To Rome, with Love. T Williams A
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their plane. In consequence, considering they had arrived in Venice just after eight, but the cycle guide didn’t turn up until gone eleven o’clock, Sarah was far from impressed. The fact that he looked as if he had just been pulled through a hedge backwards also didn’t help. In fact, when he sidled up to them as they waited by the Arrivals gate, Sarah took one look at him and very nearly called Security.
‘Signorina Sara?’ It was only the fact that he used her name that convinced her he was who he claimed to be and not a potential mugger.
She answered him in Italian. ‘Yes, are you Gianluca?’
‘Si.’
Sarah groaned inwardly. He was a very slim man, about as tall as she was, maybe in his late thirties or even early forties. He could have been quite good-looking, but for the fact that, this morning, his eyes were more bloodshot than your average vampire and he was quite patently suffering the effects of a hangover of Rabelaisian proportions. Whatever he had been drinking the night before, it was probably more commonly used for cleaning grease-caked derailleurs than as a civilised beverage. Sarah took two steps back and resolved to get the map out tonight and go over the route. From the state of their guide, they could well end up in Croatia otherwise.
‘You’re going to be our mechanic and guide?’
‘Si.’
Clearly he wasn’t given to long sentences. He didn’t hold out his hand in greeting. From the look of him, the effort would have exhausted him. Sarah shot a glance across at Polly and decided to make the best of a bad job. If he was all they’d got, he would have to do. For now.
‘We expected you earlier.’
‘Si. Scusi.’ No explanation offered, but his bloodshot eyes were all the explanation she needed.
‘We want to set off tomorrow morning before nine o’clock, and the rental bikes are being delivered at eight. We need you to be there to check them and fit them. Can you promise me you’ll be at our hotel before eight?’
‘Si.’
Sarah reached into her bag and pulled out a fresh yellow cycling jersey in a plastic bag. ‘Here, will you make sure you’re wearing this tomorrow, please?’
‘Si.’
He took the jersey with what could have been an attempt at a thank you, but his voice didn’t reach as far as Sarah’s ears. She caught his eye.
‘Do you know which hotel we’re staying in?’
‘Si.’
At least that sounded positive, but she decided to put him to the test anyway. ‘What’s it called?’
‘Hotel Internazionale.’ At least he could manage more than single syllables.
‘And you know where it is?’
‘Si.’ Wearily he raised a finger and pointed inland.
Sarah followed the direction of his hand and clearly saw the sign on the roof of the hotel less than half a mile away. Satisfied that he knew where he was to meet them, she decided there was nothing to be gained, and potentially a lot to be lost, by keeping him here at the airport. Much better that he should go home and sober up. She gave him her sternest look and sent him off with a warning. ‘You realise that if you’re not on time tomorrow, there will be consequences?’
‘Si.’
With that, he was off.
‘What a chatterbox. I thought he’d never stop talking.’ Polly had been watching the scene with interest. Her Italian was very much at an elementary level, but even she had understood every word Gianluca had said, all thirteen of them. ‘I’m getting a bad feeling about our friend Gianluca. I think we’d both better work on our navigation skills.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Paul and Miles should be arriving soon. I wonder what they’ll make of Gianluca.’
‘And what are the rest of the group going to think?’ Sarah shook her head miserably. This wasn’t the start she had hoped for. Nevertheless, she decided to put a brave face on it. ‘You never know, maybe he’ll scrub up and emerge a new man at the crack of dawn tomorrow. We live in hope.’ She avoided meeting Polly’s eye and changed the subject. ‘And there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Pol. Could we keep the whole James, wedding thing between ourselves while we’re here in Italy? You’re the only one over here who knows about the marriage that never happened, and I’d like to keep it that way. There’s no need for anybody to know, particularly Miles or Paul, and if nobody’s asking me about James and the wedding, then maybe I stand a better chance of forgetting, or at least not thinking so much about what happened. Or didn’t.’
‘Of course, Sarah. I promise I won’t say a word. Just you try to forget all about it.’
Some hope, Sarah found herself thinking as she changed the subject to something safer. ‘Well, at least the forecast’s good.’
‘And staying good for the next few days, as far as I could see. I think it’s going to be a warm ride. Oh, oh, here we go. It’s show time, folks.’ Polly had spotted a group of three men emerging from the sliding doors and heading towards them. They had clearly recognised the yellow cycling jerseys she and Sarah were wearing. These had the name of the cancer charity and Hall’s Tours plastered all over them and were a garish, bright-yellow colour, so as to be as visible as possible to other road users, as well as reflecting the heat of the sun. Polly gave them a wave. ‘Oh, hi, hello, I’m Polly and this is Sarah. Welcome to Venice. Are you with the Hall’s ride?’
‘We sure are.’ The American accent was unmistakable. ‘Hi, Polly, I’m Chuck and these are Mike and Dan.’ He was a tall man, maybe in his late forties, with short-cropped, light-brown hair and a friendly expression on his face. She reached over and shook hands with all of them and handed out copies of the programme. The other two men were younger, both rather good-looking, one very muscular, and both clearly deferred to Chuck, so Sarah addressed her remarks to him.
‘Have you guys just arrived from the States or have you had a chance to get over the jetlag?’
Chuck grinned. ‘This ride’s going to be tough enough without starting off half dead. No, we’ve been in Europe for a few days, getting acclimatised.’
Sarah smiled back and nodded approvingly. ‘Very sensible.’
‘Only we chose to do our acclimatising in Switzerland. That whole damn country is one big mountain.’ The muscular one, Mike, groaned theatrically. ‘I’m worn out already.’
Sarah found herself smiling at him. ‘Well, you don’t need to do anything too athletic today. We’ve got a bus outside that’ll take you across to the hotel now. Polly will show you the way. You can dump your things at the hotel and then, if you like, there’s either the bus or the water bus to take you across to Venice for a bit of sightseeing. We’ll see you again for dinner this evening when you’ll have a chance to meet the other people on the ride. Meet back at the hotel at eight. The details are all on your programme.’
As Polly disappeared with the three Americans, Sarah ticked off their names on her clipboard and reflected with satisfaction that it hadn’t been so difficult to smile and be pleasant, after all. In fact, it had brought back happy memories of trips she had done in the past, before James had stamped his meddling, selfish foot on her career. She saw from the screen that the BA flight from London had now landed. The bulk of the participants in the group were travelling with Paul and Miles on that flight so she hoped Polly would get back in good time to collect them and see they got to the hotel. She glanced over her shoulder, rather hoping there might be a café close by for a quick espresso, but all she could see were tourist information and incoming travel company desks.
She took a moment to think ahead to what awaited her over the next two weeks. There were so many unknowns. As well as the weather and the quality of the hotels and restaurants along the way, a cycle ride threw up a load of further variables. There was the