Short and Sweet (23 page)

Jenny could feel herself stiffening. ‘It really is no business of yours – or of John’s – whom I see or do not see! And as a matter of fact, I’ve already accepted an invitation to go out to dinner with
Signor
Parvone.’

This time she did slam the bedroom door behind her.

Next morning, Jenny faced herself in the mirror again. You’ll just have to go next door and invite him out, she told her reflection. Nothing to it! Women invite men out all the time nowadays. But
she
had never done it, she thought in panic; never in all her life had she invited a man out to dinner. What if he refused? She’d be so embarrassed!

She sagged against the wall, swallowing hard. She couldn’t do it. Definitely not.

Only – she straightened up again – that meant she would have to confess everything to Sarah. And that would be worse. Far worse. After the way John had gone on about it last night, she would die before she would admit to him that she’d been lying.

She dressed carefully in a pretty floral dress in soft blues and pinks and that gave her a bit more courage.
Bellissima
, he’d said. Taking a deep breath, she opened the bedroom door, squared her shoulders and set out on her great ordeal.

As she walked out of the front door, she saw Sarah’s bedroom curtains twitch and stopped to glare at the window. How dare her daughter spy on her!

The anger carried her up the next drive to the ornate two-storey house with its carved double doors and, before she knew it, she had rung the bell. The butterflies in her stomach were fluttering about wildly, but it was too late to back out now.

Mrs Rinaldi, a plump young woman, answered the door and sniffed when she saw who it was. ‘
Si?
’

‘I would like to see
Signor
Parvone, please.’

A stubborn look came over the woman’s face. ‘
Non capisco
.’

‘Oh, dear.’ Jenny couldn’t think what to do. She didn’t speak any Italian.

Then Niccolo came running down the stairs, with his wide smile and his hands reaching out for hers. He bowed her in as if she were a queen. ‘
Signora
Reid! How lucky that I saw you walking up to the door. This is a great pleasure! Please come in.’

‘
Papa, non è
—’

‘It is not polite to speak Italian in front of a guest, Gina. And have we no manners, to leave a visitor standing outside the door like this on such a hot day?’

Gina flushed.

‘The
signora
would enjoy some refreshments, no doubt.’ He didn’t wait for an answer, but shepherded Jenny up the stairs to his sitting room.

It was lovely in the shade of the balcony, but Jenny couldn’t relax. She decided to get it over with – then if he refused, she would make some excuse and leave. She tried desperately to find the words to ask him out, but couldn’t even think how to begin.

‘Hey!’ His broad capable hand stopped hers from mangling the handkerchief. ‘There is something wrong, I think?’

She nodded.

Footsteps approached. ‘
Momentito
.’ He got up to open the door. Gina entered, slammed down a tray and left.

‘She – your daughter – she doesn’t approve of my visiting you.’

‘She has begun to treat me like one of her children. Where am I going? Why do I not stay quietly at home? I shall most definitely buy a house of my own.’

He poured her a cup of coffee, insisted she take a pastry and piled two on to his own plate. ‘Now, please, if there is some way I can help you, for me it will be a pleasure. Or if you have just come to visit, that will also be a pleasure.’

There was no easy way to do it! ‘I came to ask if you . . .’ Her voice faltered, but she took a deep breath and said rapidly, ‘Would you like to come out to dinner with me – to a restaurant – one evening?’ Oh dear, she could feel herself blushing! She couldn’t even meet his eyes.

‘I shall be delighted. What about tonight?’

Sighing in relief, she looked up, and his smile was so kindly, she confessed, ‘That’s the first time I’ve ever invited a man out.’

‘It’s the first time a woman has invited me out. I like it. I like it very much.’ He took another huge bite of his pastry, waved it in a flourishing gesture and added, ‘My daughter made a big fuss that I brought you home yesterday. Yours, too?’

‘Yes.’

‘They do not like each other, our children.’

She sighed. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’

‘So we must teach them the lesson, eh? Not to treat us like little children.’

‘You’re very kind.’

‘I enjoy your company,
signora
. We understand one other.’

‘Yes, I think we do.’ It was often easier to talk to people of your own generation and he was a charming companion.

They sat on the balcony for quite a long time, chatting about this and that. When she rose to leave, he smiled and said softly, ‘I’m looking forward to this evening,
Signora
Reid.’

‘I am, too. And – and I think it would be better – I mean, I’d like it better, if you called me Jenny.’ Oh dear, she was blushing again!

His hand captured hers and he raised it to his lips. ‘So. Jenny. Pretty name. And my name is Niccolo.’

He stood at the door, waving, and that gave her the courage to march into the house and say to her daughter, ‘I won’t be in for dinner. Niccolo is picking me up at seven.’

During the next fortnight, Jenny and Niccolo dined out four times and made several daytime excursions in his huge white car. He’d retired early from his building business and found time hung heavily on his hands.

The atmosphere in each house grew steadily cooler, but they laughed about that and agreed to ignore it. Well, why should they stop enjoying themselves? He had a dry sense of humour that touched a similar chord in her. And not only did he seem to enjoy her impulsiveness; he often matched it with his own.

One evening, Sarah and John put the boys to bed early and took Jenny to sit in the formal lounge room, which they rarely used.

‘Mum, we’re . . .’ Sarah faltered and looked helplessly at John.

‘A little concerned,’ he filled in smoothly, ‘about the amount of time you’re spending with
that man
.’

‘His name’s
Signor
Parvone. It’s not hard to say. Try it! Par-vo-ne.’

‘Mum, you’re avoiding the issue!’

‘What issue? It’s surely my own business whom I see or do not see. Or are your guests not allowed out on their own?’

John leaned forward earnestly. ‘We just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all, Mother. These holiday romances . . .’

She could only gape at him.
Romances!
She wasn’t in love with Niccolo! He was just a friend – a very comfortable friend of her own age. Romances, indeed!

Then she remembered how his smile crinkled up the corners of his eyes – his fondness for pastries – the way he held her arm as she got out of the car. Her breath caught in her throat and her cheeks began to burn. She saw Sarah exchange a meaningful glance with her husband and anger began to rise inside her.

John went on with what was obviously a prepared speech.

Jenny sat there fuming. When she couldn’t bear to listen for one minute longer, she stood up. ‘Please excuse me. I’m very tired.’

She heard Sarah burst into tears as she walked swiftly along the corridor to her room. She felt guilty for upsetting her daughter, but she wasn’t going to give in about this. She’d been having such a good time with Niccolo.

But she couldn’t settle to sleep. At three o’clock in the morning she abandoned the attempt. It was so hot still she put on her blue satin housecoat and tiptoed out into the garden for a breath of fresh air. The moonlight was bright and it was deliciously cool outside.

A figure approached the fence and a voice whispered, ‘Hey, Jenny!’

‘Niccolo!’

‘You can’t sleep either, eh?’

It seemed quite natural to clasp the hand he stretched out to her.

‘Tonight,’ he said, ‘they bring my brother and my eldest son to speak seriously to me. About you.’

‘Oh.’

‘I am making a fool of myself, it seems. An old man’s romance.’

‘You’re not old!’ she said hotly.

He raised her hand to kiss it. ‘I’m glad you don’t think so.’

Her breath caught in her throat at the expression on his face. ‘Sarah and John had a talk to me as well, Niccolo. Holiday romance, they called it.’

‘I see. They mean well, I suppose. Only, Jenny – when they talk, talk, talk at me, I suddenly thought, hey, I
am
getting fond of her!’

‘Oh!’

‘Ha! You’re blushing. But who asked me out to dinner first?’

‘Well! What a thing to say!’

He chuckled and pulled her towards the fence.

I ought not to, she thought. This will only lead to trouble. But his hair shone silver in the moonlight and his eyes were warm and tender. It had been a long time since a man looked at her like that.

Very gently, he kissed her lips, then each eyelid. His large hands were warm on each side of her head. She pressed her cheek against one of them, but after a moment, panicked and pulled away. ‘Niccolo, I–I . . .’

He kept hold of one hand. ‘I know, Jenny. It is too quick, eh? At our age, we prefer to take our time about such things.’

‘Yes.’ She couldn’t resist reaching out to stroke his hair, gleaming like silver in the moonlight. ‘I–I like you very much, Niccolo, but—’

‘But we need time – time to get to know each other better. Mmm?’

‘Yes. That’s it exactly.’

A light went on in the house.

‘Oh, damn them!’ she said, she who never swore.

John peered out of the family room door, a baseball bat in his raised hand.

When Niccolo squeezed her hand and gave a low chuckle, Jenny couldn’t stop a stifled snort of laughter from slipping out.

John let the bat drop. ‘Oh! It’s only you, Mother! We thought it was burglars.’

Sarah, wearing an ancient, faded dressing gown, glared at
Signor
Parvone, then turned to her mother. ‘You’ll catch a chill, Mum. Do come inside!’

‘Not just yet, dear.
Signor
Parvone and I have a few things to discuss.’

‘Surely that can wait until morning? It’s three o’clock at night! What will the neighbours think?’

A window opened in the next house and a flood of Italian poured out.

‘She says I’ll catch a chill,’ whispered Niccolo. ‘It’s three o’clock at night. What will the neighbours think?’

They stared at each other, then burst out laughing again, leaning helplessly against the fence, holding hands.

They were still chuckling when Gina stormed out into the garden, magnificent in a purple satin housecoat. Ignoring the others, she began to scold Niccolo loudly in Italian.

Sarah took the opportunity to tiptoe across the patio and hiss at Jenny. ‘Mum, for heaven’s sake come inside!’

Jenny glanced sideways at Niccolo.

He rolled his eyes at her, then turned back to his daughter and snapped, ‘
Basta!
’ in a very sharp tone.

His daughter’s tirade stopped mid-sentence and she took a step backwards, looking uncertain.

He turned to Jenny and his expression softened. ‘We won’t get the time we need here,
cara
.’

‘No.’

He winked and breathed the word ‘Courage!’ Then added loudly, ‘How soon can you pack your things? I think this would be a good time to take that little trip down south we were talking about.’

She did not hesitate. ‘Half an hour.’

‘Mum, you can’t! John, stop her!’

Jenny smiled at Niccolo. ‘No promises about what this may lead to, my friend?’

‘Not yet. Later, perhaps.’ He let go of her hand.

She hurried back to the house, fending Sarah off, trying desperately to look calm and collected. Her hands were shaking, though, as she packed her suitcase. I’m not used to being a rebel, she thought, then raised her chin. But it’s my life, after all! And Niccolo is – is such a dear, gentle man.

When everything was ready, she took a deep breath and opened the bedroom door.

John was outside, barring her way. ‘Mother, please don’t go off like this! We’ll talk about it in the morning.’ He tried to take her suitcase away and she clung to it tightly.

‘Let go of it.’

‘No. I’m sorry, Mum, but we can’t let you do this.’

The spark of rebellion became a fire in her veins. ‘If you don’t get out of my way, John, I’ll scream for help as loudly as I can. The window’s open. Not only will Niccolo hear me, but so will all the other neighbours.’

He let go of her case and jumped aside, looking shocked.

When Sarah peered out of the kitchen doorway, head jerking to and fro like a nervous hen, laughter began to well up in Jenny again. ‘I’ll be back in a few days.’ She opened the front door, then turned to add, ‘Perhaps.’

Niccolo was waiting for her outside, standing by his car. He looked rumpled and extremely angry. He kissed her cheek with a loud, defiant smack and helped her into the car, then went to put her case in the boot. He glared at his daughter’s house before settling into the driving seat.

When he didn’t start the engine up, Jenny asked softly, ‘What’s wrong, Niccolo?’

He fiddled with the ignition key. ‘Are we mad? Gina says so.’

‘Oh, yes. Quite mad.’ Jenny leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

He turned and kissed her lips, stroking her hair tenderly afterwards with his hand. When he pulled away, his smile echoed hers. ‘So – we’re mad, then. Let’s go and have some fun.’

She felt quite breathless as she fastened her seat belt – breathless and young and full of hope. ‘Where are we actually going, Niccolo?’

He shrugged and turned the ignition key, giving her another of his thoughtful glances. ‘Who knows? Only time will tell.’

Show, Don’t Tell

Anna’s Notes

It’s one of the rules you’re taught early on when you start to write: show, don’t tell. In other words, show your characters in action, show what happens, don’t just talk about it and miss the excitement.

One day, someone mentioned the good old rule yet again and the idea for this story hit me. I enjoyed writing it. I love stories about women who get their act together and make necessary changes in their lives. Some people call these ‘coming of age’ stories.