I look at David with what I hope is a devoted expression, but he just looks slightly embarrassed.
?I?ll tell you what,? he says, after a short pause. ?How about I make up for everything by taking you dancing??
It?s not quite the response I was looking for, but it?ll do.
?What, now??
?No time like the present. Come on, drink up.?
This definitely isn?t the David I know. But if he wants to take me dancing in Rome, who am I to say no? And anyway, even if I haven?t really managed to have a heart-to-heart with David yet, there?s always tomorrow, isn?t there? We finish our wine and leave the restaurant arm in arm.
?The nightclubs won?t be open yet, but there?s a wonderful place near here where we can get some wine and dance the night away,? David says, turning down a small side road. I follow him dubiously?it looks pretty deserted to me?but sure enough, five minutes later we alight upon a small establishment called Carlo?s.
As we walk in, a short man greets David with open arms. David introduces us?his name is Carlo, so I can only assume he?s the owner. The place is fantastic. It?s your perfect cheesy seventies venue, with flocked wallpaper and a guy with dark, slicked back hair is singing Bee Gees songs with a thick Italian accent. And the really weird thing is that it?s completely packed?there?s barely a free table. How did David know about this place, and how does he know Carlo, I wonder.
Carlo kisses me hello and leads us to a table. Several other people grin and wave at David as we walk past.
?Darling, how do you know these people so well?? I whisper, intrigued.
?Oh, it?s work-related,? David shrugs.
Carlo, who has overheard, puts his arm round me.
?Mr. Davido, he ees hero,? he says loudly in my ear. ?He stop the mafioso from closing me down, from taking all this away from me and my family.? He looks around the restaurant proudly, reaching over to give David a hug.
?It really wasn?t that dramatic,? David says, grinning as he sits down at a table right next to the dance floor. ?We just caught a guy running a prostitution ring in the U.K.?and he was also rather busy in these parts.?
?Ees savior,? says Carlo again, and signals for one of the waiters to bring us a menu.
?Since when do accountants get involved in prostitution rings?? I ask incredulously. I am completely blown away. I?m also very impressed, but am beginning to wonder what other surprises David is going to have for me.
?Well, it all comes down to money in the end. If you can trace where the money is and what?s being done with it, you can track down the people. Now, some wine for the lady?? David attempts an Italian accent, and hands me the plastic rose that is adorning our table. ?Ees, nice, yes?? he grins.
We order more wine and giggle as the singer wiggles his hips to ?Staying Alive.?
?David, you never really talk about your work.?
?Yes, and for very good reason. It?s dull as ditchwater. Why on earth would you want to hear about my days in an accountancy firm??
?But all this stuff. Carlo?s nightclub. Prostitution rings. Why didn?t I know about any of this before??
?Look, it?s mostly pretty boring stuff,? shrugs David. ?And the bits that are more interesting are usually either very sensitive or slightly dangerous. A lot of the work I do involves some pretty horrible people. And I don?t want you exposed to that again.?
?Again?? I ask indignantly. What does he mean ?again?? I don?t remember being exposed to any horrible people.
David looks annoyed with himself. ?At all. I meant at all.?
I look at him accusingly. ?David, don?t lie to me. What do you mean, you don?t want me exposed to that again? Tell me!?
?Oh, I suppose it won?t hurt,? he sighs. ?About a year ago I was working on a case involving dodgy mini-cab drivers. I got a note saying that they knew who you were and that I should stop my investigations or you were going to be in real trouble. And then you were really late coming round to see me . . . and I panicked.?
?You mean the time you freaked out and went and bought me a mobile phone??
David smiles sheepishly. ?Yes, I suppose I did freak out a bit. It?s a bit of a special phone actually. It means that if anything happens to you, we can track you. I?m sorry, I didn?t want you to have to deal with any of this rubbish.?
I can?t decide whether to be flattered, excited, scared, or concerned. ?You mean you know where I am all the time??
?God no,? David laughs. ?But if you did go missing, or if anything happened, we would be able to find you.?
No wonder Nigel was so excited by the phone. I better not tell him why David gave it to me; he?d probably think David was one of ?them? and was using me to spy on Nigel.
?When you say ?we,? do you mean your accountancy firm?? I?m confused. None of this really makes much sense.
?Not the firm, no. A lot of the work I?m doing now relates to government agencies. Organized crime, that sort of thing.?
?So you?re kind of like a spy?? I ask hopefully. I sawTrue Lies with Arnie and Jamie Lee Curtis the other day and rather like the idea of going out with my very own action man.
David laughs. ?I?m afraid I?m not James Bond,? he says slowly. ?In reality, the vast majority of my work involves digging around and going through people?s financial affairs. It isn?t at all glamorous and usually isn?t dangerous at all; it just gets difficult if people know you?re on to them. No one likes getting caught out. But I thought we came here to
