Chapter 1

Manchester

February 1968

The evening light was fading as the green Volkswagen Beetle turned the corner and rattled down the cobblestones into Chapel Street. It came to a halt in front of Leonardo’s Restaurant.

Maria Conti climbed out of the back seat, still dressed in her navy school uniform, knee-length socks and dark winter coat. Her friend, blonde-headed Stella, was seated in the front alongside her mother.

“Thanks for the lift, Mrs Maxwell. My father said he will drive us on Friday.”

“It’s a pleasure, dear,” Jane Maxwell told her. “Give Leo my regards.”

Maria leaned back into the car for the bag with her ballet shoes and clothes. “I’ll ring you when I get back home later tonight,” she told her friend.

Stella looked over her shoulder. “Enjoy your lovely Italian meal. You’re lucky having a dad who can cook. Ours can’t even boil an egg without burning the pan.”

Mrs Maxwell raised her eyebrows and smiled. “But Leo is not a typical man, dear.”

Maria laughed. “I’d better not go mad and eat too much or James Granger will complain he can’t lift me!”

“James Granger will always find something to complain about,” said Stella. “He’s the biggest moan on two legs and looks a total twerp in ballet tights!”

Mrs Maxwell tutted loudly. “Don’t talk about poor James like that. His father is one of the top consultants at Manchester Infirmary.”

Stella rolled her eyes in Maria’s direction. “Who cares what his dad does? That doesn’t make James a good ballet dancer or stop him being an idiot.”

“There are times,” her mother said, “when I wonder about you, Stella.”

Maria waved the car off then turned to face the brightly lit restaurant. As she walked towards it, her heart lifted as always when she heard the low strains of violin music and breathed in the scent of tomatoes and thyme and strong Italian coffee. She opened the door and went into the empty, rosy-lit restaurant.

She loved it at this time of the evening, when the place was lulled into quietness with the sound of taped classical music and the vague hum of activity coming from the kitchen.

The music always warmed her as some of the violin recordings were those played by her mother, Anna, who had died when Maria was nine. When she was younger, Anna had learned to play the piano and basic traditional tunes on the fiddle at her home in CountyOffaly in the Irish Midlands. When she came to Manchester and met Leo she had given up music entirely, but he encouraged her to take up violin lessons and Anna discovered a very different kind of music which she came to love. Within a short time she had studied and listened to the famous violinists and composers and she then set about learning to play their works.

It was a comfort to Leo that she had in fact been practising her violin when she had the final asthma attack which robbed him of the love of his life. It was after that, when he needed something to fill the huge void in his life, that he set himself the goal of opening his own restaurant which would have traditional English dishes alongside a small menu of carefully chosen Italian food. To achieve his dream he took every extra shift he could get in the hotel to earn money to add to his savings, most of which had come from the unexpectedly good insurance payment he received when Anna died.

Maria went straight to the table she liked by the window. She dropped her bag on the floor, shifting it under the table with her foot. Then she went across to the small cloakroom and took her school coat off and placed it on one of the hangers. She smoothed her long dark hair down then made her way towards the kitchen, wondering which staff would be on for the night. There were usually three in by now, not counting her father who always worked front of house, but helped in the kitchen when they were busy. Two or three of the waiting staff would be due in soon.

“Ah, Marietta!” Franco, the restaurant chef and her godfather, greeted her warmly, calling her by her pet name. He put his meat cleaver down on the worktop and came towards her, arms outstretched, as though he hadn’t seen her for an age. “And how is the little ballerina?”

“Hungry and tired after going straight to ballet from school,” Maria said, making a face. “But I suppose I’ll survive.”

Franco hugged her and kissed her on both cheeks, as he had done since she was a little girl. Although Franco came from Florence and Leo from a small village near Lake Garda, they were like brothers. They had first met when they were both lodging in the same house in Ancoats – the area of Manchester known as ‘Little Italy’ due to the number of Italians living there. Leo went straight into hotel work, while Franco started off working in a local shop owned by Italians. The landlady was an old widow called Mrs Nardini, who loved having the boys to look after since her family were all grown up and married. She made them Italian dishes which reminded them of the mothers they had left back home, and hot chocolate, and on special occasions gave them small glasses of Italian liqueurs. When Franco was in the house during the long winter evenings, he asked Mrs Nardini to show him how to do some of her basic pasta and pizza recipes. He progressed to cooking several evenings a week, until, encouraged by Leo, he started going to nightclasses to learn English cooking skills as well, and gain certificates which would help him find work in a restaurant.

A year or so later after arriving, Franco was working in the busy restaurant in the city centre while the ambitious Leo had moved to become restaurant manager in the Palace Hotel. They often sat up late at night drinking coffee and helping each other with their command of the English language, although Leo always had a better grasp of it than his friend and was more confident in conversation with the customers at work. On those nights they also shared their hopes for the future, and it became understood that when Leo was in the position to open his own restaurant, Franco would be in charge of the kitchen.

The two men had spent many nights discussing how the restaurant would be run, when it was only a dream. It was decided that the main part of the menu would be English to suit the local customers they expected to frequent it, but they hoped that requests for Italian food would gradually increase as their customers became braver in trying out their pasta and meat dishes.

Years later when Leonardo’swas opened, their careful approach had worked and, as the diners got used to the smell of the Italian herbs and sauces, a number of them were known to order only from the Italian section. The restaurant had also become a favourite place with the Italian community, who booked it for weddings, funerals and christenings.

Maria wandered around the kitchen now to have a quick word with Vincent, the quiet sous-chef, and Johnny, the local boy, who was the new commis chef. Although Johnny’s family were Manchester born and bred, he had grown up in Ancoats and something of the culture had rubbed off on him. His open appreciation of the Italian music and food had won Leo over, and he had chosen him from several other candidates when interviewing for the vacancy of apprentice chef.

From what she already knew about males, Maria could tell that the confident Johnny had an eye for the girls. He was always laughing and teasing the waitresses, young and old, and she knew he would have been more forward with her if her father hadn’t been the boss.

“Where’s Dad?” Maria asked now.

“Leo had to go out.” Franco’s voice was low. “But he said he will be back very soon . . .”

Maria’s eyes narrowed as she wondered where he had gone. There were several places she hoped he hadn’t gone.

“He said you should start eating without him.” Franco indicated the stack of menus. “What do you fancy? You must be hungry after all that dancing.”

She lifted one, then without opening it asked, “Have you any lasagne on tonight?”

“But of course. Whether it is on the evening’s menu or not, I always have a dish made especially for you.”

Maria smiled. “Ah, Franco, you’re always so good to me!”

He winked at her. “The staff fight to take it home when you are not here.”

Johnny came to stand at her elbow, holding up a jug. “Orange juice?” He looked her directly in the eye and then winked.

“Yes, thanks,” she told him, deliberately moving her gaze away from him.

“I’ll go and get on with a bit of studying,” she told Franco. “I have a History test in the morning.”

“Good girl. You are sensible using all those brains you have. You want to get a big important job when you grow up, and not slave in a hot kitchen.”

“When I grow up?” Maria laughed, heading back into the restaurant. “I’ll be sixteen in a few months.”

“Almost sixteen? Sixteen?” He shook his head. “That’s impossible.”

She went back over towards the table at the window and lifted her bag, searching inside for her book on the Tudors and her pen and notepad. It could be worse – at least it was an interesting period with all Henry’s wives and the scandal surrounding them. The only pity was that the exam questions would focus on the more boring aspects like Cardinal Wolsey and the Dissolution of the Monasteries, and her interest and knowledge of these was sketchier.

She sat for a while, jotting down the main points and dates, and then covering the pad and trying to memorise them. The class exam was the first big one since entering fourth year – the O-level year – and would give an indication of her chances when sitting the main exams at the end of the year. Maria still wasn’t sure what she wanted to do, but her father was encouraging her to study hard in case she needed the results for teaching or some of the other professions. A good and steady option her father often suggested was working in a bank. One of their neighbours was a manager in the local Barclays Bank, and he had told Leo that if Maria got decent A-level results he would put a good word in for her. Maria wasn’t sure about this, as it seemed to her a rather boring, colourless job, but she couldn’t come up with any suggestions that her father felt really happy about.

When she told him she might like to work in the restaurant, he had raised his eyebrows. “Young people think working in a restaurant is all about meeting people and having a good time, but the real work is in the kitchen and after all the customers go home. I tell you, there are much better things for you than this life, Maria, if you have a good education.”

“But you’ve been happy working in the restaurant, and I love it here too. It’s a beautiful place and it feels like my second home.”

“I am happy you feel like that,” he said, “and I love the restaurant and I love my work – but it is all I have ever known. If you work hard at school, you’ll have opportunities I could never have dreamt of when I came to England as a nineteen-year-old boy. You don’t have to work these long hours. I had no choice – for Italians it was restaurant work, play music or sell ice cream.” He squeezed her hand. “I have worked over the years, happy to know that you will have much more choice than I did. And it was your mother’s wish that you would go to college . . .”

As always, that had ended the conversation. She didn’t want to let either of them down. She decided she would just have to concentrate harder on her studies.

She was engrossed in Tudor London when Franco appeared at the table with her lasagne, and a small dish with crispy fried potatoes and vegetables. He gave his usual little bow. “Just as madam ordered.”

Maria thanked him as she put her school books on the windowsill and he arranged the dishes in front of her. She unwrapped her knife and fork from her red linen napkin and then she looked up at him and asked if he knew exactly where her father had gone.

Franco’s eyes slid from hers towards the window. “I’m sure he did say, but as usual I do not remember. Some people he had to meet.” He threw his hands up and smiled. “Ah, Leo is a busy, busy man!”

She knew of course that he was covering up for her father. Franco wouldn’t want to cause trouble between his boss and his daughter. Maria understood exactly how things were. Like most people, Franco had a great affection for her father. The chef might not always approve of his boss’s behaviour, but he gave his loyalty nonetheless.

There was something about Leo Conti that drew people in. His dark hair and handsome looks made him stand out from the other men and made his slightly under-average height pass unnoticed. But it was his bright, intelligent eyes and warm, caring manner that won everyone over and made Leonardo’s Restaurantthe great success it was. He had a great sense of humour which men of all backgrounds warmed to, whilst women of all ages were charmed by his good manners and the genuine compliments he gave without seeming in any way forward.

Maria thought of asking Franco if her father had started disappearing from the restaurant in the afternoons again, but something stopped her: the usual feeling of betraying the person closest to her heart, the person she most depended on. Besides, she couldn’t be sure that Franco wouldn’t warn her father and then he would take more elaborate steps to cover up anything that might concern her.

This was the problem when there was just the two of them. When there was no one else to safely share her fears with.

She finished her main meal and was staring out of the restaurant window into the darkness when the kitchen doors swung open and Johnny came through with the dessert menu.

“I shouldn’t have anything more,” she told him. “I’m already full.”

“You should have whatever tickles your fancy,” he told her, winking. “You don’t have to worry about getting fat. You’ve got a lovely slim figure . . .”

She felt her face start to flush and in order to distract from it she rolled her eyes to the ceiling as if she didn’t care what he thought. Secretly she liked the compliment and, although she didn’t fancy Johnny in the least, she knew the girls at school would think him good-looking and funny.

After a few moments she felt awkward with Johnny just standing there, gazing openly at her. “If you come back in a few minutes,” she said, “I’ll have made my mind up.”

She was debating whether to have an Italian dessert or ice cream when the restaurant door opened. She looked up as her father came rushing through.

“Maria, I’m sorry I’m late, but I had some important business to attend to.”

His eyes were shining, and she could see he was more animated than usual – obviously happy with his afternoon’s business.

He kissed her on the cheek and then pulled out a chair opposite her and sat down. “And how was the ballet lesson?”

“It was fine,” she told him, trying to keep a light note in her voice.

He touched the side of her face. “You don’t seem so enthusiastic?”

She smiled and pushed her long dark hair behind one ear. “Well . . . I really don’t know if I will keep the classes on much longer.”

“If that’s what you want.” He nodded his head slowly. “Only you can decide.”

“I know I haven’t got what it takes to be a professional dancer and, even if I had, I don’t think it’s what I want to do. I don’t feel the same passionate way as Stella does about it, and I don’t enjoy all the practising.” She sighed. “The other thing is, I don’t want to become panicky about my weight as lots of the girls do . . .” Maria was talking too quickly now and knew she was making more of the ballet thing than she needed to, in order to cover up her anxiety about where he had been.

“No, no . . . we certainly don’t want problems like that.” A smile broke through the seriousness of his face. “And what would Franco have to say if little Marietta stopped eating all his lovely dishes? I think he would say forget the stupid ballet lessons.”

“He would, wouldn’t he?” Maria was smiling now in spite of the little knot of anxiety. Whatever worries she felt about him, she could never get beyond the fact she adored him and wanted him to be happy.

“You must make your own decisions. Hobbies are meant to be enjoyable and if they stop being that then maybe it is time to stop.” He thought for a moment. “What about the horse-riding?”

Her face lit up. “That’s different! I still enjoy it every bit as much as I did when I started. It’s good fun and relaxing and I don’t have to enter competitions or anything unless I want to.”

There was another reason that kept up her interest at the riding school – one she had not yet shared with her father. Paul Spencer. He was a couple of years older than her – eighteen this year – and she saw him at her classes every Tuesday evening and Saturday morning as his family owned the stables. His father – a short, wiry man – had once been a jockey, but Paul had obviously inherited his striking good looks from his tall, dark-haired mother.

“Well,” Leo said, “I do think you need to have some interests outside of your studies, and only you can decide what those are to be.”

Her father was always fair with her and gave her a lot of leeway – the only thing he was inflexible about was her education.

The kitchen door swung open and Franco came into the dining room. “A cup of coffee, Leo?” he called.

“Come here, my friend, come here!” Leo said, beckoning him. “I have some good news. I was just about to tell Maria about it, and I’d like you to hear it too.”

As he came towards the table, Franco took his white chef’s hat off and scratched his dark curly head.

“We were just talking about horses,” Leo said, “which is a wonderful coincidence, because that’s what my news is about.”

Maria felt her throat tighten. “What do you mean?”

Her father threw his hands in the air and laughed. “I have bought a horse!”

Franco looked as shocked as he did. “For Maria?”

There was a moment’s silence.

“In a way . . .” Leo was making a juggling gesture with his hands now. “But it’s not for her horse-riding lessons. Not yet.” He patted her on the shoulder as though to reassure her. “I’ve promised her that I’ll buy her a good show-horse if she is still riding at eighteen and very serious about it. It’s not something you buy for a fad.”

Maria and Franco waited.

He grinned at one and then the other. “I’ve bought a racehorse! A fifty percent share in a beautiful yearling – a filly!”

“That’s some news,” Franco said. “You’re a brave man, Leo.”

Maria’s heart slowly sank. It was all she had dreaded and worse.

Leo’s voice was high and excited. “And I know you will both love her! She’s a terrific runner. She has a pedigree as long as your arm.” He held both arms out as long as he could reach to illustrate the point. “From a terrific sire and dam who have won a great many races. She won her maiden race in record time and by fifteen lengths. Winning is bred into her.” He looked at Maria and his face suddenly became serious. “I bought her on the condition I could name her,” his voice was cracked with emotion, “and she will be called . . . Bella Maria . . . after the most important lady in my life – my beautiful Maria!”

“Lovely,” Franco said. “That is lovely.”

Maria nodded her head, not knowing how to react to the news. She could see so many pitfalls – mainly financial – but she did not want to spoil his obvious pleasure.

“The name your mother and I chose for you is also the name of my mother and of Our Blessed Lady.” He shrugged and then held his hands up and joined them together as though he was praying. “It might just help her to look upon us more kindly and make our Bella Mariaa lucky winner!” He laughed, his lively, dark eyes darting between them. “Well, Maria, what do you say? Having a beautiful, winning filly called after you? Won’t all your friends at the stables think that is really something?”

Maria swallowed hard. “It’s really nice of you . . .”

“I knew you would be delighted with the name. It’s a great honour for a girl to have a boat or a horse named after her.”

“It certainly is,” Franco said, standing up. “Congratulations, Leo, but I must get back to the kitchen or you will not be able to afford to feed that horse.”

Leo laughed and shooed his friend away.

When Franco had gone, her father suddenly seemed to notice her serious face. “Are you all right? You are happy about the horse?”

His concern made her feel guilty. “I don’t mean to put a dampener on it, Dad. I’m just a bit worried about the cost of it. It’s a very expensive thing to own, isn’t it?”

“It is, but I will be sharing the costs. Now, don’t you worry about anything. Your father has this whole thing worked out.”

Maria forced a smile on her face and tried to look happy. Tried not to think that buying a racehorse meant he was back involved in gambling. Because that meant that he had learned nothing from his narrow escape a couple of years ago when they almost lost the restaurant.

Chapter 2

Johnny came back to see what Maria wanted from the dessert menu but her appetite had disappeared. Anxiety about her father always did that to her. She told him she would just have a plain ice cream and remained resolute and straight-faced while he tried to persuade her to pick something fancier.

“Are you feeling all right?” her father asked. “I thought the news about the racehorse would make you happy . . . I know how much you love horses.”

Maria looked at him. He had the open, innocent face of a young boy, looking as if he truly believed that she should be happy. How could he not realise how unsettling the situation was for her? Did he not remember the nightmare he had put them through two years ago when the bank was threatening to close Leonardo’sdown by refusing to extend his business overdraft? When he had to beg them to give him another six months to get his finances back in order?

Their financial predicament had come as a terrible shock to her, because up until then she had happily never given money a single thought. She could remember back to when her mother was alive, and money had not seemed a problem then either. Her mother had never had a permanent full-time job – Maria only remembered her working a couple of mornings a week in the local florist’s and maybe the full week leading up to Christmas and Valentine’s Day and busier occasions like that. This had led Maria to believe that they had enough money for her mother not to need to work. Looking back now, Maria wondered if her mother’s asthmatic condition meant she did not have the stamina for it, because she had often heard her father saying that she should take things a little easier, and make sure she rested when Maria was at school.

Maria could recall a few occasions when her mother had had a bad asthma attack, and the doctor had to be called for, and on one occasion an ambulance came to the house and she was gone for several days. If her mother had been unwell at other times, she did not make a big issue of it to her, and was always discreet in her use of her inhaler and medication. She had appeared as active as most of the other mothers, she had kept the house perfect and cooked and baked, and she walked Maria to school every morning and then collected her afterwards. She took time to help her with her homework and, in the lighter evenings when her father was at work, she would walk her down to the local park with some of the other mothers and children to play on the swings and slides.

Her father had worked long hours in the hotel and travelled home on the late-night bus. Apart from special events organised by the Italian groups that Leo was a member of, or Christmas staff nights at the hotel, they rarely went out. When she thought about it now, her parents did not then have an over-lavish way of life – they didn’t have a car or a television or phone up until a few years before her mother died. They had gradually built up towards those luxuries that were now taken for granted as part of her life. And she was sure they had been happy back then, and she could recall no incidents or arguments regarding her father drinking or gambling. And although she knew that it would be easy to remember her mother through rose-tinted glasses, her one solid memory was of lying in bed, her parents downstairs, and hearing the distant sound of her mother playing the violin. She knew that her father, relaxing with a glass of Italian wine, had asked her to play for him, and that sound had always told her that everything in their home was safe and well.

Later, after her mother died and her father had bought Leonardo’s, she had believed that they were comfortably off. She knew they were not in the same league as Stella’s family with her father’s solicitor’s firm and their much bigger house, but compared to some of her other school friends, they were doing fine. Her father employed Mrs Lowry and her husband on a regular basis to take care of Maria and the house and garden. Leonardo’swas always busy and her father was easily making what it cost to pay for their nice home, television, phone, any clothes she needed and all the little extras like her riding classes and ballet.

She had never paid any attention when her father was talking business on the phone or to any of his friends, and he did not expect her to be involved. Naturally, he told her when the restaurant had a particularly good night, and how pleased he and Franco were with the takings around Christmas and holiday times. Money therefore, to her, was something that was always there and not an issue until the first financial bomb had gone off, and Leo had sat her down to explain that he had been so busy that he had not been keeping an eye on his home accounts and had overspent in certain areas. She had not understood everything that followed, but got the gist that he had used money from the house to subsidise the restaurant which had to be paid back in six months, and that was why they would not be having their annual trip to Italy or the piano he had hoped to buy her that Christmas.

He had not mentioned gambling in his talk to her, but it was clear from his many phone conversations and from general chat to the men in the restaurant, that it had, over the years, begun to feature more in his life. And, she was aware that his drinking had increased both at home and after work, which was bound to have had an impact on the gambling.

Later in the year, he had told her how relieved he was that finances were back on track and her concerns about money had begun to fade away again. But they had only faded, they had never completely gone, and the experience had left her wary about what she now saw as a weakness in her beloved father. And she realised now that her wariness had been warranted.

After all the hard work and cutting back, the restaurant accounts had eventually come out of the red and back into the black. And now he was obviously back in the racing and gambling world again. She wondered if he thought she didn’t understand all that had happened – and what might happen yet . . .

“I’m okay – I just have a bit of a headache,” she told him now, reaching for her schoolbag. “I think maybe I should go home now.” She often stayed for a few hours in the evenings until the restaurant started to get busy and then her father would run her home, or, if he was very busy, he would call her a taxi.

Leo took one of her hands in his and when she looked up she saw the concern and love in his eyes and all her anger began to seep away. She now felt guilty at spoiling his excitement about the horse. Maybe she was worrying too much. Maybe buying the horse had nothing to do with his gambling problem. She wondered perhaps, if all his attention were to be focussed on looking after the horse, consulting with the trainers and the stable staff, he might not have the time or interest to bet on the others. Surely he wouldn’t have the time between the restaurant, horse and home to be part of the gambling group as well? She wanted so hard to believe that.

Her father was still looking at her with concern. “I’m fine,” she reassured him. “I’m just a bit tired after school and ballet and studying.”

“I think an early night might be a good idea with your exam tomorrow.” Leo looked at his watch. “I’ve just got a few things to check in the kitchen and then I’ll run you back to the house. I’ll ring Mrs Lowry and ask her or Michael to put the heating on for you.”

“Thanks.” He was so loving and caring that she couldn’t stay angry with him for long. She smiled and thought she should say something to take the frown of concern away. “I’m looking forward to seeing the horse.”

His handsome face lit up. “It’s a dream come true,” he told her. “How many people have the good fortune to own a horse? Such a beautiful, vibrant animal! And I have a strong feeling that Bella Mariais going to be a winner for us. Exciting times are ahead!” He took her face in his hands and kissed her on the forehead.

Leo went off into the kitchen singing and moments later Maria could hear the distant sound of laughter and congratulations. For the moment her father was happy, and she loved seeing and hearing him like that. His handsome face did not wear worry well.

She stared around the rosy-tinted restaurant for a few minutes, her eyes flitting over the carefully ironed wine-coloured tablecloths, the shiny silver cutlery and the candlesticks. Then she turned her gaze to the window and looked out onto the cobbled street, wondering what their housekeeper would make of her father buying the racehorse.

Mrs Lowry was an Irishwoman in her late sixties, who lived in a small house a few streets away from the Contis’ larger Victorian detached house in Heaton Moor on the outskirts of Manchester. She had baby-sat Maria when she was a toddler on the occasions her parents went out, and then became a full-time minder when Maria’s mother died, to allow Leo to work. The elderly lady now came in a few times a week to tidy the house, do the washing and anything else that was required and have a meal ready the evenings that Maria wasn’t at Leonardo’s. Rose Lowry’s husband, Michael, did the gardening and any odd jobs that Leo was too busy to attend to. The couple kept the Conti household running and gave Maria a steady home routine.

As Maria waited for her father to drive her home, the evening waiting staff came in, each one stopping to have a word with her. By the time the last one disappeared into the kitchen her face was aching from smiling so hard, pretending everything was fine.

All the way home Leo talked about Bella Maria, and the good friend he would share the horse with – Charlie Ford – the butcher who supplied the meat to the restaurant.

“Being a butcher sounds like a simple occupation,” he explained, “but there’s a lot more to it than meets the eye. Charlie is a very successful businessman. Do you know he has a chain of seven shops in the Manchester and Stockport area now?”

No, Maria said, she hadn’t really thought about it.

“And every one of those shops is doing very well. He is not only doing well for himself, he is giving employment to over fifty men. Isn’t that something to be proud of?”

Yes, she agreed, it was definitely something to be proud of.

“You see, Maria, to be a good businessman you have to be willing to take a risk. But you must weigh up – very carefully – all the pros and cons. And Charlie has done precisely that with every shop before he opened it. He told me that he did his homework on each area and made sure that there were big customers there like hotels and restaurants, hospitals and even convents – all those sorts of places. Then he made sure that his meat was the very best and that his shop was the cleanest. And he never lets his standards down. The way he starts off is the way he keeps going.” He took his gaze off the road to look Maria in the eye for a moment. “That tells me that Charlie is a man who knows his business. And I believe that he will put the same care and attention into Bella Maria – I know he will! He has put the same effort into finding the right horse as he put into his business, so I know it is a safe bet, and I’m honoured that he thinks I’m a suitable partner for it.”

Maria could hear pride in her father’s voice at being included in this venture. He had always given his heart and soul to Leonardo’s and she felt that maybe it was a good thing that he had something else to take up his interest. So, as she looked back at him, and in spite of all her misgivings, she found herself nodding and smiling as though everything in her world was fine.

Chapter 3

When they arrived at their house in St Aiden’s Avenue, Leo accompanied Maria inside as usual to check all was okay. Mrs Lowry had left the place shining, with a warm fire crackling safely behind a fireguard in the sitting room.

“I won’t be too late tonight,” Leo promised as he headed back out the door after pulling all the blinds down. “And make sure you have all the phone numbers beside you, keep the blinds down and don’t answer the door to anyone.”

Maria rolled her eyes. “You say that to me every night, Dad. I’m not stupid.”

“You can’t be too careful. You just never know who could be watching the house and noticing that a young girl is at home on her own.”

The area they lived in was a good one with much bigger houses than their own, and burglaries were not unheard of. When Maria turned fifteen, she had insisted that Mrs Lowry go home in the evenings, as she felt much too old to have a baby-sitter. After several arguments about it, Leo had furnished her with list of phone numbers – of the restaurant, of people like Mrs Lowry whose phone bill Leo paid as she only needed it to talk to him, of their next-door neighbours, the Coxes, and the number of Father O’Donnell, the Parish Priest from the local Catholic Church, in case of emergencies.

After she had settled in and was changed into her pyjamas and dressing-gown, Maria curled up in the armchair by the fire, lifted the phone from the Italian marble-topped side table and dialled her friend Stella’s number. It gave only two short rings before it was answered.

“I was just waiting until Mum went to make the supper, then I was going to ring you,” Stella told her. “She’s in the kitchen. Hang on a second until I close the doors . . .”

Maria felt a little stir of anticipation as she wondered what news her friend had that she didn’t want to be overheard. She could hear Stella’s footsteps going down the hallway of their big Edwardian house, closing the doors which led into the main reception rooms and the kitchen. Then she heard her friend coming back to the phone.

“Guess what?” Stella’s voice was low and excited.

“What? I’ve no idea . . .”

Her voice went lower still. “Tony rang me.” Stella’s voice was a bare whisper.

Tony O’Brien was one of the riding instructors at the stables.

“Did he ring the house?”

“Yes. Luckily I got to the phone first and I just said it was you.”

“You’re terrible,” Maria gasped. It annoyed her that her friend lied to her mother so easily and never gave a thought to involving her in the deception. “One of these days you’ll get both of us into trouble.”

“He’s asked me to go to the pictures on Thursday – tomorrow night. He’s going to speak to Paul Spencer tomorrow morning and arrange a double date for the four of us!”

“Oh, no! Don’t let Tony ask him! I’d be mortified if he says he doesn’t want to go! Ring Tony back and say you two can just go on your own.”

“Don’t be stupid, Maria. Everyone knows that Paul fancies you. Tony told me that the first time we were riding together.”

“I’m not too sure about that. He’s never given me the impression he was going to ask me out. He’s always quiet when we’re together.”

“It’s just because he’s shy,” Stella said. “Some boys are like that. They just need a bit of a nudge. I bet he’ll jump at the chance of a date with you if it’s all arranged.” There was a sudden pause. “Hold on . . .”

There was silence on the line then Maria could hear a muffled conversation going on in the background. A minute or so later her friend came back on the phone.

“My mum drives me completely insane.”

“What’s wrong?” Maria couldn’t imagine anything ever really being wrong in the Maxwell household. Stella was lucky: she had two ordinary parents, and two younger brothers – Thomas aged twelve and George aged ten – who at times she adored and at other times drove her mad. And although she complained about her mother and father being strict at times, Maria couldn’t see what her problems were. Her father was a solicitor with a busy practice, and her glamorous mother helped out in the office a few afternoons a week. The Maxwells had no money problems and Stella appeared to have everything she wanted, as she was the most fashionable girl in their year.

“She’s on at me all the time about practising my ballet and studying to make sure I get the grades I need for college. She never lets up. She said I should consider giving up horse-riding until after my exams, but I know she’s only saying it because she doesn’t want me to see Tony.”

“Have you told her that you’re going on a date with him?”

“Are you joking? She would have a fit if she knew. She’s seen us talking and joking together at the stables and she said the way I was carrying on it was obvious that I fancied him. She said I was demeaning myself and our family name by having anything to do with a boy like that.”

Maria’s brow wrinkled. “But most people think Tony’s a nice lad. What’s he ever done that she doesn’t like him?”

“Maria,” Stella’s voice was now an urgent whisper, “surely you know that my mother is a complete and utter snob? She doesn’t think a riding instructor is a suitable boyfriend for me. She calls him a stableboy! She acts as if we’re landed gentry or something from the Victorian age. She’s told me that she doesn’t want me seeing anyone until I’m old enough to pick the right type.”

“And who does she think is the right type?”

“Let me think now . . . Prince Charles might just satisfy her . . . or maybe James Granger because –”

They both chanted together in whispering voices: “His father is a top consultant!”

“Oh, my God! Can you imagine it?” Maria said, putting her hand over her mouth.

The two girls went off into a fit of giggles.

Then Stella said, “She’s really got a bee in her bonnet about Tony. She’s been going on about him to Dad as well, and I even heard her moaning to her friend Diana on the phone about me. Thank God, Diana is more modern, and I hope will have told her to stop interfering in my life.”

From what she had just heard, Maria didn’t think there was any chance of her mother stopping interfering as long as Tony was around. “So what are you going to do about the cinema tomorrow night?”

“I’ll say I’m with you. It’s not really telling a lie – I just won’t mention the fact that Tony and Paul will be there too.”

“No, Stella,” Maria said in a serious voice, “I’m not going. I really don’t want to go on a date with Paul when he hasn’t even asked me.”

“Listen,” Stella said, “just answer me this – do you like him or not?”

There was a pause. “You know I do . . . but I want him to ask me.”

“How many times do I have to tell you! Tony is doing it on his behalf because he’s too shy.”

“It’s not the same as him asking me properly.”

“Right, Miss Fussy-pants,” Stella hissed, “I’ll speak to Tony tomorrow and I’ll tell him that Paul has to phone you or you won’t go.”

“Good – and I’m not being fussy!” Maria laughed to keep things light. Stella would quite happily steam-roll over her if it suited her own agenda, but she wasn’t going to allow it.

After the phone call Maria went into the kitchen and boiled milk to make a mug of cocoa to have while she was studying. As she walked back into the sitting room, slowly and carefully in case she spilled the hot drink, she had an uneasy feeling and her mind kept flitting back to the conversation with Stella – the part where she had said that her mother didn’t think Tony was good enough for her. She wondered now, if she did actually go on a date with Paul Spencer, what his family would think of her . . .

It was something she had never considered before. She had always been proud of her father and Leonardo’s. Her father had always instilled in her the belief that it didn’t matter what people had – what mattered was whether they were decent people or not. She had presumed that most families worked on those same values and had thought, from the odd comments that Stella had recently made, that her mother was joking. She wondered now if all her friends’ families thought along the same lines. It was obvious that the Spencers were wealthy – Stella said they were much wealthier than her mum and dad, and Maria knew they were definitely much wealthier than her father. They not only owned the stables but a big farm with hundreds of acres and she had heard Stella’s mother going on about how successful a businessman Paul’s father was, and that he was often on the radio and television commentating when there were big races on. Jane Maxwell said that the Spencers had money coming in from all angles.

More sensitive to financial things after the racehorse shock, she could now recall a number of conversations where Mrs Maxwell made reference to families being well off and that sort of thing. If what Stella had said was true, it made her now wonder if the Maxwells and the Spencers knew anything about her father. A cold shiver ran through her now. She wondered if they could have heard rumours about his drinking and gambling? Could they have heard about the difficulties he got in when he almost lost Leonardo’s? They had met him on a number of occasions when he dropped her off at the stables and he always had a friendly word with whichever of the staff were on duty and she had always thought that they all liked him. But maybe that was because he was paying for riding lessons for her. Going out with the Spencers’ son might be a whole different matter.

She settled down with her cocoa and her schoolbooks and tried to push the uncomfortable thoughts from her mind. But every so often, try as she did to ignore them, they came flooding back. This sudden new feeling of people judging her intensified the anxiety she already felt about her father and Bella Maria.

Around ten o’clock she gave up trying to concentrate and closed her books, hoping she would wake up early and have time to look over her notes again in the morning. She went upstairs to her bedroom and was grateful to slip in between the fleecy sheets warmed by the electric blanket that Mrs Lowry had switched on for her earlier. She read a magazine for a while then she turned her bedside lamp off. As always, she kept the landing light on and a small night-light in the corner of her room.

She lay for a while in the dim light, trying not to think of the situation with Paul Spencer. There was no point, she reasoned, in worrying what the Spencers would think if they started dating. Even though she was sure he liked her, there was a definite shyness to him, and there was no guarantee that he would agree to join them at the cinema.

She would just have to wait until tomorrow to find out what was going to happen.

She closed her eyes and buried her face in the pillow. She was sure that tomorrow was going to be an absolutely awful day, with exam questions she didn’t know the answers to followed by complete humiliation when Paul Spencer turned her down.

Chapter 4

Diana Freeman stood in front of her open mahogany wardrobe in her satin nightdress, unable to decide what to wear. Then she went barefoot across the floor to look out of the tall sashed window of her Edwardian semi-detached once again. As she stood, she raked her fingers through her damp auburn hair to separate the ringlets, so that it would dry straight.

She thought how choosing clothes was becoming increasingly difficult. Especially in the last few years when the fashions had changed so dramatically and become much more casual. She couldn’t decide whether – at thirty-eight years old – she should now be moving into a more formal style of dressing, or whether she could still get away with following some of the latest fashions.

And of course she had to consider the impression it gave to her customers. If she dressed too young it might put off some of the older ladies, and if she dressed too old the younger women would automatically assume the shop was too old-fashioned for them.

It was the same dilemma when ordering stock for the two businesses she owned – La Femmein Didsbury, near where she lived, and her second shop, Gladrags, in Heaton Moor which she had opened three years ago. The problem was deciding which way she wanted her businesses to go. The tried and tested ladies’ shop was still working for her established customers, but the bigger chain stores and boutiques were now luring away less dedicated customers with their bright and brave shorter skirts, trouser suits, and tights in every colour and design.

When she first opened La Femmein the early sixties, it had started off as more of an accessories shop with hats and gloves and fancy umbrellas, and basic stock such as dressing-gowns, nighties, petticoats, stockings and suspenders. Gradually, as her business grew, she broadened out into selling blouses and ladies’ cardigans and then suddenly her wholesalers were offering her a whole new range of clothing that she hardly recognised. Formal hats were apparently only being worn for weddings and functions now and were being replaced with jaunty caps and the more practical tights were the preferred legwear for women of all ages and had now overtaken stockings and suspenders. Every time Diana checked with her suppliers, they told her that there was a revolution going on in the clothing industry and, if she wanted to keep ahead in business, she would have to stock what the modern woman wanted.

She rifled through the hangers in her wardrobe now and decided on a sleeveless geometric-print dress in shades of pinks and blues with a three-quarter-length belted blue jacket. It was suitable, she thought, for getting in and out of the car and if the jacket was too warm in the shop, she could change into one of the cardigans she kept there. She laid the dress and jacket on the bed alongside her little pile of fresh underwear and tights and then went over to the dressing-table to finish drying and straightening her shoulder-length hair.

As she sat at the mirror she wondered again if she should have her hair cut shorter. Was thirty-eight too old for long hair? She had read numerous articles that said that after a certain age women should have their hair shorter and lighter in colour. She had always felt that longer hair suited her and had serious doubts about having it chopped off and, when she discussed it with her hairdresser Valerie, she had assured her that both the length and the brownish-red colour were still perfect. Apart from a subtle rinse every few weeks to tone in the few grey hairs that had started appearing, she said that Diana would easily get another five years out of her colour or style without worrying about it.

Later, when she was dressed and sitting at the mirror brushing on brown mascara to accentuate her green eyes, Diana wondered at the effort she expended on both her appearance and her work. Between the two shops she often worked six days of the week and, while she had staff helping in both places, she was the one who filled in if anyone was sick or on holiday. But what else was she supposed to do to fill her time? It wasn’t as though she had a husband or family.

She was downstairs in the hallway, just lifting her handbag, when the phone rang. It was Jane Maxwell.

“Hi, Diana – I won’t keep you chatting as I know you’ll be heading to work. Just checking if you managed to order those charcoal slacks for me and the lace tights for Stella?”

“Hi, Jane – yes, they both arrived late yesterday afternoon in the Didsbury order. I was going to give you a call from the shop this morning when I picked them up. I’m going in there first today and I’ll bring them over to Gladragswith me after lunch.”

“You’re a star!” Jane said. “I can always rely on you.” She paused. “How did the weekend in London go?”

“The show was great, and I enjoyed catching up with my friends.”

“And – any suitable husband material in the big smoke? Did anyone catch your eye?”

Diana rolled her eyes and gave an inward sigh. “No, and I wasn’t looking for anyone. It was my friend’s husband’s fortieth birthday.”

“You never know the time and the place when you could meet Mr Right.”

She wished now she had never confided her interest in meeting someone to Jane Maxwell. But she was in a difficult spot with Jane having become a friend as well as one of her best customers. She had been a loyal customer when Diana had her first shop in Didsbury and had been the person who told her when the shop came up for sale near the Maxwells’ house in Heaton Moor. She had also helped with an opening night and encouraged all her local friends to shop in Gladrags rather than travel into the shops in Stockport or Manchester.

“I did tell you about that magazine article I read, where it said that older people meet their husbands and wives through friends, golf or joining nightclasses?”

“Yes, I think you mentioned it a few times recently . . .”

“Good advice – and you know I always have my eye open for any of Richard’s colleagues who might suit you.”

“I’m really sorry, Jane,” Diana said now, “but I need to hurry. I told the girls I’d be in the shop for half past nine and it’s nearly that already.”

“Oh, you’d better rush,” Jane said, “and if I don’t make it into the shop to collect those things today, I’ll pick them up tonight or tomorrow night at your house if you don’t mind throwing them in the back of your car. Stella is driving me mad asking about the tights.”

By the time she parked her black-and-white Mini outside La Femme, her uncomfortable conversation about finding a man with Jane Maxell was gone from her mind. But the minute she stepped inside the shop it was brought back with a vengeance as Pippa – curvy with red, curly hair and the youngest of her two staff members – came rushing towards her from behind the counter.

“You’re not going to believe it – Elaine got engaged last night! Isn’t it fantastic?”

Diana felt her face stiffen for a few moments, then she quickly recovered and smiled. “Oh, that’s wonderful news!”

Then Elaine, the tall thin manageress, came out from the small staffroom at the back of the shop and Diana went forward to give her a hug.

“Congratulations! I’m so delighted for you and Peter.” She then stepped back. “Now – let me see the ring.”

Elaine held out her left hand to show a sparkling trio of small diamonds.

“Oh, it’s beautiful – simply beautiful. Well, well . . . what a surprise!”

“Have you set a date for the big day yet?” Pippa asked.

Elaine nodded, her face flushing. “We’re thinking of the summer.”

Pippa’s eyebrows shot up. “Gosh – that soon?”

“I know it’s a bit quick,” Elaine said, “but we both decided that there’s no point in waiting. We’re sure about our feelings and neither of us are getting any . . .” her eyes dropped to the floor, “getting any younger.”

She looked up at Diana, who was still smiling, but she was embarrassed about making the gaffe about the age thing since Diana was older than her. There was also the issue about engagements that Pippa knew nothing about.

“Quite right,” Diana said. “There is absolutely no point in waiting when you’ve made up your mind.”

“It’s Peter’s age as well,” Elaine said. “Don’t forget he’s older than me. He’ll be forty next year . . .”

“Of course,” Diana said. “You don’t want to waste time. No point in dragging things out . . .”

Elaine caught her eye and for a moment there was a silence, and then Diana turned back to Pippa.

“I think this calls for a celebration! Take ten shillings from the till, please, Pippa, and pop down to the baker’s and get some lovely cream cakes for us, and a small bottle of fresh cream for the coffee. I’ll put the kettle on!”

“Oh, lovely!” Pippa said, pleased with the impromptu treat, and rushed to get her coat.

When Diana was in the staff room boiling the water, Elaine came to the door.

“That’s really kind of you,” she said.

Diana turned towards her, her hands resting on the end of the small table. “Not at all. I’m genuinely delighted for you both.”

Elaine shrugged. “Hopefully it will all work out . . .”

“Why shouldn’t it? Peter is a lovely chap and I think you’ll make a great couple.” She smiled and raised her eyebrows. “Most engagements work out, Elaine. Don’t take mine as an example.”

“I wasn’t thinking of that . . . honestly.”

Diana shrugged, knowing that Elaine was lying. “Well, it’s a long time ago – over two years.”

“Is it that long?”

Diana nodded. When her engagement to Brian was broken off, it had such a devastating effect that Elaine had to take over running the shop for a fortnight. And, besides, they had discussed her broken engagement too many times since for her employee to really have forgotten.

She looked at Elaine’s serious face now and felt guilty for dampening her spirits. Like herself, Elaine had almost been resigned to being single when Peter came on the scene, and she had been let down so often in the past that she was careful not to presume her new romance would develop into something more serious. But now it had.

“So,” Diana said, “what are the plans? Any ideas about what kind of wedding dress you would like or where you’re going to have the wedding reception?”

Elaine’s face brightened. “We have a few ideas for places in Manchester or Stockport, and there’s a wedding dress I’ve had my eye on in a shop here in Didsbury.” She laughed. “I’ve been looking at it for the last couple of months, just on the off-chance he proposed.”

“Is it in the window of Bridal Heaven?”

“Yes.”

“The one with all the little pearls at the neck and cuffs?”

“Yes, that’s it!” Elaine’s voice was high and excited.

“It’s gorgeous, and it would be absolutely perfect for your height and colouring. Have you tried it on yet?”

“Oh, no . . . I would have been terrified that it was tempting fate to go into the shop before I was properly engaged. I thought I would ask you to come with me when I do. You’ve got a good eye and I’d really value your opinion.”

Diana looked at the gold, French-style clock on the wall. “Why don’t we have our coffee and cake and then leave Pippa to hold the fort while we go down toBridal Heavenand let you try it on?”

“Really? Oh, that’s so good of you!”

Later, as she walked towards her Mini carrying the bag with Jane Maxwell’s slacks and tights, Diana thought how different things would be in the Didsbury shop now that Elaine was going to be a married woman. Up until now, only single women had worked there, and it had been a consolation to her not to have to listen to conversations about married life or babies at work. She had enough of it in her social life as all her best friends had gradually one by one tied the knot.

A further consolation had been the fact that Elaine too was over thirty. At thirty-three she was five years younger than Diana, but with Elaine’s quieter demeanour and her own bubbly personality and modern dress, they had seemed of an age. Whatever way she looked at it now, Diana felt over the hill. A perennial wallflower. A spinster for life.

And all because she had wasted her best years on Brian Taylor. Seven whole years. Seven whole years during which she could have found someone else.

And she had spent four of those years engaged. And during all that time he had managed to evade making any concrete plans for a wedding or plans for a family in the future. Diana now knew that she should have realised there was something seriously wrong but she had been so besotted by him that she was prepared to wait until he was ready.

Now she knew that a man like Brian would never have been ready. And she would continue to pay the price for having believed in him.

Chapter 5

There was an uneasy silence in the big Victorian hall as Maria sat alongside fifty other girls all dressed in identical navy uniforms waiting to do their final exam paper, History. The only sounds were the footsteps of the two female teachers as they walked up and down the aisles placing the salmon-coloured examination papers – face down – in front of each student.

She worked a pen between her fingers as she frantically tried to recall the main points of the Tudor period she had spent the past few weeks studying. Then, as the last paper was placed on a desk at the front of the hall and the teachers moved back to their tables, her gaze moved towards the tall windows and she said a quiet prayer.

“You may turn your papers over now,” Miss Hartigan said. “And may I remind you to read every question very carefully?”

At that point, Maria’s eyes slid across the row to meet Stella’s for a few moments. During the English Literature exam the previous week, Stella had been delighted to spot a question about Othello that she could answer easily. It was based on one of Iago’s soliloquies and she launched straight into her answer. It was only when a group of the girls were discussing the papers after the exam that she realised she had written about the wrong soliloquy.

Stella rolled her eyes now and pulled a face. Maria gave her a sympathetic smile, then they both turned back to their exam sheets.

On first inspection, Maria found only three questions – out of the five she had to pick – that she felt reasonably confident about. A sense of panic came over her which she had to fight back. As she read the other questions again, her throat ran dry and her hands started to shake. Her eyes flitted from one half-read question to another, the words making no sense to her. All she knew was that if she could only answer three of the questions she would fail the exam. She closed her eyes for a few seconds to try to still her breathing and then, when she felt a little calmer, she read over the questions again.

This time, she was relieved to find that certain sections of the questions were beginning to sound more familiar to her – and then her memory cranked into action, flooding her with related facts and dates. She took several deep breaths and then, remembering all the exam preparation that Miss Hartigan had given the class, she went back to the question she felt was the easiest to answer and started writing.

The silence continued for the next two hours. Maria kept her head down for most of the time going from one question to another. Every fifteen minutes or so she checked the time on her watch, and every half an hour Miss Hartigan or Mrs MacGregor told them how much time had elapsed and how much time they still had to go.

During the last half hour, Maria became aware of some of the other students leaving the hall. As she did with every exam, she wondered if they had been so well prepared that they could write all the correct answers quicker than her and without the nerves she felt, or whether they were giving up having answered all they could.

Then, when she was in the last fifteen minutes of the exam and only starting her final question, she felt the panicky feeling starting to return. Her heart quickened as her hand flew across the page while she tried not to let her writing descend into a complete scribble.

Then a bell rang and suddenly Miss Hartigan was telling everyone to finish the sentence they were on and put their pens down. Maria wrote her last line and sat back in her chair – her head feeling light after all the intense concentration.

Minutes later the girls were all outside in the yard, huddled in groups, heatedly discussing the exam paper amid yelps of delight as correct answers were confirmed and excruciating moans when mistakes were realised.

“How did you feel you got on?” Stella asked, with a serious face. “Every time I looked over at you, you were busy writing.”

Maria shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. I just wrote anything that came into my head. What about you?”

“I don’t know either . . . but I keep remembering things I should have written.” She bit her lip. “I don’t think it was as bad as the English one, but it was hard enough.”

“Thank God we have the afternoon off,” Maria said. “I’m going to catch the bus home and have a rest doing absolutely nothing. I couldn’t pick another book up if you paid me.”

“What about tonight?” Stella asked. “Have you heard anything from Paul?”

“Not a thing, but I’m not bothered because I didn’t really expect to hear from him.” She made a small, dismissive sound with her lips as though it meant nothing to her.

Stella looked annoyed. “Tony told me that he definitely liked you, and I know he wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.” She spoke as though she knew Tony really well.

Maria checked her watch. “I’m going to run for the two o’clock bus.”

“Phone me the minute you hear anything.”

Sitting alone at the back of the bus, Maria took out her History exam papers again and as she went over them she realised that she might not have done quite as badly as she’d thought. In fact, the three questions she had been fairly sure of at the start of the exam she now felt were definitely okay, and the other two she now thought she had answered fairly well. She had been rushed with the last question but, even so, after listening to what the other girls had said about it, she felt she had done enough to scrape a pass.

She was fairly sure now that she had passed all the exams.

She knew this should have made her hugely relieved – happy even – after all the studying and worrying. But it wasn’t enough. There was still something there niggling away at the back of her mind. Paul Spencer.

As the double-decker bus wound its way out of the city centre and into Longsight and then further along to Levenshulme her mind kept working its way back to him and the awkwardness she felt about this set-up date. She stared out of the window, trying to find things about the people or places she saw to distract her thoughts. There was definitely a degree of pressure because Stella and Tony were involved. If Paul didn’t ring, she would feel she was letting them down because Stella needed her company at the pictures to keep her mother happy. On the other hand, there was a part of her that felt manipulated by her friend and she didn’t like it.

When her stop came she got off the bus and crossed over to walk down Heaton Moor Road. As she came up towards the railway-station building, Jennifer Cox, the eighteen-year-old girl from next door, came out. When she saw Maria she gave her a big cheery wave and Maria hurried to catch up with her. As they walked along Jennifer informed her she had a half-day off work from her office and had spent a few hours shopping in Manchester. She showed her the two new LPs she’d bought, one by The Beatles and the other by The Kinks.

They chatted about music and then Maria told her about her exams. Having company until she reached her own street distracted her and she didn’t have time to think of Paul Spencer until she was walking up the front steps of the house.

She was only in the door five minutes when the phone rang. Her heart raced as she went to pick it up.

Her father’s voice came on the line. “How did the exam go?”

“It was difficult,” she told him, “but I think I did enough to pass.”

“Good girl! I’m sure you did. Are you coming to the restaurant tonight?”

“No. I’m supposed to be going to the cinema with Stella, but she might not be able to make it. If she doesn’t I think I’ll just have a quiet night in. I’m tired after all the studying.” Then, knowing what was coming next, she said, “I went to one of the cafés beside the school with the girls for lunch, so I’m just going to make something like beans on toast.”

“That’s not very much,” Leo said. “If it’s not too busy here around five or six, I could drive home with some lasagne or some chicken for you –”

“No, honestly, I’ll be fine with a snack. I’ve had enough to eat already.”

“Okay, okay – just make sure you keep the doors locked and draw the blinds and curtains when it gets dark.” He paused for a moment. “Do the windows look as if they’ve just been cleaned?”

Maria held the phone away and rolled her eyes.

“Can you just look over at the window and tell me if the window-cleaner has been?”

She turned her head to check and then clamped the phone back to her ear. “I don’t think so,” she said. “There are a few smudges on the glass.”

“Well, you know Mrs Lowry worries about these things, and she phoned to say he is due sometime today if he hasn’t been already. If he comes to the door you can tell him that Mrs Lowry has his money and will pay him when he gets to her street.”

She was upstairs changing out of her uniform and into slacks and a brightly patterned sweater when the phone rang again. She rushed into her father’s bedroom and picked it up.

“Have you heard anything from Paul or Tony yet?” Stella asked.

The fact that she had mentioned Tony made Maria realise that Stella wasn’t convinced that Paul would phone either.

“No, I haven’t,” Maria said, sinking down on her father’s bed. “And I don’t really care. I’m not in the mood for going out after the exam.”

“Maria!” Stella hissed. “Thanks a lot! You know I can’t go if you don’t go.”

“Why don’t you find someone else to go with?”

“Oh, yeah . . . who? Who else can I ask at this late date?”

A noise from downstairs suddenly caught Maria’s attention. “I’ve got to go.”

“Maria,” Stella’s tone suddenly became softer, “if you hear from him, ring me straight away.”

“I’ve got to go, there’s someone at the front door.” Then, while Stella was still talking, she placed the phone back in its cradle.

She went downstairs quickly, expecting to see the window-cleaner or a neighbour, and was surprised when she opened the door to see two men in dark suits standing on the doorstep – one tall and bald and the other smaller and stockier with dark hair. It crossed her mind even before they spoke that there was something rough-looking about them, even though they were decently dressed.

“Excuse me, Miss,” the shorter one with the thick dark hair said, “we’re just checking the official registered owners of the houses in the area.”

She noticed his eyes sliding past her, his gaze directed into the hallway, and she instinctively closed the door a few more inches.

“Would this be the property of Mr Leonardo Conti?”

She glanced from one to the other. “What is it that you’re actually doing?”

“It’s a survey of sorts . . .”

“For an estate agent,” the taller, bald man added. He smiled. “We’re checking how many reception rooms, bedrooms and bathrooms are in each house. You don’t need to worry, we don’t want to come inside and we’ve been to all the other houses in the street.”

She paused, calculating. “Three reception rooms, four bedrooms and two bathrooms,” she said, and went to shut the door.

The short man moved quickly to stick his foot in the gap to stop her closing it. “And just to confirm before we go, Miss – it is indeed the property of Leonardo Conti? The same gentleman who owns the restaurant in Manchester?”

The gesture made her suddenly feel intimidated. “Yes!” Her answer was snappy and her eyes moved down pointedly to his foot.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling broadly.

As soon as he removed his foot she banged the door closed and slid across the heavy bolt which she seldom used. She then moved quickly into the dining room which faced towards the street and went over to the window. She could see the two men walking down the path, out of the high wrought-iron gates and into the leafy street. She watched as they went along, straight past all the other houses, until they disappeared off into the distance.

She gave it a couple of more minutes and then she went back to the front door, unlocked it and stepped outside. She locked it again from the outside and, holding the key tightly in her hand, ran down the path and turned into the gateway next door.

She rang the bell and a few moments later Jennifer came to the door.

“Hi,” Maria said, “I’m just checking if two men in dark suits called at your house a few minutes ago saying they were doing some kind of a survey?”

Jennifer shrugged. “I didn’t see anyone, but then I had the record player on fairly loud upstairs –but if you come in I’ll ask Mum.”

As she called out for her mother, Maria followed her into the hallway, wondering if she was doing the right thing. She wasn’t too keen on involving Mrs Cox who was inclined to be both nosey and a bit of a brag, always going on about their cul-de-sac being in the best area of Heaton Moor. She was also inclined to make comments about the late hours Leo kept and how his car often woke her when he was coming home from work. She had recently made a few little digs about how much the Italians liked to drink. But, Maria supposed, if anyone knew anything about the callers it was likely to be her, since little escaped her notice.

Mrs Cox emerged from the kitchen at the end of the hallway and came towards them, drying her hands on a tea towel. When Maria explained the situation, the older woman’s face grew serious.

“I saw the two men you’re talking about when I was in the dining room five minutes ago, but they never called here.”

“Maybe they called before going into Maria’s house and you didn’t hear them,” Jennifer said.

Mrs Cox shook her head. “I was in the dining room polishing the good silver cutlery for the last half an hour and, even if I wasn’t looking out of the window, that doorbell is a good loud one, and I definitely would have heard them.”

Jennifer raised her eyebrows. “It’s a bit strange, isn’t it? Telling Maria that they were doing a survey of all the houses and yet they didn’t call here.”

“I wouldn’t normally have given it a second thought,” Maria told them. “People call at the door often. But I just felt there was something funny about them.” She then went on to explain how one of the men had stuck his foot in the door to stop her closing it.

“That doesn’t sound like the sort of thing that an estate agent would do!” Mrs Cox’s voice was indignant. “And I would think his company would not be impressed with that kind of behaviour. In fact, if you only knew the name of the company, I think your father should report him.”

She went over to the door, looked out at the street and spotted an elderly neighbour, Mr Sweeney, out sweeping up some leaves. “Hang on,” she said, “I’ll just check if Joe saw anything – he’s been in the garden for the last hour or more.”

Maria and Jennifer went out of the house and down the path. They stood at the gate chatting about music and the latest episode of Coronation Street until she came back.

“They didn’t call to Sweeney’s house either,” she told them. “It all sounds a bit fishy if you ask me . . .” She looked at Maria, her eyes narrowing. “Your father hasn’t put the house up for sale or anything like that?”

Maria felt a wave of shock. “No . . . not at all. He wouldn’t do anything like that without telling me. Why would we want to leave here?”

Mrs Cox nodded her head. “I didn’t think it, but you never know. I’ve seen it happen before.” She pointed down the street. “The Atkinsons from Number 17 were there one day and gone the next without a word to anyone. They just decided to move to Penrith to be nearer their daughter and put the house up for sale and didn’t even tell their next-door neighbours.” She gave a sigh. “Not a word to a soul. Then there was the young Cullen family at Number 6. When Sally had the baby she lost her job, and then the talk was that they got into financial difficulties and weren’t managing to keep up with their mortgage payments.” She shook her head. “This is what happens when young people get big ideas and think they can just walk into the most desirable areas without having the money to back it up. If people would only know their place in life instead of trying to keep up with more professional people, they wouldn’t get into all this sort of nonsense.”

Maria suddenly felt that there was some point being aimed at her father, and it made her feel defensive. “Well, our family have been living here since before I was born – and before some of the other families in the street – but I think it’s a shame when any family hits hard times.”

“So do I,” Jennifer added, making eyes behind her mother’s back.

Maria saw her neighbour’s face tighten, and she knew her remark had hit home as the Contis had been there five years before the Coxes.

Mrs Cox shook her head and smiled. “You’re both young and naïve in the ways of the world. When you have your own houses and families and responsibilities you’ll soon know what it’s all about.”

There was a slight awkwardness so Maria turned towards the gate. “Sorry for being a nuisance . . . I’ve probably made the thing about the two men more dramatic than it was.”

“You can’t be too careful,” Mrs Cox said. “So we’ll keep an eye out for anything further going on.”

After she let herself into the house and carefully locked it behind her, Maria sat at the kitchen table debating whether or not she should phone her father and tell him what had happened. One half of her knew she should, but the other half was reluctant in case he came rushing home and refused to leave her on her own again. She was just thinking that maybe she should talk to Mrs Lowry about it and get her opinion, when her heart suddenly leapt as another loud rap came on the door. She moved quickly out into the hall and into the dining room so she could look out of the corner of the bay window to check who it was. Her first thought was that it was the two men back again and, if it was, she had no intention of opening the door to them.

Her heart was racing as she pulled the curtain back a little to allow her to see who it was. She could just see the bottom of a man’s dark trousers and shoes. It was only when he moved back down a step that Maria realised it was only the window-cleaner.

She went out to speak to him and had just finished explaining to him about Mrs Lowry having the money when she heard the phone start to ring. She closed the door and went in quickly to answer it, but it stopped. She was halfway up the stairs when it suddenly rang again, startling her.

She ran down into the hallway and picked the receiver up.

A voice said, “Hi, is that you, Maria?”

After all the shocks she’d had this afternoon, this was the biggest one. “Yes,” she said, “it is.”

“It’s Paul . . . Paul Spencer.”

There was a little pause during which her stomach did a somersault.

“I hope you don’t mind me ringing you?”

“No . . . not at all.” Then, there was another pause which made her feel so nervous that she suddenly heard herself saying, “Is there anything the matter?”

“What do you mean?”

She swallowed hard. “With you ringing me . . .” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she made a fist with her hand and pressed it to her lips to stop herself from saying something else that was stupid.

Paul gave a little cough to clear his throat. “I know it’s short notice . . . but I wondered if you’d like to go to the cinema with me tonight? It would be a kind of double date with Tony who works with me at the stables and your friend Stella.”

Maria had to take several deep breaths to steady her breathing. “That’s nice of you to ask,” she said, “but can I just check that you haven’t been railroaded into this by the other two. Are you sure you definitely want to go?”

“No, no . . . I haven’t been railroaded into anything . . .”

She thought his voice sound taken aback or maybe even slightly anxious, but she didn’t know him well enough to work out which it was.

He cleared his throat again. “I’d really like you to come to the cinema with me tonight.”

She held her breath to stop herself from saying that she would have preferred to have been asked out on her own, as it might just put him off her entirely or set a bad tone for their first date. And maybe, she thought, it might be easier in some ways if the four of them went together. Besides, she didn’t really want to mention the date to her father and if Stella was with her she wouldn’t have to. It wasn’t that her father would have a problem with her going out with a boy – in fact he often joked about it – it was more she didn’t want to make a big deal of it in case it came to nothing.

“Okay,” she said, “that sounds great.”

“So, you’ll go?”

“Yes.”

“Fantastic!”

She couldn’t believe how delighted and relieved he sounded and she felt instantly better about it all.

“I’ve been thinking of asking you out for a while,” he went on, “but I never seemed to get the opportunity and, to be frank, I didn’t have the courage to just phone out of the blue. It seems so stupid but if it hadn’t been for Tony I probably would have dithered about for ages.”

Stella had been right, she thought, feeling guilty for misjudging her friend.

“Where will we meet?” she asked now.

“I think Tony and Stella have worked out all the arrangements. Tony is borrowing his friend’s car, so we’ll drive over to the cinema.”

“Okay,” Maria said, “I’ll ring her after this.”

There was a pause.

“Great, I’ll see you tonight then,” he said.

She couldn’t think of anything else to say, so she just said, “Yes, see you tonight.”

After she hung the phone up, she clapped her hands together and laughed with delight.

“I’m going on a date!” she said aloud. “I can’t believe it – I’m going on a date with Paul Spencer!”

When she calmed down, she dialled Stella’s number. Mrs Maxwell answered the phone.

“Hello, Maria, I’m afraid Stella is busy with ballet practice at the moment. Can she ring you back when she’s finished?” Then she said, “Oh, hang on a moment. She’s just come down the stairs. Stella, it’s Maria . . .”

There was a pause.

“Hi, Maria.”

“It’s all on for tonight!” Maria’s voice was high and excited. “Paul phoned.”

“Great. I’ll meet you in the café opposite the cinema at six o’clock ”

Stella seemed unnaturally calm and quiet, making Maria wonder if she was still annoyed with her for the curt way she ended their last phone call.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, thanks, I was just in the middle of practising some barre work for my ballet exam.”

Stella’s parents were so convinced of her talent that her father had converted one of the spare bedrooms in their large house into a practice room for her with a barre, mirror tiles on one wall and a special wooden floor. Stella often asked Maria to come over to practise their exercises with her, but she only went occasionally as Mrs Maxwell said she thought they only distracted each other and never got around to any serious work.

Stella suddenly raised her voice. “My mother doesn’t approve of me stopping dancing when I’ve just warmed up. She thinks I’m so immature and stupid I still need her to tell me absolutely everything I should do.”

Maria heard a door banging in the background and realised that her friend and her mother had obviously been rowing. “She hasn’t heard about you and Tony, has she?”

“You are joking!” Stella whispered in a scathing tone. “She wouldn’t just be banging doors, it would be more like World War Three if she knew. She said I couldn’t go to the cinema if I didn’t get all my ballet work done and some studying too! She’s driving me mad!” There was a slight pause. “Hang on – just let me check that the kitchen door is shut.”

Maria waited, her high spirits about Paul Spencer now dampened by the atmosphere she could detect in Stella’s house. She couldn’t imagine anything like that happening between herself and her father, and felt uncomfortable on her friend’s behalf. She wondered now if Mrs Maxwell would be annoyed with her for distracting Stella from her dance practice, and maybe be annoyed they were going out to the cinema later tonight.

When Stella picked the phone up again, Maria said quickly, “I just wanted to know what the arrangements are for tonight. I won’t keep you back in case you get into trouble.”

“I’m not in any rush,” Stella told her, loud enough for anyone around Maxwells’ hallway to hear. “Go on. Tell me what Paul Spencer said.”

Maria went on to relate the conversation word for word.

“I told you he liked you!” Stella said triumphantly. “So now do you believe me?”

Maria gave a self-conscious giggle. “Well, I suppose so . . .”

Stella lowered her voice. “Okay, the plan is that you and I will meet in the Plaza café at six o’clock, so we’ve plenty of time to chat about things before the film.”

“You mean that we’re meeting up on our own before Tony and Paul arrive?”

“Precisely.”

“Okay,” Maria said, glancing over at the clock. “It’s half past three now and I’m going to go and have a bath and wash my hair.”

“See you later, alligator!”

“In a while, crocodile!” Maria laughed. “And don’t break your leg dancing!”

Chapter 6

When she was putting the towels in the laundry basket, Maria thought that she should phone her father to say she was definitely going out to the pictures in case he rang her. It was then that she remembered about the two men. She bit her lip, debating whether to mention it to him on the phone now, or leave it to a more suitable time. He would definitely be worried, she decided, and especially when she told him about the man jamming the door open with his foot. There was also the possibility that he would drive home to investigate the matter further and she did not want that when she was virtually on her way out to meet Stella.

Her father might even ring Mrs Lowry and ask her to start coming over every evening. And although she was very fond of the housekeeper, she definitely didn’t want to be baby-sat at almost sixteen years of age. It was best, she thought, for the time being to say nothing about the callers.

She had a quick chat with her father and told him about her cinema plans, and he told her that the restaurant was busy for a weeknight but he hoped to be home reasonably early. Afterwards she tidied up the kitchen then went back upstairs to her bedroom to put her make-up on and spray herself with Madame Rochas, a birthday present from the chef Franco and his wife Bernice.

As she slid her arms into her coat, she wondered if she had gone a bit mad with the perfume as it seemed more potent than usual. She rubbed at her wrist and neck with a tissue and consoled herself that a walk out in the fresh air would tone the scent down by the time she met up with Paul Spencer.

As she walked along Heaton Moor Road, her mind full of the evening ahead, she spotted Mrs Lowry coming out of the fruit and vegetable shop on the corner with a bag in each hand. Maria went towards her, always delighted to see the housekeeper.

“Hello, love,” Mrs Lowry said, giving her a big smile. “You’re looking very well dressed tonight. Are you off out somewhere nice?”

“I’m just off to the cinema with some friends.”

“Ah, it will do you good to have a night off – you’ve been studying hard for the last few weeks. Have you found everything okay at home after I’ve been in? Is there anything else that you noticed needed doing?”

“It’s all fine, thanks.” Then she remembered. “Did the window-cleaner call for his money? Dad told me to remind him this afternoon.”

“He did indeed,” Mrs Lowry said. “How’s your dad doing? I haven’t seen him for a while – I’ve only spoken to him on the phone.”

“He’s fine, thanks.”

“I hope he’s not killing himself at the restaurant? All those late hours he does . . .”

Maria felt a little catch in her throat. “No . . . no. He tries to finish earlier during the week. I was on the phone to him just before I came out and he said he’s hoping to be home in a couple of hours.”

“I’m glad to hear it. No one could ever accuse your father of being a lazy man.”

For a moment she considered telling Mrs Lowry about her father buying Bella Maria, but something stopped her. Time was one thing, because Stella might already be in the café waiting for her, but there was also the fear that Mrs Lowry might disapprove of him getting further involved in horses and gambling.

She might voice the same fears that Maria herself had. And the housekeeper might even say them to her father.

They chatted for a little longer then Maria said she’d better go as her friend was waiting for her. As she hurried towards the Plaza Café, she thought back to the last time she had been worried about her father – weeks before he ran into all the trouble with the bank.

It was during a particularly bad period, when Leo was not coming home after the restaurant closed at the weekends and some weeknights and was instead drinking and taking part in late-night card games. The housekeeper would be there when Maria came back from her after-school classes or the restaurant, depending on what evening it was, and then they would have supper together and she would see Maria off to bed. Then she would sit watching the television and knitting or sewing until Leo returned. Sometimes he came home as he should around eleven o’clock but there were occasions he didn’t arrive home until the early hours and he was usually the worst for drink. Mrs Lowry tolerated his lame excuses about problems in the restaurant for a while but she eventually told him that if his erratic hours continued, he would have to find a new minder for Maria. She explained as inoffensively as she could that, whilst she loved being with Maria, she needed to get to bed before midnight as she was up again at seven o’clock to get her sons out for work in the morning.

Leo had apologised profusely and told her he would organise things at the restaurant to make sure he was home earlier and had more evenings off. Things improved for a while but, bit by bit, he started sliding back to his old ways. One night he came in drunk and fell over the hall table, waking Maria up and causing Mrs Lowry to have the big showdown with him that had been coming for a while.

Unknown to the two adults, Maria was sitting in her dressing gown at the top of the stairs and listening to every word. She heard Mrs Lowry tell Leo that he was going to come to a bad end if he didn’t stop all his drinking and gambling. She heard her father’s weak apologies and then she heard him break down crying, saying that he felt lonely since Maria’s mother had died, and how he couldn’t sleep at night, and how the only time he relaxed and forgot about losing his wife was when he had a few glasses of wine or was watching a race or playing cards.

“That’s not an answer to it, Leo,” the housekeeper said, but Maria heard a kinder note in her voice. “And the restaurant won’t run itself if you’re at the bookies every afternoon and playing cards in bars in the evening. And you’re going to run into an accident in the car one of these nights when you’ve been drinking too much. Then what will Maria do?”

Maria closed her eyes. The thought made her feel sick. Losing her father was her worst nightmare.

“You’re right,” he said. “You are correct. I will be more careful for both our sakes, and I will try to spend more time with Maria. It’s just that I find it very lonely without Anna . . . and I still have nightmares about the way she died, gasping for breath . . .”

Maria’s hands flew to her mouth. She knew her mother had died from an asthma attack, but she hadn’t really thought about what that meant. She hadn’t thought of her struggling like that . . .

“I know it’s very hard for you, Leo,” Mrs Lowry had continued, “and believe you me, I know what it’s like to feel that way. I lost my only daughter to cancer when she was fifteen years old. It’s something you never really get over, but you just have to make yourself.”

“But how?” Leo had asked. “Do you think I haven’t tried? Do you think I want to feel this way?”

“Keep thinking of Maria and you won’t go wrong. Anna’s gone a few years now, God rest her soul – and maybe it’s time that you found yourself another wife and a new mother for Maria. I think it’s what Anna would have wanted.”

Maria’s heart had raced at Mrs Lowry’s words. How could she say or even think such a terrible thing? She didn’t want someone strange coming into their lives, trying to replace her mother, and neither did her father. They had got used to things, and were happy enough on their own, apart from her father needing to cut down on his drinking and gambling which he had just promised he would.

She moved forward to grip the bannister, listening carefully for his reply.

“Another wife? How could I even think of replacing Anna?”

Maria was glad her father’s voice had sounded so incredulous.

“Think about it, that’s all I’m saying,” Mrs Lowry had said. “It’s not normal for a man to be on his own, and you might be more inclined to come home if you had a nice woman waiting for you. And you’re a fine-looking man – there’s many a woman out there who would be happy to look after you and Maria.”

Maria’s heart had leapt into her throat. How could Mrs Lowry betray her mother’s memory by suggesting her father could love someone else?

Then there had been a silence that made her feel sicker. What if her father took the housekeeper’s advice? Supposing he brought someone back to the house who thought she wanted a new mother?

“But I’m not ready to meet anyone,” her father eventually said. “At this moment in time, the only female I want in my life is Maria.”

Maria’s shoulders slumped forward in relief, and she leaned her head on the bannister railings. Thank God, she thought . . . thank God he doesn’t want another woman.

“Well, you know your own mind,” she heard Mrs Lowry say. “Just make sure that you’re good and sober for her and not throwing all your money away on the horses and cards.”

Maria knew the housekeeper was right, and was speaking to her father as if he were one of her sons, but listening to her telling him off made her feel sad for him.

“Have you any family who could come over from Italy to help you for a while?”

“Well, you know my two brothers recently moved to America.” Her father’s voice was weary. “And my older sister looks after my parents. I have a niece I could ask, but I’m not sure how she would find Manchester . . . if she could settle here.” There was a silence and then he said, “I have many, many good friends here in Manchester and I know they would help me out, but I know Maria would prefer you. You have been with her since she was a baby and I know the feelings you have for her.”

“I know, I know,” Mrs Lowry said. “And it’s not just her I think the world of – sure, you’re like one of my family, Leo – and better than some of them.”

His reply was so low that Maria could not hear it.

“And I don’t really mean it about you getting somebody else to look after her,” Mrs Lowry continued. “I just wanted to give you a bit of a fright, so you would get things on more of an even keel, and not have me sitting here late at night worrying about you.”

“You have my word that things will improve,” he had told her. “I know I need to improve in a few areas of my life, and I will start with this. From now on I will be home as soon as the restaurant closes.”

“Well, that’s fine,” she said. “And I do understand that Fridays and Saturdays are always that bit later. We’ll say no more about it. Now, I need to be getting home, I’ve a busy day ahead of me.”

“I’ll just check Maria is okay, and then I’ll walk you down to the end of the road.”

“She’s fine,” Mrs Lowry said. “I checked on her not five minutes ago and she was fast asleep.”

Before either of them could see or hear her, Maria crept silently back to her room.

It was from that night onwards that Maria began to feel anxious about her father. And while she was very fond of Mrs Lowry, she hoped she would not make any further suggestion that her father go out and find himself another woman. They were doing okay on their own. She had her friends at school and Mrs Lowry and Franco and all the other people in the restaurant. They didn’t need anyone else in their lives.

The wake-up call from the bank came shortly afterwards, and things then changed in the way her father had promised, and had continued nicely up until now.

Chapter 7

Maria always felt self-conscious before walking alone into any café or restaurant other than Leonardo’s. Her face was flushing even before she pushed the glass door open, although she immediately began to relax when she caught sight of the confident Stella standing over by the jukebox. Her friend’s arm was leaning casually over the top of the machine, and she had one long wing of blonde hair falling down over her face. She stood half-posing in her new jeans and leather jacket – the jacket which she had fought over for weeks with her mother.

It was amazing how nothing ever seemed to rattle Stella. She was confident about almost everything, always saying she didn’t care what people thought of her.

Maria hadn’t seen her friend in trousers for a week or two and noticed, with a start, how much looser they seemed than before. Stella was obviously losing weight again. Maria wouldn’t say anything because, the last time she brought up the subject, Stella had been very defensive about it, saying that all dedicated ballet dancers had to watch their weight, that it was part and parcel of their life. But, looking at Stella now, she was looking too thin, almost frail.

Maria came up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. “Do you come here often?”

Stella swung around and they both started to giggle.

“Do you want a Pepsi?” Maria asked.

“Yeah, that would be great. I’ll just finish picking my five records and then I’ll grab us a booth at the back.” Stella always preferred the seats at the back of the café as they could watch everyone who came in and out without being seen too obviously themselves.

When they were both settled with their bottles of Pepsi and pink-and-white stripy straws, Stella leaned across the table and whispered, “Can you believe we’re going to the pictures with Tony – and Paul Spencer? It’s brilliant, isn’t it?”

Maria pulled a face and then rolled her eyes. “I’m quite nervous about it, aren’t you?”

“Not really – they’re probably a lot more nervous anyway. I read in a magazine that boys are less confident than girls.” She laughed. “We’re not the ones who have to worry about making the first move . . .”

“Oh, don’t!” Maria said.

Stella laughed, knowing she had hit a raw spot. She turned to the side and then slid her arm up on to the back of the leather seat. “This will be Paul pretending he’s leaning his arm on the back of your seat in the cinema, and next thing he’ll casually lean on your shoulder . . . and then he’ll make a grab for one of your –”

“Don’t dare say it!” Maria leaned across the table and pushed her friend’s arm in a playful manner. “If he even tries anything like that on a first date he’ll be in so much trouble.”

“Won’t you let him kiss you? Seriously, Maria – surely you won’t mind him kissing you?” She lifted her Pepsi bottle and took another sip.

Maria shrugged. “I haven’t even thought that far.”

“You don’t need to worry – you’ve been out with other boys before. What about Kevin Andrews? You went out with him for a few months last year.”

“That was different – he seemed much younger. I felt a lot younger than I do now. And I suppose I only saw him the odd weekend because he lived in Buxton. When I think back, we only saw each other half a dozen times. Not exactly a serious boyfriend.”

Stella’s brows came down. “You did at least kiss him, didn’t you? I’m sure you told me you did.”

“Yes, of course I kissed him!” Maria felt a sense of indignation, as though her friend thought she was a complete child. How could she tell her that up until recently she wasn’t that interested in boys? That her schoolwork, her hobbies and the restaurant had all kept her busy enough. And each summer, when Stella and her other friends were out and about meeting boys, she and her father had spent a month in Italy with her elderly grandparents.

“Kissing a boy is no big deal,” Stella said. “It’s deciding when to let them go a bit further is the problem. Especially when they’re nineteen years old and really good-looking, like Tony.”

A tinge of alarm ran through Maria now. She always felt awkward when Stella alluded to sex. It was something she herself had no personal experience of, and their discussions nearly always ended up in a row because one minute Stella would talk as though she knew everything about it and then, if Maria showed any kind of shock, the next minute she would back-pedal and say she had picked her up all wrong. The last time they had the conversation Stella had really had a go at her, saying she was suggesting she was some kind of a harlot.

Maria thought better of continuing the conversation and side-stepped it by laughing and saying, “I’ve not even thought about anything like that – I’ve been too busy worrying about not having anything to talk about.”

“You’ve loads to talk about – horses for a start.”

“That’s all I’ve ever spoken to him about before. The conversation we had on the phone this afternoon was the very first one we’ve ever had without mentioning horses. We can’t just say ‘Hello’ tonight and then go straight into talking about horses again.”

Stella’s shoulders started heaving and she had to cover her mouth.

“It’s not funny,” Maria said, laughing in spite of herself. “You’ve chatted to Tony loads of times. What do you talk about?”

Stella looked thoughtful. “Lots of things . . . music, television, football . . . all that sort of thing.”

“Football?” What do you know about football?”

“Well, I don’t actually have to say much on the subject. Tony just yaks on about it and I just pretend to look interested. Most of the time we just have a laugh together. He’s really funny.”

“The thing is,” Maria said, “you know him much better than I know Paul Spencer.”

“Well, don’t forget that Tony is a few years older than us, and he’s very easy to talk to. And he might only be a riding instructor – as my dear mother keeps reminding me – but he is intelligent in his own way.” She narrowed her eyes in thought. “Paul is definitely more the shy type, but he can’t be that shy if he got the courage up to ring you himself.”

“I suppose that’s true . . .”

“I must be honest, Maria, I was terrified he would back out of tonight because he wasn’t brave enough to phone you –” Stella suddenly stopped and craned her neck, looking towards the door. “I don’t believe it . . . here they come, half an hour early! They must be really keen.”

Maria’s heart started to race, and she wished she’d had time to go to the ladies’ to check her hair and make-up. She grabbed her friend’s hand and whispered, “Do I look all right? My hair’s not all messed up or anything, is it?”

Stella gave her a brief glance. “You look fine. Stop worrying. Just act natural and relaxed.” She gave a wave now to attract the boys’ attention and then, when they spotted her, she swept a hand through her blonde hair and gave them a big sultry smile.

Amidst her panic about how she looked, Maria registered her friend’s sexy hair gesture. It was one of the film-star poses that Stella often did for a laugh at school to entertain their friends when they were fooling around at break times. The one she had just demonstrated was a Brigitte Bardot gesture, but this time there were no giggles – she was doing it for real.

Tony came straight up to the table and slid into the leather couch on Stella’s side, grinning and bumping his hip against hers to get her to move along and make room for him. Maria half-turned to see Paul standing at the table next to her. When she looked up at him, he smiled and raised his eyebrows and she tried to look casual as she quickly moved to the inside to let him sit beside her.

Tony clapped his hands and then rubbed them together. “Well, girls,” he said, looking at one and then the other, “you’re certainly looking good tonight without the school uniforms or the riding gear.”

“The cheek of it!” Stella said, giving him a playful shove. “We could say the same about you two.”

“Oh, it’s a long time since I wore a school skirt!”

They all laughed.

Tony looked at his watch. “We’ve three quarters of an hour before the film starts. Do you fancy another Pepsi, girls?”

Maria looked at him and thought his manner – albeit pleasant and cheery – was that of someone who was now in complete control of the group. She presumed it was because he was older than them that it was the natural thing to do, but something told her that Tony would be like that with fellows his own age. Paul Spencer was only a year or so older than her and Stella, and obviously had a different personality altogether. So far he hadn’t said a word.

Stella held her bottle up and made a little face. She looked over at Maria. “Do you want another one?”

Before she could say anything, Tony put his hands flat on the table and said, “Maybe you’d like to chance something a bit more exciting? A shandy or a Babycham maybe?”

Maria caught her breath at the suggestion of them going to a pub and looked across the table to see Stella’s reaction – but Stella just smiled and shrugged.

“Is there anywhere around here that would let us in?” Paul’s voice was doubtful.

“With your height, no one’s going to question you.”

“I was thinking of the girls. They’re quite a bit underage.”

Maria knew she should speak up now because she could tell Paul felt the same as she did but she didn’t want Stella to accuse her of being a killjoy. She was actually surprised that her friend wasn’t speaking up because the Maxwells were stricter than her father about everything. Over the last few years Maria had been allowed a glass of wine with their meals at the weekends as her father said he would rather she learned to drink carefully than feel she had to sneak it behind his back. Maria had no great interest in it at all and would have been happy with a Pepsi.

“They don’t look underage for anything tonight,” Tony said, winking at the girls. He turned back to Paul. “I’m sure we’d get into The Staging Post without any trouble. I’ve been in there a good few times and never seen the staff question anyone. The old fella at the bar is easy-going and at this time it’s empty so he’ll probably be glad of the custom. They have a small room at the door – you three could go into and I’ll go to the bar.”

Stella caught Maria’s eye now and gave her a big smile. Then she put her arm through Tony’s. “I’m game for it if the rest of you are.”

“Great stuff!” Tony looked at the other two.

Maria suddenly felt a hand on her arm. She glanced up and saw Paul was staring at her with a concerned expression on his face. “Are you okay about going into a pub? We won’t be there long.”

Maria’s mind worked quickly. What was the worst that could happen? She supposed it would be getting put out of the pub for being too young or her father finding out. Neither were the end of the world for her. She shrugged and smiled. “If you all want to go, then I’m okay too.”

As they left the café, Tony caught Stella’s hand and they walked ahead, laughing and carrying on, leaving Paul and Maria to follow. Maria felt awkward and shy for a few moments until Paul started chatting.

“I hope,” he said, “that you didn’t think that the pub idea was all planned out between me and Tony? If I’d known I would have mentioned it to you on the phone.”

Maria looked at him. “So you didn’t know?”

“When Tony suggested it in the café, it was the first time I’d heard of it. I don’t mind myself, I’ve been in pubs before – but I just wanted you to know that I wouldn’t have gone about things the way he has.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” she said, picking her words carefully, “but I think it sounds as though Tony made all the decisions for the four of us.”

“He’s a decent enough guy, and a great worker – but it’s a work friendship and we have our own very different ways.”

Maria nodded and smiled. She could tell that he didn’t want to run Tony down, and she liked him more now for the careful way he had explained it.

The pub was exactly as Tony described it, although Maria thought it felt dampish and smelled strongly of beer and cigarettes. It made her think that it was usually frequented by older men. It was entirely different to Leonardo’s, with its lovely cooking smells, where most people drank wine with their meals although some of the customers did smoke after they had eaten.

Tony ushered the two girls into the room at the front, which was just big enough to hold four small round tables, each with four tapestry-covered chairs. He held a chair out for Stella and then rushed over to do the same for Maria while Paul was taking his coat off. Maria felt he was making an issue of this to show that he knew the correct way to treat ladies, even though he might not come from the same moneyed background as his boss’s son.

“Right, girls,” Tony said, leaning on the back of Stella’s chair, “what will it be? Babycham, Cherry-B, shandy, lager and lime?” He listed the drinks like an expert then smiled indulgently at them both as he awaited their decision.

Maria looked over at Stella. “What are you having?”

Stella thought for a moment. “I think I’ll have a . . . gin and tonic.”

“And I’ll have the same, please.” It wasn’t worth it, she thought, to make an issue of having something like wine or sherry just because she’d tried it before. Besides, she heard all the girls at school going on about gin and tonic as it was seen as one of the more sophisticated drinks, and she reckoned that’s why Stella had picked it.

“Starting off with the hard stuff!” Tony laughed. “I like your style.” He went over to the bar and, just as he had said, the man serving never came to look at them or check on their ages.

They chatted away – sometimes all four of them, and sometimes the two couples. Tony held court for a lot of the time, making jokes about the friend’s car he had borrowed, which he described as a “bit of an old banger”.

When they were chatting on their own, Paul asked Maria how her exams were going and then told her that his parents had been in Leonardo’son several occasions and thought it one of the best restaurants in Manchester for a nice, relaxed night out. He said his mother particularly liked the Italian food, and was trying different things from the menu each time they went. Paul then asked her what sort of music she liked and they discovered they both liked The Rolling Stones and Bob Dylan. At one point Maria had to stop herself from smiling when she realised they hadn’t talked about horses once.

When they were all halfway down their drinks, Paul checked if they would all have the same again.

“Shall we have a Babycham this time around?” Stella suggested.

Again Maria agreed. She had found the gin and tonic a strange-tasting drink at first, though she had gradually got used to it, and thought the bubbly drink might be more to her liking.

She watched Paul go to the bar with a small degree of trepidation in case the barman refused to serve him as he was more than a year younger than Tony and, even though he was almost eighteen, he was still at school. For all he seemed quietly confident, she felt he was acting more relaxed than he really felt.

When he came back with the drinks Tony launched into a funny story about one of the adults who came to the stables who had bought a new horse that wasn’t as docile as the seller had promised and had all sorts of problems with it. As they were all laughing, Maria wondered – since they were talking about people buying horses – whether it was a good time to mention that her father had actually bought a racehorse, but something held her back.

Fifteen minutes before the film started, they finished up their second drinks and then made their way towards the cinema, Stella and Tony once again leading the way and the two others following behind.

A string of cars came loudly past them, so Paul put his arm around Maria’s shoulders to draw her close enough to hear. “I hope you didn’t feel too awkward in the pub?”

“It was fine,” she told him. “I enjoyed it.”

“Good. It’s not the best place I’ve been in, but it filled the time in nicely.” He let his arm slide off her shoulders now as they walked along, then, when they came to cross the road further along, she smiled to herself when he put his arm around her again. She wondered if he would kiss her in the cinema.

Maria and Stella stood to the side in the foyer as the boys went to join the short queue for tickets. “Well,” Stella whispered, “how are things going so far between you and Paul? I looked back earlier and I thought the pair of you looked very cosy.”

“He’s been really nice. He’s quiet but . . . nice. How are you and Tony getting on?”

“Oh God!” Stella smiled and closed her eyes for a few moments, and when she opened them, they had a dewy look about them.

Maria couldn’t tell if her friend was overcome by emotion or whether the two drinks had had an effect on her.

“Tony is fantastic,” Stella said, her eyes shining. “Everything about him is just fantastic. He’s been everywhere and done everything.” Her face grew serious. “He lived in Epsom, just outside London for a while, you know – he was working in one of the really big stables. He has a lot of experience with horses.”

“Paul says he’s one of the best riding instructors in the Manchester area.”

“He is, and Spencers’ Stables are lucky to have him. He says he loved the life in London – going to parties and concerts. He came back because his family are here, but I think he finds it a bit quieter than he expected.” She dropped her voice now. “He’s asked me if I’ll go to an all-night party with him in Manchester a week on Saturday.”

“An all-night party?” Maria’s eyes widened. “What did you say?”

“That I’ll think about it. I’ll have to work hard to get into my mother’s good books before then.”

“Do you think she’ll let you go to an all-night party?”

Stella laughed. “Are you joking? Can you just imagine my mother or my father’s reaction if they knew? They’d have a complete fit and I’d never be let outside the door.”

Maria looked baffled. “So how can you go?”

“I just need to come up with a good, believable excuse. I wish you didn’t live so close or I could say I was staying the night with you.”

“Hoi – don’t drag me into your lies!” Maria said, her tone half-joking and half-serious. “I don’t want your mother blaming me and then I’d get into trouble with my dad. It wouldn’t work anyway, because your mother would only phone the house to speak to you. She always does when you stay overnight.”

“I thought I might say I’m staying with one of the girls from my ballet class who lives the other side of Manchester,” Stella went on, as if Maria had never spoken. “I could say we’re going to a specialist ballet shop or something. Or I might just say it’s the girl’s birthday and her mother has invited me to stay overnight.”

“But she’d still phone!”

Then, as the two boys came towards them with the tickets, boxes of popcorn and bottles of Coca-Cola, Stella said, “Whatever happens I’m going to the party with Tony, and I don’t care how I do it.”