Unclenching her fists, she wiggled her fingers to get some blood back into the white flesh. How strange it was, in spite of all her dread and worry, that when she finally saw him again it made her feel more alive than she had in six years.
She couldn’t deny she liked that feeling.
9
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind
– A Midsummer Night’s Dream
The supermarket in Varenna was one of her favourite places. Cesca marvelled at the cured meats that hung from the ceiling on ropes, and the cheeses that were stacked so high she could barely reach the ones at the top. Unlike in London, where a trip to buy food meant little more than trying to eke out whatever money she had left in her moth-eaten wallet, here in Italy Cesca let her stomach rule her purchases. She filled her basket with prosciutto and pancetta, and pastas of various shapes and colours. Then she added cheeses wrapped with pale waxed paper: dusty parmesan and rich blue gorgonzola, along with an amazing casorette that Gabi and Sandro had introduced her to. A still-warm loaf of floury bread was her final choice, the perfect accompaniment to the cheese tonight on the beach. Along with whatever wine Cristiano was planning to bring, the thought of the food was already making her stomach rumble.
Pulling Sam’s crumpled shopping list from where she’d shoved it into her pocket, she smoothed the wrinkled paper and began to look for his goods, taking much less care in selecting them than she had for her own food. He hadn’t asked for a lot this time, just some beer, toiletries, some crisps and cookies. She passed the newspaper stand, wondering for a moment if she should pick him up a magazine to help him pass away his boredom, but then turned her back, deciding she wasn’t going to buy him anything he hadn’t specifically requested.
That way madness lay.
The walk back to the villa was decidedly less carefree than her walk to town had been. Perhaps it was the weight of her bags, with Sam’s food in there as well as her own. Her muscles were cramping in complaint at the extra effort they had to expend. Or maybe it was the heat of the afternoon, as the sun beat down from her nook in the sky, causing rivulets of sweat to pour down Cesca’s neck. Either way, by the time she reached the iron gates and keyed in the access code, she was breathless and exhausted, looking forward to putting her feet up for a while.
Luckily for her, Sam was nowhere to be seen when she carried the bags into the kitchen and unloaded them into the big, stainless steel refrigerator in the corner of the room. Grabbing an already chilled can from its depths, she pressed the misty metal against her forehead in an attempt to cool herself, before opening it and pouring it into a glass. Taking it into the living room, she sank down onto the sofa. Another wave of exhaustion washed over her as she drifted off to sleep.
Her muscles were still aching when a noise alerted her back to wakefulness, her eyes flickering as she attempted to open them. The evening had already arrived, the sky painted with dark blues and pinks as the sun made her long dusky slide into the lake. Across the water, lights twinkled from the lakeside houses.
Somebody cleared their throat. She blinked again, seeing a shadow standing in the corner of the room. For a short moment her heart began to race.
‘Sam?’
‘I see you’re keeping busy,’ he said. ‘I must congratulate my parents on finding such a hard worker.’
‘You know you’re just as charming as all the gossip sites say you are. When did you graduate from charisma school?’
His face fell. In the gloom of the evening, he looked like the little boy who stared out of the photographs on the wall. Lost, hopeful, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. ‘What have you been reading on there?’ he asked, his voice low. ‘What are they saying now?’
There was a tremor to his voice that made him sound almost human.
‘Do I look like I’ve spent my afternoon Googling you?’ she asked. ‘Seriously, I have better things to do than read all the gossip about you. As scintillating as I’m sure it is.’
‘Gossip’s never scintillating,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s wrong and it’s embarrassing and it hurts people.’
Startled, Cesca stared over at him. Could there really be a chink in his armour? Something that exposed the human he actually was beneath?
‘I’d agree with that,’ she said slowly, not quite believing they could have anything in common. ‘I’ve suffered from enough gossip in my time.’ Especially after her play had folded. So many people took some sort of sick satisfaction at her fast demise.
‘Me too.’ Sam cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, um, thanks for the food. It was just what I needed.’
She blinked again, unaccustomed to hearing him say a sentence without it dripping with sarcasm. Cesca wasn’t quite sure how to respond.
Luckily Sam spoke for her, not noticing
she was struck dumb with shock at his softer side. ‘I was wondering if you’d like to join me for dinner. We could maybe cook some pasta, open a bottle of my parents’ wine. I’ll even let you do the dishes if you insist.’ A half smile played around his lips.
Gah, he really was handsome when he smiled. Not for the first time she could see why he was plastered across so many magazines and posters, the Instagram darling of a million teenage girls. ‘Wine does sound nice . . . ’ Her voice trailed off as her words struck a memory. ‘Wait, what time is it?’ She looked around in vain for a clock. ‘I’m meant to be somewhere.’
Sam flicked his wrist up to look at his watch. ‘It’s just past eight.’
‘I’m late!’ Cesca sat up, panicking. She’d promised to meet Cristiano down at the beach at eight, along with warm, ripe cheese and a cut up loaf. She hadn’t prepared any of it. With the best will in the world it would take her at least ten minutes to get down there. Would he wait for her? Cesca wasn’t sure. She hadn’t even been in Italy long enough to know what was acceptable here in terms of lateness.
‘Whoa!’ Sam stepped back as Cesca rushed past him. He reached out for her, to steady himself, she presumed. His fingers curled around her arm, but rather than regain his equilibrium, he managed to pull her against his chest.
Alarmed, Cesca put her hands against him, planning to push herself away. Then she felt the warmth of his skin beneath her palms, and the steady pump of his heart against his ribcage. Surprised, she hesitated.