The next week was chaotic. Both Virginia and Claire were off with flu and Debbie found herself teaching a double timetable. Fortunately, Rory stepped in and increased his hours and, between them and the other teachers, they just about managed to cope.
To make matters worse, Debbie got a text on Monday afternoon, asking her to come in the next morning to model the summer range for a group of buyers from China. She wasn’t teaching that morning, now that her private lessons with Tommaso had finished, so she went along at half past ten as requested, although the idea of exhibiting herself in public again filled her with very mixed feelings. When she got there, she found Barbara waiting for her, an anguished expression on her face.
‘Deborah, Dario told me what happened. I’m absolutely appalled. I knew Rossellini was a donnaiolo, a womaniser, but I never thought for a moment he’d resort to physical violence.’
Britta appeared at her shoulder and, to Debbie’s surprise, proceeded to wrap her long arms around her and give her a warm hug, followed by kisses on the cheeks.
‘All men are scum, Deborah. Remember that.’ Britta squeezed her again before releasing her. ‘Scum.’
Debbie caught Barbara’s eye. ‘Well, maybe not all men, but to be honest, I haven’t met too many good ones recently.’
Barbara smiled. ‘There are still some good ones out there, you know. They’re just few and far between.’
Britta snorted and strode away.
All went well with the Chinese contingent and, although the group was composed of men as well as women, Debbie sensed no repeat of the lascivious gaze of Tommaso Rossellini, to her great relief.
It took her until the end of the week to find the time to pop out and buy a bottle of good malt Scotch as a thank you present for Dario. She had seen his mother at school that week and Flora had given Debbie a big hug, whispering in her ear how sorry she was for what had happened with Signor Rossellini. She invited Debbie for tea on Saturday afternoon to talk about it.
When Debbie got home on Friday evening, feeling pretty worn out, she dumped her jacket, picked up the bottle of whisky, and walked across to Dario’s door. She rang the bell and waited, but there was no response. A few seconds later, just as she was turning to go back to her flat, she heard footsteps and saw Dario running up the stairs towards her. His face broke into a smile as he saw her.
‘Hi, Debbie. I gather from my mother that you’ve had a busy week.’
‘I’ll say. But at least it’s over now and I’ve got the weekend to rest and recuperate.’
‘She tells me you’re going to her place for tea tomorrow.’
‘That’s right. Are you going to be there, too?’
He shook his head and she felt a sense of what could have been disappointment.
‘No, I’m going skiing with a bunch of mates, so I’ll be away all day.’
‘That’s a pity, although I’m sure you’ll enjoy the skiing. Listen, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long, but here’s just a tiny little present to say thank you for your knight in shining armour act last weekend. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’
‘I didn’t do anything special, and you’re very welcome. There was absolutely no need for a present. Like I told you before: I’m just across the landing from you. If you need anything, just shout.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’d invite you in for a glass of this or something else, but I’m just on my way back out again. We’re going skiing in the Valle d’Aosta and it’s a five hour drive to get there.’
‘You’re doing a five hour drive now, tonight?’
He nodded and grinned. ‘Yes, I know it sounds pretty crazy. But this way, we get a full day’s skiing tomorrow and we miss the worst of the morning traffic.’
‘And sleep?’
‘I’ll make up for it on Sunday morning. By the way, if you’re still interested in hearing about my book, and if you’re free on Sunday afternoon, there’s something I’d like to show you.’
Debbie froze. His use of the exact same words that her would-be rapist had used in the black BMW came as a shock so powerful, it felt for a moment as if she had been slapped across the face. For a split second, she could distinctly feel Tommaso Rossellini’s hand gripping her hair and she took an inadvertent step backwards, swaying unsteadily. She felt Dario’s hand reach for her arm, but she shook it off angrily, turning away.
‘Debbie, are you all right?’ He sounded puzzled and concerned. Maybe it was his tone – so different from the gruff menace of the other man back there in the car – but it cut through her rising sense of panic and dragged her back to the present. She stopped, turning her head towards him, an apologetic expression on her face.
‘I’m sorry.’ She had to cough to clear her throat before she could carry on. ‘I’m sorry, Dario. Just for a moment there… I…’ She hesitated for a few seconds. ‘I think maybe I’m not quite as over what happened last weekend as I thought. Give me a shout tomorrow afternoon if you aren’t too exhausted. I’d like to hear about your book.’
He still looked worried.
‘Listen, Debbie. I could call the guys and tell them I’m giving the skiing a miss if you like.’ She shook her head violently, but he continued. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be all right on your own? I really could stay here if you want. I can go skiing any time. That way, you’d know there was somebody close by if you get spooked.’
‘Thanks Dario, that’s awfully sweet, but I’ll be fine.’ She ran her hands through her hair and managed a smile. ‘Really, I’m fine. I just had a momentary flashback to last Saturday night. I daresay I’ll have more of them before I truly manage to put what happened behind me, but I will get over it. And, no, of course you shouldn’t cancel your skiing trip. You go off. I’ll be OK and you can give me a shout on Sunday afternoon if you aren’t still fast asleep. Drive safely.’
‘Well, if you’re sure…’
‘Of course. Anyway, thanks for the offer. That was very kind, but it isn’t necessary. Now, make sure you all drive safely.’
She waved goodbye as he went into his flat. Once inside hers, she rested her back against the door for a minute or two while she collected herself. Finally, shaking herself out of her reverie, she glanced at the time. It was almost nine o’clock. She reached into the fridge, pulled out a bottle of Prosecco and drew the cork with a hiss. She filled a glass and took a big mouthful before refilling it, returning the bottle to the fridge, and picking up her phone. She called Alice.
‘Hi, Debs, how’re you holding up?’ She had spoken to her friend several times already this week, grateful to be able to talk through the events of last weekend. As ever, Alice had been a rock, providing support and comfort.
‘Not too bad, Al. What about you? How’s your Guy?’
‘My Guy’s great, thanks, but what about you… really? Are you over the shock of what that bastard tried to do to you?’
Debbie recounted her reaction to Dario’s invitation and Alice was quick to offer reassurance.
‘You’re bound to be shaken up for a while, Debs. But don’t worry, you’ll get your head sorted out before too long. So, tell me more about Dishy Dario.’
‘How do you know he’s dishy? I never told you that.’
‘I just knew. I could tell from your tone when you talk about him.’ There was a momentary pause. ‘Well, tell me I’m wrong then.’
‘You’re not wrong.’ Now it was Debbie’s turn to pause for thought. ‘He’s really good-looking, he’s intelligent, he’s caring and he’s got a lovely body.’ She hesitated, before clarifying. ‘Not that I’ve seen it in any detail, you understand.’
‘So, what are you waiting for?’
‘Who says I’m waiting?’
‘Deborah Waterson, I know you well enough by now. Of course you’re waiting. What could it be this time that’s holding you back? How about: he’s too handsome, hunky and perfect, and you feel inferior, even though you’re currently employed as a model?’ Hearing no response from Debbie, she tried again. ‘I know – he’s a nob and you’re a prole, and never the twain shall meet. He’s out of your league. Am I getting warm?’
‘No… well, yes, sort of… maybe.’
‘I knew it. You’re digging up all that class business your father’s been feeding you. When will you get it into your head that that stuff no longer counts? You’re just two people. It doesn’t matter these days whether you’re big or small, black or white, rich or poor, a prince or a pauper. He’ll accept you for what you are and you should do the same for him.’
‘It’s much more complicated than that, Al. Besides, it isn’t as if he’s tried to ask me out or lay a hand on me.’ She remembered how she had reacted when he touched her arm to steady her. ‘The fact is that, after last weekend, I’m only looking for a friend. I’m sick and fed up of being some sort of sex object in the eyes of men.’
‘They’re not all like that, Debs.’
‘That’s what they’ve been telling me here, too, but for now, I’d really like Dario to become a good friend – nothing more. It would be nice to be able to be in the company of a man who isn’t just thinking of trying to get me into bed.’
‘Well, there is always the gay option. Surely you can find yourself one of them?’
‘I’ve already got Rory for that, thanks.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘Maybe Sam, the new teacher, as well.’
‘No chance your Dario’s just a tiny bit gay, is there?’
Debbie had no hesitation. ‘Not even a bit, Al. That much I’m sure of.’
‘So what are you going to say if he asks you out?’
‘I suppose it would depend. Maybe a visit to an art gallery or a museum…’
‘That’s a start. Remind me to tell you some time what I did in the dinosaur section of the Natural History Museum with Craig, that big Canadian chap, a few years back.’ Debbie heard a chuckle. ‘I called him Tyrannosaurus Sex from then on.’
‘Al, can we just get off the subject of sex, please?’
So, she thought to herself, how did she feel about maybe going to a museum or gallery with Dario? The more she thought about it, the more the idea appealed. She liked him, she enjoyed being in his company, and she knew she would like to keep him as a friend, just like his mother. Well, maybe not exactly like his mother.
After the phone call, her mind turned to food. She cut herself a slice of the wonderful unsalted Florentine bread that had fast become one of her favourites. She broke a chunk of Parmesan from a wedge in the fridge, sliced a big tomato and sprinkled it with the thick, green, extra virgin olive oil that she got from Nando, the porter at the school. This, he assured her, was produced by his brother who farmed in the hills around Montespertoli and the result was amazing – it was tangy and fiery, and caught the back of the throat as you swallowed. She sipped her wine as she ate, reflecting on her conversation with Alice.
Alice hadn’t been too far off the mark when she had talked about a class divide. Somehow, Debbie felt sure that her kind and Dario’s kind were just too different. Quite probably, when his father died, Dario would become Count Dario. The idea of her father ever coming to visit their family villa at Fiesole and seeing their opulence was unimaginable. And just what elegant, immaculate, stylish Flora would think of her mum, with her silver curls and her clothes bought at Cribbs Causeway, was equally unpredictable. But there was more to it than that.
Although she didn’t quite share Britta’s damning opinion of the whole male population, the fact remained that her luck – if that was the right word – with men had been pretty dire. After the way she had been treated by Paul, then Pierluigi, and now Rossellini, she knew it would take an awful lot before she even began to contemplate forming any kind of new relationship any time soon.
And finally, the touch of Dario’s hand on her arm earlier on tonight had caused a seismic shock to run through her body – and not one of pleasure. Somehow, the idea of getting physical with a man filled her with revulsion, whether round the back of a dinosaur in the Natural History Museum, or even in a five-star hotel room, overlooking the snow-covered Alps, with an open fire blazing and champagne in a silver ice bucket at the bedside.
She really had had it with men.
On Saturday afternoon, Giacomo came to pick her up at three. By this time he had heard the true story of what had happened and his reaction was similar to Dario’s. Once Debbie had managed to convince him that there was no point in going to the police, his next reaction had been to suggest collecting his friends and going round to Rossellini’s house to duff him up. It took the whole journey and a lot of persuasion by Debbie before she talked him out of it. Still, she thought to herself, it was rather nice to be surrounded by supportive men for a change.
When they got to the villa she gave him a kiss on the cheek.
‘You’re very sweet, Giacomo, but I’m fine. Nothing happened.’ If she kept on repeating that mantra, hopefully she would start to believe it.
Another friendly male then greeted her effusively. As Flora opened the door, Byron came charging out to meet her, his tail wagging so much his whole body was weaving from side to side. He skidded to a halt at the top of the steps and rolled onto his back, legs kicking furiously in the air. She stopped to give him a cuddle before straightening up again and making her way over to Flora who, unusually today, was accompanied by her husband.
‘We were very sorry to hear of your bad experience last weekend, Deborah.’ The count extended a welcoming hand towards her. ‘Quite unforgivable.’
She shook it and then hugged Flora. Both Flora and her husband looked appalled. Debbie did her best to make light of it.
‘Never mind, nothing happened. I’m just furious with myself for trusting a man like him. And luckily your son was on hand when I got home, to offer moral and practical support.’
‘Yes, Dario said you were badly shaken up.’ Flora took Debbie by the hand and led her indoors. The Labrador came barging in past them and earned himself a telling-off from his master in the process.
They went into the sun lounge as usual and Debbie had to retell her tale. On the one hand she was beginning to get a bit fed up with repeating the events of last Saturday but, on the other, she was finding that it became a little bit easier each time. Maybe talking was part of the healing process. Finally, she managed to drag them onto a different topic. It was not, however, an uncontroversial topic: their daughter’s forthcoming wedding.
‘The list of invited guests is now three hundred and thirty.’ Flora sounded incredulous and distinctly peeved.
‘Three hundred and thirty-two to be precise.’ The count didn’t sound any happier.
Debbie repeated what she had said before. ‘But surely not all of them will be able to come. We’re January now, and April’s just round the corner.’
‘Claudia’s convinced they’ll all come.’ Flora was looking as stressed as Debbie had ever seen her. ‘And if they do, I really don’t know where we’re going to put them all.’
Debbie glanced out of the window. Although they were on the hillside, there was a flat area of lawn directly in front of the house. ‘Back home, lots of people hire marquees. You could have one out there on the lawn, surely.’
The count’s expression made clear what he thought of that as an idea.
Tea arrived and the conversation changed to less contentious matters. Debbie noticed the plate she had brought from England standing on an old bureau, and the count waxed lyrical about her choice. It turned out that he was something of an expert on English china in general, and Royal Doulton in particular. Apparently, more by luck than by design, the plate she had found had turned out to be quite a collector’s item. She heaved a silent sigh of relief that he seemed genuinely pleased at her choice.
It was as she was about to leave that Flora mentioned something that set bells pealing in Debbie’s head. They were talking about holiday destinations and Flora happened to mention that Claudia and her husband-to-be had had a wonderful holiday in Greece. When Debbie asked where they had been, Flora told her it had been a rented villa, with a swimming pool, on the island of Santorini.
‘Greece in the autumn is delightful. I think I might look into it for us for next autumn. What do you think, Enzo?’
The count was still mulling it over as the Mercedes arrived and Debbie took her leave of them, her brain also churning – Santorini!
As they drove out through the gates, she tried checking with Giacomo.
‘Um, Giacomo, do you know Claudia’s fiancé?’
He shook his head. ‘Not really, to be honest. I never drive them anywhere. They always drive themselves. I’ve seen him a couple of times. He’s a tall guy with dark hair.’
‘Do you know his name?’
Giacomo racked his brains for a minute before admitting defeat. ‘I should do, but I’ve forgotten. To be honest, back home we just refer to him as Claudia’s fiancé.’
Debbie did her best to hide her frustration.
‘Do you know what he does for a living?’
Giacomo answered immediately.
‘Yes, he’s a doctor.’