The Place We Met Read online

  Marco is easy to spot from a distance. I can tell just from the casual way he’s lounging against the railings that it’s him. There’s a sharp wind tonight, and he’s pulled a red hat over his black hair and tucked the ends of a matching scarf into the front of his battered leather jacket. He sees me coming and stands up properly, an easy grin on his face and an arm stretched out ready to greet me.

  We exchange a ‘ciao’, his far less timid than mine, and then he bends down to kiss my cheeks. I’m not quite as short as normal this evening, because I’ve opted for my favourite pair of black heels, and when he’s done kissing me hello, Marco leans round to inspect them.

  ‘Nice shoes.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I reply. ‘I thought they might help distract people from my swollen lips.’

  I wait for him to laugh, but instead he bends over again until his mouth is almost level with mine.

  ‘They look perfect to me.’

  I roll my eyes.

  ‘Listen, about the boat …’ I begin, but he shakes his head.

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  Taken aback by his directness, I stutter out my reply. ‘I, er, no. I suppose I don’t.’

  ‘Well, then.’ He shrugs expansively. ‘It is forgotten.’

  ‘OKaaay,’ I agree, waiting for the catch. Marco doesn’t seem remotely fussed. If anything, he looks bored by the whole subject, which is great, of course, but also puzzling. I don’t think I’d be so calm if I’d witnessed him behaving the way I had.

  ‘Shall we walk?’ he prompts. ‘Unless you want to ride on the wheel?’

  We both look up at the flashing lights and the wobbly carriages.

  ‘No, thanks,’ I tell him, and I’m sure I detect a flash of something close to amusement in his eyes.

  I thought I would feel uncomfortable, being down here by the lake with Marco, but in truth it’s fine. He’s very easy company, and I like the way he doesn’t feel the need to fill every silence with nonsensical babble. I grew up in a quiet house – my dad worked from home quite often and spent a lot of time in his study, and my mum has never been the type to sit in front of daytime TV, or even have the radio on when she’s pottering around the house. When I was still living there, we’d all come together in the evenings to eat dinner and perhaps watch a film, but the three of us are all very independent souls, so I’m quite content to pass hours at a time without making a peep. Maybe it was the same for Marco, although it’s hard to imagine any traditional Italian family home being anything other than deliriously chaotic and filled with people.

  Pete used to say that he felt on edge whenever we went to stay with my parents. The silence there made him nervous, rather than relaxed. Pete is a big, noisy man. He crashes pans in the kitchen, sings in the shower, turns the TV on in the front room and the radio on in the bedroom. It used to drive me mad when I was trying to read, or work, or even just have what I called ‘quiet time’. I used to chase him out of the flat and tell him to go and be loud down the pub instead.

  Perhaps that’s why he stopped loving me.

  I can feel cobbles through the soles of my shoes and look down to see that we’ve reached the large, stone-laid compass, which sits right next to the gate leading out to the pier. Stretching out into the middle of the lake with a large, mirrored sculpture at its end, this wooden walkway is supposed to be the best vantage point from which to watch the famous New Year’s Eve firework display. Bobbing in the water beside this end of the pier and for a good thirty feet in each direction on either side of it are hundreds of boats. They range in size from two-man fishing vessels to swanky super-yachts, and each one has a name proudly emblazoned along the bow. It’s hard to see all of them under the orange glow of the park’s lampposts, but I do spot several Marias, a Moon River, and a scruffy-looking dinghy, humorously called The Don.

  ‘You remember what I told you?’ Marco prompts. ‘About my dream?’

  I nod slowly. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Here she is.’

  I peer through the gloom to where a battered, cracked and rust-covered boat is moored not far from the shore. It looks like it was once used for fishing, because a tangle of nets is covering the rotting boards of the deck, but I doubt it ever goes far these days. I can see that it’s predominantly painted blue and white, but most of the paint has flaked off, and there’s no sign of a name, either.

  ‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ Marco murmurs, his voice full of admiration and awe.

  I frown, confused yet reluctant to say anything that might spoil his moment.

  ‘I guess so,’ I say finally, squinting at the boat. There are two porthole windows on either side of what would have been the captain’s cabin, and these, coupled with the smooth, rounded curve of the bow, make the weary vessel look as if she’s smiling.

  ‘I have always loved her,’ Marco continues. ‘Ever since I was a boy, and I first saw her out on the water.’

  So this is why he can’t commit to going out with any of the local girls around here – he’s too in love with this old boat.

  ‘What’s her name?’ I ask politely, but Marco shakes his head.

  ‘Once upon a time she was Lario, but now she has no name.’

  ‘That’s sad,’ I say, hoping it’s the right reaction.

  ‘Yes,’ he agrees. ‘Very sad.’

  ‘She’s the reason you need money!’ I exclaim. Wow, that penny took a long time to drop; it must have been tossed off the surface of the moon.

  He nods, turning his attention from his floating beloved to me. ‘I want to restore her to glory,’ he explains. ‘But more than that, I want to turn her into a restaurant.’

  ‘That’s your dream?’ I guess, and he smiles.

  ‘That is my dream.’

  ‘Then you must!’ I tell him, feeling enthused. ‘She deserves to be great again.’

  And it’s true, she does. It’s tragic that she’s been left here to rot and be forgotten, especially when there’s a whole lake right here, just waiting to be explored. And what a fabulous idea of his, to have a restaurant that is also a vessel – I can picture the events he could host on her already, and goosebumps rear up on my arms.

  Marco is beaming at my obvious enthusiasm, showing off his very white teeth.

  ‘I knew you would love her,’ he says. ‘I thought it might cheer you up to see her.’

  Why he thought that, I have no idea, given the fact that she is, essentially, a floating rust bucket – but he was right. I do feel cheered by her, and even more so by Marco’s grand plan to resurrect her.

  ‘You could hire her out for parties once she was done up,’ I tell him. ‘Or romantic cruises around the lake – or even wedding dinners. Anything, really – there’s so much scope for her to make you money. It could be amazing!’

  He’s clapping his hands as I reel off my list of suggestions, and seeing him so proud and happy makes me feel great. I really shouldn’t have condemned him as just another man-whore, because he’s clearly much more than that. He gave me the benefit of the doubt after he’d been forced to haul me out of the lake, and I should have extended the same courtesy to him. Marco is focused and driven and passionate – all the things I try to be and hold in such high regard, and tonight, for the first time in a very long while, I feel comfortable alone in a man’s company. I had hoped I would manage it again one day, but I never would have guessed that Marco, of all people, would be the one to get me there.

  ‘So, what’s the plan of action?’ I ask him, leaning over the railings so I can get a better look at the boat. In the past three or so minutes, I have decided that Marco’s dream is one that I’m prepared to help him realise. I want to see him succeed, and I’m genuinely fired up.

  Marco, however, has gone back to being too cool for school, and kicks at a stone.

  ‘I don’t know yet.’

  ‘The meeting you had in Bellagio …?’ I query, but he shakes his head.

  ‘I offered the man who owns her everything I have, all my savings, but he said it
is not enough. He would rather see her sink to the bottom of the lake than sell her to me.’

  ‘That’s stupid,’ I say needlessly. ‘Won’t he even consider it?’

  Marco grumbles out a no.

  ‘What about a loan?’

  He shakes his head. ‘The bank does not think it is a worthwhile investment. They say I do not know how to turn a boat into a restaurant.’

  ‘Pah!’ I declare, making him jump. ‘What the hell do they know?’

  Marco laughs through his nose.

  ‘Exactly. That is what I told them.’

  The fact that the bank probably has a perfectly valid argument is beside the point. Marco had my back, and now I have his.

  ‘Well, we need to make a new plan,’ I say, with far more confidence than I feel. I know even less about turning a boat into a restaurant than I do about the offside rule, but where there is a Taggie Torres will, there is always a way.

  ‘You will help me, then?’ he asks. ‘With a plan?’

  I look up at him, at his silly red hat and those strangely beautiful eyes, which are still so mesmerising even when they’ve been turned inky black by the night.

  ‘I’ll do everything that I can,’ I promise him.

  We stay for a time by the water’s edge, talking and plotting and laughing together as the stars emerge, one by one, high above our heads. When Marco buys a hot dog from a cart in the park and breaks a piece off for me, I don’t even mind that the tips of his fingers brush against my lips, and when a splodge of mustard dribbles down his chin, I have no qualms about wiping it away and licking the sauce off my hand. The New Year’s Eve party might be a good distraction and the means of showing off my organisational skills to Sal, but the thought of turning something as barren as Marco’s boat into a fully functioning business has woken me up more than anything has in years, and I imagine that I can hear the cogs of my brain screeching into motion.

  When I let myself into the hotel later, taking extra care to tiptoe past Shelley’s bedroom door, it dawns on me that I haven’t thought about Pete or what happened for more than a handful of minutes all night. If a broken and neglected old boat can be brought back to life by finding someone to love her again, then maybe, just maybe, I can too.

  32

  Lucy

  ‘I don’t know where to begin,’ Pete mutters.

  I take a breath, my voice hushed. ‘Why don’t we start with what happened yesterday?’

  The two of us have wandered through the doors of the cathedral that we sped past earlier on our way to the Aero Club. I can remember being bored by the grand Gothic place of worship as a child, but today I’m fascinated. When Pete initially wandered off to take covert photos of the two stone lions supporting the fonts, I found that I was content to simply stand at the midpoint of the altar, gazing up at the intricate stonework above and admiring the vast tapestries hanging down at various points along the wall and from the ceiling. Their musty scent adds an extra layer of antiquity to the setting, and for some reason I find it soothing.

  Pete turns to face me.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Lulu. I had no idea Taggie was here.’

  ‘I know you didn’t,’ I allow, the image of his stunned expression coming back to my mind. ‘It must have been a shock.’

  ‘Just a bit,’ he agrees, his face grim.

  ‘Why did you lie to her, though?’ I whisper, staring at the Nativity scene in front of us and drawing strength from the serene-looking shepherds.

  ‘When did I lie?’ he exclaims, loud enough to get the attention of a passing family.

  ‘Shhh,’ I say, attempting to calm him with my tone. ‘I mean when you told Taggie that we’d only just got together.’

  ‘Oh,’ he says, shamefaced. ‘That.’

  ‘It was pretty bloody awful,’ I point out, my eyes slipping down to the baby Jesus in his straw-lined manger. The doll’s eyes are painted the same bright blue as Pete’s.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he mutters. ‘I just panicked in the moment – I didn’t want to hurt Taggie any more than I already have. She took the break-up really badly, so I knew she wouldn’t appreciate the fact that I’d met you so soon.’

  ‘How soon was it?’ I ask, and he sniffs. ‘Was it too soon?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t too soon, it was more than a month. Me and Taggie, we had been over for a long time, at least in my head.’

  ‘In your head?’ I repeat, immediately suspicious.

  ‘I knew I didn’t love her any more months before I even met you,’ he says, his expression one of dismay. The dim lighting in the church is making his face look tired and lined, and it takes all my strength not to reach up and stroke the coarse stubble on his cheeks.

  ‘I tried to ignore it, but it ate away at me. In the end, I didn’t feel like I had a choice, so I told her I didn’t feel the same and that we should break up.’

  ‘When was this?’ I ask him.

  ‘Back in May,’ he replies. ‘I don’t remember the exact date.’

  I bet Taggie does.

  ‘And that’s really why she hates you so much?’ I continue. ‘All that drama on the boat was just because you told her you didn’t love her any more?’

  Frustratingly, he shrugs.

  ‘It must be.’

  ‘What did you mean when you told her it wasn’t your fault?’ I add, changing tack.

  Pete’s eyes narrow, and I can tell even in this poor light that he’s gone red.

  ‘Just that it wasn’t my fault things fell apart. I know I was the one who ended things, but our relationship was rotten to the core – it had been for ages.’

  ‘Did you ever cheat on her?’ I say evenly.

  ‘No!’ He looks wounded by the mere suggestion.

  ‘Do you know what she’s doing here?’ I add. ‘In Como?’

  Pete pulls off his hat and tucks one of his ginger curls behind an ear. Buying himself some time, I think disloyally.

  ‘I honestly don’t know,’ he says finally, and so adamantly that I believe him. ‘I know she used to holiday here when she was a kid, but I had no idea she’d come back. If I did, I would have suggested we went somewhere else, trust me.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s why she’s so familiar,’ I blurt unthinkingly, remembering a second too late about the photo I’d found while snooping through Pete’s stuff.

  ‘Is she?’ Pete is surprised.

  ‘Maybe I saw her here when we were both little kids.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Pete rubs a hand through his hair.

  ‘Who is Manny?’ I enquire, taking off my own woolly hat and rolling it into a sausage shape with my hands.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘The person who called and you ignored them, said it was nothing.’

  He grunts with hard, unamused laughter.

  ‘Manny is Taggie’s dad. He’s acting on her behalf because she refuses to speak to me. We’re selling our flat,’ he adds, and it all becomes swiftly and horribly clear. That’s why he’s been doing the place up, and that must be why the flat has no real charm or character – Taggie must have taken it all with her when she left. There isn’t really anything I can say in reply to this piece of the puzzle, so I chew my lip thoughtfully instead.

  ‘Listen,’ Pete says, drawing my attention away from the figures of the Nativity and turning me round gently to face him. ‘I’m sorry you had to find out about Taggie like this, and I’m sorry I lied to her and shouted the way I did. What you need to understand is that the break-up was traumatic – not just for her, but for both of us. Have you ever had to tell a person that you don’t love them any more?

  I think about my mum leaving my dad.

  ‘No,’ I admit.

  ‘It’s not very nice,’ he goes on. ‘I didn’t want to hurt Taggie, and I still care about her, of course I do, but not in the way that I care about you.’

  ‘Which way is that?’ It’s barely more than a murmur, but Pete is close enough to have heard.

  ‘You know how much you mean to me,’ he s
ays. ‘I know it’s weird that you haven’t met my mates yet, and I hate that I couldn’t take you to my cousin’s wedding, but it’s only because my family need a bit of time to readjust. It doesn’t mean that I don’t love you.’

  Did he just say love?

  ‘Did you just say love?’

  He takes my hand, and this time I let him.

  ‘Yes, I did – and I do.’

  ‘Do you mean that?’ I ask, forcing my eyes up to meet his. ‘I mean, really mean it?’

  He kisses the tip of my nose.

  ‘Yes, I really mean it. I don’t want to lose you, Lucy Dunmore, not now. Not because of something that was over a long time ago.’

  ‘And you’ve told me everything?’ I half-plead. ‘There aren’t any more secrets?’

  He blinks, his blue eyes earnest.

  ‘No more secrets.’

  33

  Taggie

  After getting up even earlier than the birds this morning to give myself time to put all the finishing touches to my Casa Alta New Year extravaganza, the group went and announced at breakfast that they’d all decided to wander around Como for the day by themselves. I had been planning to take them on a sightseeing tour of nearby Varenna, but a very late night in the bar the previous evening had left even Gladys’s energy levels depleted. Better that they have a restful day, she assured me, so they would all be full of beans for the party.

  Unable to find much else for me to do at such short notice, and with my event to-do list fully ticked off, Sal graciously agreed that I could take the day off, so long as I’m back at the hotel before it gets dark. We’re going to start decorating the main dining hall this evening ready for the party, and afterwards Shelley has insisted that the two of us have our own night out. Obviously, I don’t want to go anywhere near the centre of Como for fear of running into Pete, but I can’t very well tell Shelley that without going into the entire backstory, and that’s something I’m not prepared to do. It’s bad enough that Marco has been exposed to it all, although I trust him not to gossip about me. Not only is he disinterested, he’s also let me in on his own secret, so in some ways we’re in the same boat.