mean . . .’ began William, painfully aware how long it had been since his last date.
‘I know what you meant,’ teased Beth. ‘I read art history at Durham.’
‘I knew I’d gone to the wrong university.’
‘So where did you go?’ she asked as Gino reappeared with two piping hot bowls of stracciatella.
‘King’s. Also history of art. And after Durham?’
‘I went up to Cambridge and did a DPhil on Rubens the diplomat.’
‘I nearly did a PhD on Caravaggio the criminal.’
‘Which would explain why you ended up joining the police force.’
‘And did you go straight to the Fitzmolean after that?’
‘Yes, it was my first job after Cambridge. And it must have been painfully obvious that last night was my first attempt at giving a discourse.’
‘You were brilliant.’
‘I just about got by, which will become only too obvious if you attend Tim Knox’s lecture next week.’
‘I can’t imagine what it must have been like to stand in for your boss at the last moment.’