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At another time they would have laughed about it but now the seconds ticked by, with nothing but the bustle of the airport and the noise of the PA system to focus his attention on.
He should hang up now, make some joke about having missed her but that he’d catch up with her another time. His sister was expecting him and would, no doubt, give him a piece of her mind if he rang at the last minute to say he wasn’t turning up.
But Rose was in Sicily.
‘This evening, then. Coffee. At the piazza, down by the beach. The one we used to go to.’
There was a long pause. Matteo could hear his own heart beating, almost drowning out the noise around him.
‘Whereabouts in the piazza?’
‘There’s a café on the north side. Red-and-white-striped awning.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes. If I can’t get a flight, I’ll call you. About eight?’
‘No, I mean you’re sure it’s red-and-white stripes?’
‘Yes. Positive.’ The words caught in Matteo’s throat, as it finally dawned on him that Rose was intending to be there.
‘I’ll see you at eight, then.’
* * *
Rose put her phone down onto her desk. She was shaking. Matteo had sounded so laid back on the phone, calling and asking her out for coffee, the way he always had. She’d known that there was a chance he’d find out that she was back in Sicily, and had decided that she would politely but firmly refuse to see him.
As soon as she’d heard his voice, the polite, firm refusal had become even more difficult than she’d imagined, and she’d made the mistake of playing for time while she’d worked up the courage to do it.
But she’d never got that chance. Matteo wanting to see her for coffee was one thing. Being prepared to fly twelve hundred miles then turn around and fly all the way back again just for coffee was quite another.
Knowing that was Matteo all over made her smile. The way he’d asked as if it was nothing, but behind his easygoing manner there was a man who knew what he wanted. And whatever it was that he wanted, she’d be there to hear it.
She tried to lose herself in her work, but every ten minutes Rose had to stop and look at her watch. When, finally, it was six o’clock she packed up her things and got into her car, driving towards Palermo.
The last six hours had been time enough to present every scenario to her in an agony of exquisite detail. He wanted to say a final goodbye, which would be difficult but she could handle it. He wanted to take her home, make love every night for a week and then say goodbye. That would be unthinkable.
She didn’t dare consider the one that didn’t include goodbye. They already knew that was impossible. Maybe Matteo had come up with another option that didn’t involve difficult, unthinkable or impossible, but for the life of her Rose couldn’t think what it might be.
But whatever he did want to say, she didn’t want to hear it in rumpled shorts and a blouse that had been sticking to her back all day in the heat. She’d only packed for a week, so she had the choice of two dresses. Red and green flowers wouldn’t do, so it had to be the blue one.
She showered and changed quickly, stopping off in the kitchen on her way out to tell Elena that she’d only be a couple of hours. Then she drove into the city centre, parking in one of the side streets that led to the piazza.
It was still only a quarter to eight, but he was there, sitting at one of the tables outside on the pavement, reading an English paper. Rose stopped stock still, staring at him. He looked far too perfect to be anything other than a dream in his pale linen suit and dark shirt. Black and white suited Matteo. The breeze suited him, ruffling its fingers through his hair, the evening sun kissing his skin like a lover.
She almost turned around and walked away. This one, last look at him was so exquisite that anything else would be an anti-climax. But it was too late, because he’d seen her now.
‘You stayed in England long enough to buy a paper, then.’ She sat down opposite him.
‘Yeah. That was about all I did. I got a standby flight straight back.’ A flick of his fingers caught the waiter’s attention and he signalled for two coffees. ‘Thanks for coming.’
Rose nodded. Pleasantries suddenly seemed completely inadequate. Coffee was inadequate. The only thing that mattered was Matteo’s dark eyes, and the thought that she’d walked straight into this. Whatever he was about to say, she’d brought this on herself.
* * *
When they’d been lovers, not seeing Rose for two days had been an exercise in craving, enjoying missing her because he knew that when he did touch her i
t would feel so incredibly good. Not having seen her for almost two months was different. A hard, relentless misery, which seemed to taint their meeting now. At any moment now she could get up and go, and the torture would start again.
