One Night in Italy (35 page)

Freddie bit his lip. ‘I’m meant to be meeting someone actually,’ he said apologetically.

‘Oh,’ said Nita, drooping in her seat.

‘Awk-ward,’ sang Phoebe under her breath.

‘You can always bring them along too,’ Sophie suggested.

‘Everyone’s welcome. But anyway, shall we get on with the lesson? Today we’re going to learn a few more verbs, and we’ll start practising talking about our daily routines – getting up, having breakfast, going to work . . . that sort of thing.’ She grinned. ‘And
then
we’re going to get all the gossip out of Anna down the pub. Bring it on.’

The second restaurant-review dinner – not a date, Anna kept reminding herself – had taken place at Milton’s, a new brasserie on Norfolk Street. With flickering candles and intimate booths for two, it was definitely a romantic venue, just as Imogen had requested, with modern French food and the most mouthwatering dessert list Anna had ever salivated over.

‘Good call,’ said Joe, looking around appreciatively while she took off her coat. ‘Restaurant looks nice too,’ he added.

‘Ha ha. But thanks,’ Anna said. She’d put on her favourite black boat-necked dress and rollered her hair so that it fell in big waves around her shoulders. At the time she’d been channelling an elegant
Mad Men
look, but on her way into town she’d started worrying that it was more Jessica Rabbit, all cleavage and hips – way too much for dinner with a colleague. ‘So do you.’

‘What, this old thing?’ he joked, flicking his shirt. ‘Thanks. So . . .’ he said, picking up the menu. ‘What are Anna and “Handsome Colleague” going to get up to tonight, then?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Just because I said that once doesn’t mean I’m calling you it again,’ she warned. ‘You could be renamed “Annoying Colleague” by the time this goes to print.’

‘Imogen wants romance,’ he reminded her. ‘And the readers of Sheffield are panting for some action, according to her.’

‘So? The readers of Sheffield might have to lump it,’ Anna replied, studying her own menu.

‘Come on, I’m only having a laugh,’ he told her. ‘I think “Handsome Colleague” may at least lean in and try for a kiss later on. You know what he’s like.’

The list of food began jumbling in front of Anna’s eyes. Try for a kiss? Did he mean she should make this up for the sake of the column, or was he actually saying . . . ? The situation was getting very confusing.

‘I think “Handsome Colleague” ought to remember that he’s still got a girlfriend before there’s any of that,’ she said lightly, hoping he couldn’t hear her heart pounding. ‘I fancy the steak frites. How about you?’

It had been a very odd night. An enjoyable night, definitely, but nobody could have denied the peculiar undercurrent running through it all. Sitting in a romantic restaurant for the purpose of writing a fictional romantic review, feeling attracted to the man opposite you but not having a clue how he felt in return . . . It didn’t half mess with your head.

‘So nothing happened?’ Sophie asked, when they were ensconced in their usual seats in The Bitter End after the Italian class.

‘Not even a peck on the cheek,’ Anna replied, trying not to sound too disappointed. ‘Which is fine, obviously. Because he does have a girlfriend, after all, the beautiful yet mardy Julia.’

‘Sounds like
she’s
on the way out,’ Phoebe commented.

‘But you put in the review that there was “simmering tension”,’ Catherine said. ‘I was hoping that bit was true.’

‘Well, it kind of was,’ Anna said, ‘but I’m pretending I just made that up to get my boss off my case.’ She pulled a face. ‘It’s all extremely complicated.’

‘But you’re going to Rome together at least,’ George said.

‘Yep,’ Anna replied. ‘He’s going to see the Wales match and I’ve booked myself onto an Italian cookery course. I can’t wait!’

‘Wonderful,’ Sophie said. ‘And then on to Rimini? To Lungomare Augusto?’

‘You bet. I’m going to hunt down that papa and we’ll all live happily ever after,’ Anna said. She raised her glass. ‘Cheers to that!’

Everyone clinked their glasses together and chorused ‘
Salute!
’

‘So you’re really going then,’ Catherine said to Anna, as George asked Roy about Geraldine and the others all leaned in to hear the answer. ‘Wow, that’s so exciting.’

Anna beamed. ‘I know. I can’t believe Imogen has given us the go-ahead. We’ve got to write at least two more restaurant reviews for her, though – that’s the pay-off. The usual reviewer – Marla – is spitting feathers, I’m telling you.’

‘And have you got a strategy when it comes to tracking down your dad? Have you been able to find out any more?’

‘Well, I’ve been digging around online,’ Anna replied. ‘I’ve put his photo up on a couple of Rimini-based message-boards in the hope that someone will identify him before I go. I’ve been in contact with a lady at the tourist office who said she’d help me search through records in the town hall, too.’ She sipped her drink. ‘It’s a bit of a needle in a haystack still, but I’ve just got to try.’

‘It’s a shame you can’t find out his second name,’ Catherine said. ‘It would help so much in getting an address or phone number.’

Anna fiddled with a beermat. ‘I know, but my mum is so stubborn. She’s never wanted to talk about him. And God knows I’ve tried. My nan hasn’t mentioned him again either. As for my aunt . . . She’s so loyal to my mum, I know she’ll never say anything.’

‘It might be worth one last shot with your mum,’ Catherine said. ‘Seeing as you’re going all that way. Don’t you think?’

‘Hmmm.’ Anna bit her lip. Catherine was right, but what would it cost? A massive row? An icy months-long silence?

‘Sometimes as a parent you keep things from your children because you want to protect them,’ Catherine said. ‘I’ve done it myself. But if one of them came to me and laid it on the line, saying
tell me
, I think I would. Especially if they were about to head off abroad on a quest, like you.’

Anna didn’t respond instantly. She was trying to imagine what her mum would do if she laid her cards on the table and informed her she was going to Rimini, so there. Would Tracey help her or stand in her way?

‘It’s worth a go,’ Catherine urged. ‘Just be honest with her. It could make all the difference.’

‘Hi Mum, it’s me.’ It was ten o’clock the same evening and Anna, with half a bottle of wine inside her, had decided to take action.

‘Hello, love, I was just on my way up to bed. Is everything all right?’

‘Everything’s fine,’ Anna said. She shut her eyes for a moment and willed herself to go through with this. ‘Er . . . Mum. Look, I know this might be a shock, but last year Nan told me about Gino. My dad. And the thing is . . . Well, I’m going to Rimini to find him in a few weeks.’

There was a shocked silence. Anna cringed, waiting for the furious blast she knew was coming. ‘Your dad?’ Tracey said blankly. ‘Rimini? Sorry, love, you’ve lost me. What are you on about?’

‘I saw Marie’s photos. Nan told me his name. I’m going to Rimini but I need more than a photograph. If you could just tell me his second name or anything else about him, it would be a massive help. Please, Mum. It’s really getting to me. I just want to know.’

There was another long silence. ‘
Please
,’ Anna repeated for good measure. ‘Tell me, even if it’s awful. I really want to meet him. I’ve been learning Italian and everything for this.’

Tracey’s voice sounded shaky. ‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘I don’t . . . Oh, Anna.’

‘Please, Mum.
Please
.’

‘Okay,’ she said eventually. ‘But I don’t want to do this over the phone. Why don’t you come up at the weekend? Then I’ll tell you everything, I promise.’

Chapter Twenty-Eight

L’attrice
– The actress

Sophie wasn’t sure what to expect when she went along to meet the drama group in their rehearsal area, a church hall in Broomhill. Would the other members all be gobby pensioners like Geraldine? she wondered doubtfully. Would Geraldine’s nemesis Brenda Dodds shoo her off the premises with a Zimmer frame for her impertinence and presumption?

Oh well. Let her. Sophie was only here as a favour, she reminded herself as she walked up to the door. As long as she could honestly say to Geraldine that she’d come along and given it a go, that was what mattered. She probably wouldn’t get the part anyway.

Geraldine had coached her on the play itself. ‘A modern comedy of errors,’ she’d grandly described it, before adding, ‘Taking the mickey out of rich folk thinking they’re better than what they are.’ The plot seemed to revolve around a family winning the lottery and changing for the worse. Geraldine had been due to play the estate agent who showed them around a mansion they wanted to buy. To Sophie, there didn’t sound a huge amount to go on in terms of character development. Even Meryl Streep would have struggled to make something of the tiny part.

But Meryl Streep wouldn’t have stood dithering around on the doorstep like this, would she? She’d have pushed open the door, put on a big smile and walked in. So that’s what Sophie did too.

‘Hello, you must be Sophie! Come over and join us.’

Geraldine was right, Sophie thought: Max Winter, the director, was unquestionably gorgeous, with his shock of black hair and keen blue eyes that fastened directly onto you, even across a hall full of people. He also had a generous, wide sort of smile that made her feel instantly at ease.

‘Hi,’ she said, shaking his hand and smiling self-consciously at the other members of the group as they gazed at her. They were a mixed bunch, she noticed gladly – all ages from teenagers to oldies – and no little old ladies were advancing threateningly with any kind of walking aids raised as cudgels. ‘Thanks for inviting me over. I appreciate that Geraldine rather thrust me upon you.’

‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘It’s always good to have a new person come along.’ He gestured to some seats. ‘Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?’

They sat and chatted for a few minutes and she told him about her travels and the nomadic lifestyle she’d been living until autumn last year. ‘But drama was always the thing I loved,’ she said. ‘And since I’m going to be staying in the UK for a while, I’d like to try my hand at it again.’

‘Good, good,’ he said. ‘Excellent. Can I hear you read something?’ He grabbed a dog-eared script from a nearby table and flicked through it. ‘Here. Maybe you could be Rose in this scene. I’ll be Mark. They’re a married couple who are down on their luck. He’s just blown the last of their week’s money on lottery tickets.’

‘Okay,’ she said apprehensively. She glanced through the scene to get the measure of it. An argument, good. She sounded some of the lines out in her head, then did her best to put herself in the position of angry, down-trodden wife, imagining bitter years of disappointment and frustration stretching behind her. She gripped the pages tightly so that he wouldn’t notice her hands shaking and hoped her voice would do her justice.
I want to do this
, she found herself thinking.
I want to impress him.

She took a deep breath and threw her shoulders back. ‘Ready when you are,’ she said.

As an audition piece, it was a gift to an actor. There was everything contained within the lines of the script: confrontation, tension and pace, and Sophie gave it her all. At the end, she was surprised – and delighted – to hear a faint ripple of applause from the other people in the room. She’d forgotten they were even there. ‘Oh,’ she said, blushing. ‘Thank you very much.’

Max clapped too. ‘Very nice,’ he said. ‘Well, I’m more than happy for you to take the part of Wendy since Geraldine is out of action. I hope you’ll want to stick around with us afterwards, too. We’re planning to do
Saint Joan
next.’

‘I love that play,’ Sophie said. ‘We studied it at A level.’

‘. . . Is the right answer,’ he replied with a grin. ‘Let me introduce you to the others, then I’ll give you your own script. It’s a tiny part, yours, I’m afraid, but think of it as a warm-up for plays to come.’ He put a hand up. ‘Guys! Everyone, this is Sophie. Can we take turns standing up and telling Sophie a line or two about ourselves, please? Then we’ll start the rehearsal.’

Sophie went home that evening on a massive high. It had been so much fun! Yes, her part was titchy with limited scope for actual acting, but that wasn’t the point. It had been brilliant just reading from a script with the others, seeing their characters come to life off the page, and feeling like a cog in a fantastic machine that always became more than the sum of its parts. The first performance was only a few weeks away now, so there was an added giddiness and fretting about costumes and final stage positions. She’d forgotten how much she loved it all.

Back home, she went straight to her laptop.

FACEBOOK STATUS: Sophie Frost

Guess who’s been treading the boards again?
she typed with a grin.
Drama Queen . . . MOI?

She scrolled through her timeline to see what her friends had been up to and let out a squeak of excitement when she read that Harry, a friend from the Aussie days, was back in the UK.