Even though he couldn’t see, Dante appeared to gaze at Mary across the empty flat. It was Friday evening, after another dance class. The sun had just begun its peach-tinged descent towards the horizon, looking like a reflection in water as it rippled behind the humidity haze.
Yesterday Dante had signed the rental contract and this was her first look at the place. Alfonso hadn’t needed them back at the pizzeria. Occasionally the restaurant was hired out. The daughter of one of his oldest friends was celebrating her wedding. Dante and Enzo had prepared the buffet and the Sinatra-loving chef could heat up what needed to be warm without any help.
Mary had caught sight of the trays of mouth-watering food and savoured the aroma of olives, parma ham, goat’s cheese, herby focaccia. As for the wedding cake, Natale had excelled. It consisted of four layers of soft yellow sponge cakes, each with a different fruit, cream, or chocolate filling, all of them soaked in rum.
Mary had contributed by baking traditional Italian almond cookies, but also a batch of heart-shaped plum shortbread biscuits, which she decorated with pink icing and sprinkles. The evening would be a casual event, with families helping themselves, so minimal waiter service was required.
Dante stood in the kitchen and she sat across the open-plan room, in the lounge area, on a small sofa. Oro snored at her feet. Dante shook his head.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘You.’ He smiled.
‘I can always go, if my company isn’t appreciated,’ she said and noisily stood up so that he could share the joke about her pretending to leave.
‘No. Per favore! I am just counting myself lucky. You prove yourself to be a good friend. Natale and Alfonso are still making last-ditch attempts to stop me moving out. They think it is subtle, commenting about the importance of family.’
‘But you’re a grown man. Isn’t that just a stereotype that Italian relatives live together, across generations?’
Dante straightened up on one of the breakfast stools. ‘Si. Certainly nowadays – although restaurant businesses can be different if they’ve been built up.’ He shrugged. ‘But I need somewhere to breathe, away from those who don’t think I know they are constantly pushing in chairs and tidying the floor out of fear that I will fall over.’ His face dropped for a second. ‘I’ll miss everyone, of course I will, but it’s time to build a home of my own.’
It sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
‘And it means a lot,’ he said, ‘that you believe in me. Alessia, she once said …’
‘What?’ asked Mary, gently.
‘We’d argued. I was in a foul mood. I’d knocked over a glass of orange juice, tripped over a slipper, and then discovered I’d worn a shirt inside out all day. She hadn’t told me. So I accused her of not caring. Alessia replied that was because I was like an incapable child except that she hadn’t given birth to me so that maternal instinct was missing.’
‘Ouch.’
‘She apologised immediately but I realised then, she no longer saw me as me.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Whereas you, Mary … you’ve always treated me like an equal. And I’m grateful. You’re a super, genuine person.’
‘I’ll just put the light on,’ she said, breezily, ‘it’s a bit dark in here, isn’t it? I mean—’
‘See? To you I’m not first and foremost a blind man. I’m just me.’
It was true. Dante was Dante. Sensitive. Strong. Seductive. And pig-headed sometimes! Mary flicked on the light and squinted as the bare light bulb blazed. She turned it off again.
‘Too bright? Guess I’ll need to get a lampshade, for you visitors.’ He smiled. ‘Thank you for being here. I can tell from your voice that, like the others, you’ve got reservations about me moving out. But it isn’t because you don’t think I can manage and your response is: Okay. Take me to your flat. Let me help in any way I can.’
‘You forget – I’ve seen your room back at the pizzeria, still decorated from before you lost your sight. Brown walls, Dante? Really? So uninspiring! And those matching, brown-spotted curtains …’ she said, in a teasing voice. ‘As soon as I heard you were getting your own flat, I felt it my duty to step in, for the sake of Oro and any guests.’
‘Dogs are colour blind,’ he said smugly.
‘They can still see patterns! Come on, show me the rest of this place and I’ll draw up a list of exactly what you’re going to need.’
‘Shall we eat, first? I’ve suddenly realised how hungry I am.’
On the way over they’d bought eggs, milk, and crusty white bread. Dante soon familiarised himself with the hob and whisked up a melt-in-the-mouth omelette. They talked about how hard Cheyenne was working them. Mary told him about the ballroom reality shows she watched. The sun set. Night fell. Mary kept the lights turned off. It made her feel closer to Dante and her senses heightened, eating in the dark.
They sat on the sofa, afterwards, laughing at how cross Enzo had become with them last night. Yet another English customer had requested pineapple on their pizza, so Mary had persuaded Dante to keep a tin behind the hatch, for “special” orders. Enzo found out. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
Dante took his phone out of his trouser pocket and pressed a button on the bottom end.
‘Ten twenty-five p.m.,’ said an automated voice.
He pulled a face. ‘I had no idea it was so late.’
The later the better for Mary, as she was on a mission tonight. On this rare evening off she’d decided to make the journey over to Margherita Margherita. The owner would definitely be there on a Friday night. Mary would catch her when they were almost ready to close. Try talking to her. Explain that Dante wasn’t the monster she thought.
A visit during the daytime would be impossible as you were always getting ready for the next shift – whereas at the end of the day, the only distraction was the lure of sleep. It would be Mary’s best chance, with the announcement of the Lombardi List only one and a half weeks away. Fair enough to compete, but this woman was spreading lies about food poisoning. What had Mary got to lose?
‘I’ll need to get off soon, anyway,’ she said. ‘I’m meeting a friend.’
‘Scusa, Mary! I didn’t mean to keep you. I … I forget that you might have a life outside of Pizzeria Dolce Vita,’ he said in a flatter voice.
‘No, it’s fine – she doesn’t finish until late. Come on – give me a tour.’
Dante picked up his stick, which was leaning against the sofa, and navigated his way to the corridor that led from the open-plan kitchen and lounge, down to the rest of the flat. Mary stood up.
‘This is a cheerful, airy room,’ she said, before leaving the lounge area. ‘Lots of glass. Magnolia paintwork. Whitewashed walls.’ She walked over to the window and squinted. ‘Outside, here on the right, you look down on the prettiest courtyard, filled with shrubs. Plus there are a couple of wooden benches, if you want to sit out. And outside of this garden is the rest of the estate. White town houses. Close together. Narrow roads. Pavements dotted with occasional trees.’ She hoped her descriptions would fill in the gaps for him and at least give him an imaginary world, like a reader living through a book.
Dante held out his hand and Mary walked towards him, on the way over finally turning on the light. He slipped his arm around Mary’s shoulder and pulled her close for a moment.
Her heart raced. ‘What’s that for?’
‘My friend showed me around this flat. It didn’t cross his mind to share the details. And why should it? But you …’
Mary shrugged. ‘I moved around a lot as a child. Getting to know my surroundings as quickly as possible helped me start to settle in.’ She cleared her throat. ‘So, prepare yourself for a full-blown narration of every room. It’ll actually be me giving the tour.’ She grabbed his hand and, chuckling, he followed her down the corridor.
The chuckling continued as she described the bathroom and two bedrooms with her best tour guide voice.
‘You’re in the wrong job,’ he said, as they sat down on a double bed in one of the rooms. ‘But joking aside, that was really useful. I can clearly picture my new home, now. It was great to be told the minutiae, like how the taps and blinds work.’ He shrugged. ‘Sounds like a minimalist place.’
‘We must go shopping.’ She sat down next to him. ‘Buy some stuff to liven up this flat for you, with … I don’t know … different textured cushions, and throws for the sofa and beds. How about a wind-chime? Plus different-sized knobs for the kitchen cupboards so you can identify which is which and—’
‘We must also discuss colour schemes. I want the place to look decent for friends.’ He shook his head. ‘You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?’ He lay back on the bed and patted the space next to him. ‘Feel how comfortable the mattress is. This has to be my room.’
Mary lay down next to him and stared at the ceiling, fighting every urge to kiss him. But she was not made of titanium and before long her arm crept across his chest. Yes she had thought everything through – because increasingly, a lot of the time her thoughts were about him. She pursed her lips. The next best thing to kissing? Mary snuggled up and unconsciously let out a sigh of contentment.
Dante smiled. ‘You sound like Oro – after a big meal. We could sleep here. It is so relaxing …’
Was he serious? The kisses they’d shared must have meant nothing if he could lie by her side, for a whole night, without feeling that sexual pull.
‘I really must meet that friend. In fact …’ Mary looked at her watch. ‘I’ll have to go in a minute.’
‘Oh yes …’ His body stiffened.
‘Not taking it personally, are you?’ she said in a teasing voice.
‘No …’ He relaxed. ‘There are no – what did you call them – pity parties here.’
‘Good.’
‘Thanks again. This means a lot.’
Mary shut her eyes for a second and breathed in his masculine scent.
‘Rocco told me – that you now know about Angelo,’ he said.
Mary opened her eyes. Rocco. She wondered how he was tonight. Mary pulled away and leant up on one elbow. She studied Dante’s face. Could he somehow know about Rocco’s bruising? Had he, too, imagined an array of awful illnesses?
‘Yes. I’m glad he shared that. We get on really well now. He’s a great bloke. I know how much your family thinks of him.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s a shame he can’t come out to everyone but I know he worries about Paola – and the reaction he’ll get from anyone religious.’ She sighed. ‘I wonder what Angelo thinks about it all. I met him Wednesday night. Very suave.’
‘Do you think Rocco is happy?’ asked Dante, suddenly.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘No reason, just … I don’t know. He doesn’t joke as much as he used to. And he smells different.’
‘That would sound so wrong coming from anyone else.’
Dante gave a wry smile. ‘He used to smell of shaving cream and the latest aftershave. Rocco never whistles any more. And I hugged him recently – he’s lost a lot of weight.’
‘Could he be ill?’ asked Mary, glad Dante couldn’t see her face.
‘Maybe. I don’t know. But something isn’t right. I only wish I could help.’
Mary opened her mouth – then closed it again. Rocco trusted her. She couldn’t risk that trust as she was currently in a good position to find out what was really wrong.
‘I don’t think immaculate Angelo will ever agree to taking on a dog, so don’t forget to mention pregnant Fortuna to your friend next door.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
She glanced at her watch. ‘Right. Better go. I’ll see myself out. When do you think you’ll move in?’
‘After the weekend rush. Monday.’
‘So soon?’ A lump formed in her throat.
‘It is best,’ he said roughly. ‘No point delaying.’
Mary realised that this move would be as hard for him as the rest of the family. She leant forward. Wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.
‘It’ll be okay, Dante,’ she mumbled. ‘You’re a strong man. This is about your future – a good future too. And by the time we’ve finished with this place, it’ll look – and feel – like a palace.’ Without waiting for a reply, she slid off the bed and made her way along the corridor.
The shabbiest flat on earth would seem like a palace if she and Dante lived there together. A fairy tale come true. But even as a young girl Mary knew that would never be possible. She picked up her handbag, turned off the light, and left.