To Rome, With Love Page 6

  He didn’t get a chance to say any more as he suddenly and unexpectedly leapt to his feet, banging the table with his knee as he did so and tipping over a couple of, fortunately empty, glasses in the process. There was an expression of agony on his face as he clutched his right thigh and started hopping about like a man possessed, swearing under his breath. Terri and Sarah both recognised the symptoms.

  ‘Cramp?’

  ‘Jee… romino, and how! Wow, that hurts.’ It took him a full minute of dancing like a dervish before the muscles relaxed and he sank back down onto his chair again. Unfortunately, this produced another grimace as his bottom reminded him of his saddle sores. He composed himself, looked round the table and apologised. ‘Sorry, ladies. It appears I started the dancing all by myself.’

  As if on cue, the band struck up and Chuck immediately persuaded Terri to join him on the dance floor. Sarah looked across at Véronique. ‘You going to be dancing, Véronique?’

  ‘I reckon so. Jean-Pierre loves to dance.’

  Just at that moment, Sarah intercepted an exchange of glances between Véronique and Jean-Pierre on the next table. ‘I get the impression Jean-Pierre likes you a lot.’

  Véronique blushed. ‘I’ve worked with him for years. He’s a lovely guy.’ She leant across the table towards Sarah. ‘He went through a horrible divorce a while back and this is just about the first time I’ve seen him relaxed and happy for ages.’

  ‘That’s the thing about fresh air, exercise and good food. Somehow, you can’t avoid feeling happy under these circumstances.’ As she spoke, Sarah found herself wondering if her boss would also begin to reap the benefits of the open-air life. Certainly, he needed to.

  Gradually a few more people began to get up and dance and it wasn’t long before all the women, Sarah, Terri and Véronique included, found themselves in demand. Very reluctantly, Sarah accepted Chuck’s invitation and made her way out onto the dance floor. In fact, her first dance with Chuck was so hilarious, it put her in a good mood for the rest of the evening. As he threw himself enthusiastically into his dancing, it was difficult to work out whether his grimaces and jerky movements were an attempt to follow the rhythm or a painful reaction to the discomfort he was feeling in his nether regions. Sarah had a fit of the giggles and, from then on, actually started to enjoy herself. Almost everybody came out onto the dance floor and Sarah noticed Polly spending a lot of time dancing with Dan, the quietest of the trio of Americans. Glynis was well away, dancing with, as far as Sarah could see, every man in the group. Paul was much in demand and, in particular, she noticed that Diana spent a lot of time with him.

  Sarah danced with almost all the men in the room, even waltzing with a couple of elderly Italian gentlemen who were dining there that night. There was no doubt in her mind that the best dancer of all was Lars. He had a way of moving that looked so natural and his sense of rhythm was infectious. Sarah danced with him more than with anybody else.

  The one person who didn’t ask her to dance and, as far as she could see, didn’t ask any of the others either, was Miles. In fact, although Sarah and most of the others were still dancing right up to just before midnight, by then she realised she hadn’t seen Miles for well over an hour, maybe longer. Presumably he had disappeared up to his room to carry on working. At least, she hoped he was working. There had been one moment, early on, passing near his table in search of a drink, when her eyes had met his and, just for a second, she had again read something on his face that bothered her. What she had seen, she now felt sure, was sadness.

  Chapter 5

  Sarah didn’t sleep well that night either. Part of the reason was probably that her air-conditioning wasn’t working properly and also, to begin with, she had been thinking over the route for the next day. She, Polly and Gianluca had sat down together before dinner and worked out a way of avoiding all major roads, preferring to stick to quieter country roads, even though this inevitably lengthened the distance travelled. Their route to Rome wasn’t a direct one, anyway, as they planned to zigzag through the hills of the regions of Marche, Umbria and Lazio, crossing the peninsula to the opposite coast, and one of the main reasons for this had been to avoid busy roads as far as possible. But the route wasn’t the only thing that kept her from falling asleep.

  First, inevitably, there were the unwanted images of what she was now coming to refer to in her head as her previous life. The evening of music and dancing had awakened memories of her and James in happier times. He had been a great dancer, maybe as good as Lars, and they had spent many hours on the dance floor together. The thought of dancing with him brought memories of more intimate moments with him and she found herself shaking her head in annoyance, throwing off the single sheet covering her and getting up for a drink of water to take her mind off him. She took a big mouthful of tepid water, but it didn’t help.

  Infuriated by the noisy, inefficient air-conditioning unit, she turned it off and opened the window in the hope of letting in some cooler air. She wandered round the room for a bit, peeking out of the shutters at the deserted promenade and the skeleton of what would probably become a big dipper. Through the open window she could hear the distant whisper of the sea on the sand and, at last, she found that it had a soporific effect on her. After a while, she got back into bed and gradually drifted off to sleep. It was then that things got more complicated.

  She was swimming in the sea and the sun was setting right in front of her, half blinding her with its red glow. Behind her was a long, sandy beach, covered in deckchairs, while ahead of her was a raft, bobbing up and down as little waves came through. Sitting on the raft were four or five people, but she was too far away to recognise them. She swam and she swam, getting more and more tired, but it took an age to get close enough to see who they were. At last she got within range and made out five familiar faces. They were all men, sitting there, sunning themselves and dangling their legs in the water. She immediately recognised Lars. Being so tall, he stood out from the crowd. Alongside him, of all people, was James; hunky, handsome, self-centred James. Both of them looked relaxed and happy and they were chatting amicably, unaware of her presence. Stranger still, sitting along the side of the raft were three other figures. There was Paul, chatting to a heavily tattooed man holding three silver clubs, and to their left, all on his own, she recognised the brooding presence of Miles, his eyes trained on her as she swam up to the raft.

  She was feeling more and more tired now but none of the men noticed her. She tried to touch the seabed with her toes, but it was too deep. She called out, but only Miles saw her. She held out her hands towards him, but he didn’t make any kind of move to help her.

  As the waves broke in her face, she woke up again, bathed in perspiration.

  She lay in the darkened room, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling cast by a lone street light, doing her best to slow her spinning mind. It took a long time, but she finally managed to get back to sleep; but it was a broken, uncomfortable night. When she finally surfaced next morning, it was barely light outside, but she didn’t feel like dropping off and struggling with her subconscious again for a while, so she took her now bone-dry bikini from the towel rail and went out for an early morning swim. The coast road was deserted, all but a dust cart noisily hoisting bins into the air and emptying them into its capacious bowels. The sun was now above the horizon, but still a deep orange colour, shining directly into her eyes. She made her way blindly through the surreal landscape of the deserted funfair and across the sand to the water. When she got there, she found she wasn’t alone. A lone swimmer was already in the water, heading towards the raft with an easy front crawl. She waded out into the water, its touch cold against her superheated body after the stuffy night she had just passed, lowered herself in and started swimming.

  Partway out towards the raft, she rolled over onto her back and looked back inland. The beach was still almost deserted, apart from a couple of big dogs racing each other through the shallows, while their owner sat on his haunches
and smoked his first cigarette of the day. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the sun on the top of her head was already warm. She rolled back round again until she was looking out to sea. The lone swimmer had reached the raft by now and was standing on it, looking back towards the beach. She carried on, out towards the raft, and, as she approached, she struggled to recognise who it was, the sun directly behind him casting a deep shadow across his face. He had broad shoulders and muscular arms and looked familiar. She swam closer and then heard his voice.

  ‘You’re up early, Sarah. Couldn’t you sleep either?’

  ‘Hi, Miles, still not sleeping?’ She felt suddenly very pleased to see him. Whether this was just a result of her dream or something else was difficult to decide so, in her usual pragmatic way, she did her best to dismiss the problem. She pulled herself up the steps onto the raft and stood beside him.

  ‘It’s going to be one hell of a fine day.’ She noticed he didn’t answer her question. ‘Sunscreen definitely essential.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. So you didn’t sleep well? Was your aircon broken as well?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, the temperature was fine. It’s just my head. I kept waking myself up.’

  Sarah very nearly told him the same had happened to her, but stopped herself in case he wanted to know what sort of dreams she’d had. She looked at him. ‘You did manage to get some sleep, though, right, Miles? There’s a space in the minibus with Polly if you feel tired.’

  ‘Thanks, Sarah, but I’ll be fine. It’s mainly just the usual work stuff that keeps me awake. You know my dad’s retiring soon?’

  ‘Yes, I had heard that. And you’re taking over from him?’ Miles nodded. ‘And what about Paul? Is he going to be working alongside you?’

  His expression hardened. ‘Perish the thought. No, he’s going to the States to take over the US operation where I’ve been for the past five years.’

  Seeing as they were surrounded by water and nearly naked, Sarah felt she could ask a more personal question. ‘And you aren’t too happy about that?’

  Miles turned towards her and shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe it’ll all work out.’ Probably realising that he shouldn’t be talking about family matters with a member of staff, albeit quite a senior one, Miles changed the subject. He glanced at her, his eyes briefly flicking across her body. ‘You’re looking good for seven o’clock in the morning.’

  ‘You should have seen me at six-thirty…’ She gave him a big smile, surprisingly pleased he had been looking at her.

  ‘And you’re looking more cheerful. Tell me, Sarah, has there been something wrong? When I saw you in your office the other day, you looked awful.’

  ‘You really know how to make a girl feel good about herself, don’t you, Miles?’ Sarah was doing her best to keep it light.

  ‘I’m sorry, you know what I mean. You looked… I don’t know, sad.’

  Sarah really didn’t want the story of her aborted marriage to get out so she just shook her head. ‘Just a bit of boyfriend trouble. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. And surprised. I should have thought he was a lucky man.’ No sooner had he spoken than he looked as if he regretted his words. Springing to his feet, he patted her lightly on the arm. Once again, puzzlingly, his touch made her tingle. ‘Anyway, that’s your business. I’d better get back. Breakfast’s in half an hour.’

  He turned and executed a very tidy dive into the water. Sarah didn’t quite feel up to diving so she just slipped back in and followed him to the shore.

  ***

  Their route took them inland, heading for the historic city of Ferrara. Sarah had never visited the city and was looking forward to it. As predicted, the cycling was flat and easy, with just a hint of a light headwind, but not enough to make things difficult. Gianluca, accompanied by Terri, took the lead, while Sarah brought up the rear. Polly, driving what Gianluca referred to as the Broom Wagon to sweep up stragglers, followed some distance behind. Unsurprisingly on such a flat, easy route, there were no takers. As they rode along a very straight, very narrow back road through low-lying, swampy terrain, Sarah was joined at the back by Paul.

  ‘Hi, Sarah. Another lovely day in prospect.’

  ‘I hope you’re all creamed up. That sun’s hot.’

  ‘Certainly is. I’m plastered with factor fifty.’ He gave her a grin. ‘I hope our friend Chuck’s all creamed up where the sun don’t shine. Fancy wearing boxers under cycling shorts…’

  ‘Saddle sores are the worst. I hope he’s all right. He was looking good on the bike yesterday otherwise.’

  ‘And you were looking good on the dance floor yesterday as well.’

  She shook her head. ‘Save the flattery for somebody more receptive, Paul. Anyway, you and your brother are looking fit, too. What’s your secret? Diet, maybe?’

  Now it was his time to shake his head. ‘The day they invent a food that gives you a six-pack, those guys’ll make a fortune. No, I’ve just been hitting the gym as often as possible. As for Miles, I bullied him into it. I saw him a year ago looking a bit paunchy, a bit puffy, like he’d been letting himself go, and I managed to persuade him to follow my example. Watch out, car coming.’ He braked and dropped in behind her as a rusty old three-wheeled vehicle that looked as if somebody had grafted a box onto a motorbike came chugging past, belching out blue smoke. As it disappeared behind them, Paul reappeared at Sarah’s elbow. ‘Anyway, Miles being Miles, he doesn’t just go to the gym a few times a week. He’s been in there almost every day, working out and lifting weights. You’d think he was training for the Olympics. He even had a treadmill installed in his office in New York, apparently.’

  Seeing as Paul had brought up the subject of his brother, Sarah risked a direct question. ‘Is he a bit obsessive about work as well? He seems to be on his phone an awful lot.’

  Paul didn’t reply straightaway. Finally he nodded. ‘The old expression about losing yourself in your work comes to mind. He’s always been a hard worker, far more than me, but he’s had it pretty rough over the past couple of years and he’s thrown himself into his work probably as a means of escape. People often do that, you know. Work is a sort of therapy to some folk; it can be a useful anaesthetic.’

  Sarah understood all too well what he was saying, and she very nearly said so, but the last thing she wanted to do was bring up the subject of James and the wedding if she could help it. What Paul had said about his brother interested her so she tried a little digging. ‘You said he’s had a rough time. What happened?’

  This time she had to wait even longer for a reply. When it came it was brief. ‘Stuff. But he doesn’t talk about it and he doesn’t want me, or anybody, to talk about it. Ask him yourself if you like, but I guarantee you won’t get anything out of him. He likes to keep things close to his chest.’

  ‘Does that include work?’ Sarah knew she was taking a bit of a chance and she would never have dared ask Miles anything like that. She glanced across at Paul and saw him looking pretty normal. His voice when he answered was equally normal and she relaxed.

  ‘He doesn’t talk to me much about work; at least, he hasn’t done up to now. But now I’m coming into the business, he’s going to have to. Somehow I think I’m going to have my work cut out prising stuff out of his hands. That’s the thing about workaholics like you two; you want to do everything yourselves because you don’t trust anybody else to do it as well as you do.’

  ‘Workaholics like me? What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Paul glanced across at her. ‘You do have something of a reputation in the company, you know. My dad reckons you’re the best thing since sliced bread. He says your commitment puts him to shame.’

  Sarah felt a flush of pride that the big boss himself was pleased with her work but she felt she had to protest.

  ‘I’m not a workaholic, Paul.’

  ‘So, what’s your definition of a workaholic, then?’

  ‘Sheep!’ She just had time to shout a warning as the b
ikes ahead of her braked hard, some skidding as they did so, but luckily without incident. A flock of sheep, accompanied by a dusty-looking shepherd and an equally dusty dog, had appeared from nowhere in front of them and started crossing the road, a cloud rising above them as they did so. This interruption gave Sarah time to compose a suitable answer. She took a long swig from her water bottle and looked across at Paul. ‘I would say workaholics are people who love what they do and who want to do the very best they can. What’s wrong with that?’

  Paul pulled off his glasses and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He grinned across at her. ‘There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, if it’s being done for the right reasons.’

  ‘And the right reasons are…?’

  ‘Just what you said, trying to do your best.’

  ‘Well, what’re the wrong reasons then?’

  Paul gave it some thought. ‘In Miles’s case it’s to compensate for problems in his life.’ He caught her eye. ‘And like I say, you won’t get him to talk about them.’

  ‘And in my case? Am I trying to compensate for something?’

  ‘Only you know the answer to that one, Sarah. With some people it’s to make up for feeling inferior, but you’re bright, you’re competent and you’re gorgeous, so it can’t be that.’ He ignored her blushes. ‘Could be a lust for power or money, but I don’t see you qualifying on that score either. No, it must be something else, but, like I say, only you know the answer. Anyway, I’d better go and check everybody’s happy.’ With that, he accelerated away up the line.

  Sarah didn’t have time to think too hard about what he had said as a bright-yellow bike appeared ahead of her, slowing down, and Paul’s place beside her was taken by his big brother. Sarah gave him a smile. ‘Hi, Miles, all well?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine. You?’ He was riding so close to her she could smell him. And, although they were both hot and sweaty, he smelt good. ‘I saw you having a talk to my brother. Everything all right there? Remember, you’re calling the shots on this trip. He and I are just here for the ride and to help out where we’re needed. You give the orders.’