‘Yes, I am. We were such a perfect team.’
‘Aren’t you a perfect team with Jacko?’
‘It’s too soon to say. His name is short for Giacomo, and he’s a real Italian dog. He’s always lived in Naples, so he knows it well and I can trust him completely. He even understands the Neapolitan dialect.’
‘But how long will you have him? He looks quite elderly, too.’
‘He’s nine, and he might have retired when his previous owner regained his sight. But I needed a really experienced dog, so they assigned him to me for a while.’
‘Then what? Will they give you a younger one?’ Francesco asked casually.
Celia shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
He understood. Maybe then she would go home. He wished she would go home now.
He wished she would stay for ever.
He wished she had never come here.
The waiter served their drinks, and they sipped in silence for a while.
‘You’re very quiet,’ she said. ‘Did I offend you by turning up?’
‘Of course not. I’m just a little surprised.’
‘You told me so much about Naples I wanted to find out for myself. I used to look forward to coming here with you, and visiting all the places you told me about, seeing if it had all the lovely smells. You were right about that. I walk through the streets here and I can smell the cooking. Mmm!’
‘But how did you get here?’
‘I went home to my parents for a while, and they said it was time I explored the world a little. Dad gave me a large cheque and told me to blow it on enjoying myself.’
‘But you said you have a job here. Aren’t you supposed to be just a tourist?’
‘I’ve invested the money. I fancy myself as an entrepreneur. That’s how I’m going to enjoy myself. You taught me that.’
‘I did?’
‘You used to talk a lot about finance. It was your great interest in life. I listened and learned at the master’s feet.’
‘Is that a way of telling me that money is all I know?’
‘Don’t be so touchy. You showed me that making money could be fun, so now I’m going to double mine. Or treble it.’
‘Or lose it?’ he suggested lightly.
‘Oh, no, that won’t happen,’ she assured him.
‘How can you be so sure?’
Celia turned her head so that her clear blue eyes were facing him, so full of expression that he could almost swear she saw him.
‘Because I never lose,’ she said simply. ‘When I want something, I make sure I get it.’
‘And when you’ve finished with it you throw it out, marked “No longer needed,”’ he said quietly.
‘Francesco, do you know how bitter you sound? I wish you wouldn’t. We promised each other that we wouldn’t be bitter.’
‘Did we? I don’t remember.’
‘The day you came to collect your things,’ she reminded him. ‘We had a chat then.’
‘Oh, yes, it was all very civilised, wasn’t it? But I don’t remember that we talked things over. Five minutes over coffee and that was that.’
‘Well, there wasn’t much to talk about, was there?’
‘Except you throwing me out.’
‘I asked you not to be bitter because I didn’t want you to hate me. Still, I guess that wasn’t very realistic of me.’
‘I don’t hate you,’ he said gruffly. ‘But neither can I pretend that it didn’t happen.’
‘I don’t want to pretend that, either,’ she said with a touch of eagerness. ‘It did happen, and I’m glad of it. You left me with some of the most wonderful memories I’ll ever have, and I want to keep them. Don’t you want to?’
‘No,’ he said with sudden violence. ‘I don’t want to remember any of it. What use are memories when the reality has gone?’
She gave a little sigh. ‘I suppose you’re right. We’re agreed, then. No memories. We never met before.’
‘Why did you come here?’ he growled. ‘To have a laugh at my expense?’
‘No. Why should you say that? Why should I laugh? I can tell you’re doing very well without me.’
He shot her a look so fierce that he was actually glad she couldn’t see. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that she didn’t know what she was talking about. Unless, he thought, she’d been trying to provoke him. He only wished he knew.
‘Who’s your customer?’ he asked, for something to say. It was strange how the silences troubled him more than her.
‘He’s not really a customer. I said that so as not to bore your parents with involved explanations. We work together. His name is Sandro Danzi. He owns a firm organising trips for blind people.’
‘Is he blind himself?’ he couldn’t stop himself asking.
‘Does it matter?’ she flashed back instinctively.
‘For pity’s sake! Aren’t I even allowed to ask?’
‘Why is it always the first thing you ask?’
‘It isn’t.’
‘One of the first. As though nothing else mattered in comparison.’
It mattered, but not in the way she thought. Another blind person understood things that she understood, was potentially closer to her than he could ever be, and that excluded him.
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ he said, wishing he could find the words to say that he was jealous. Why couldn’t she simply understand?
Celia clenched her hands, hating herself. How often had she lashed out at him, wounding him for something that she knew he couldn’t help? But she couldn’t let down her guard. She didn’t dare. It was part of her fight not to be swallowed alive by her blindness, and it seemed the cruelest trick of fate that he should be ranged on the other side.
She sat listening. Even in the bustle of the cafe she could sense the silence that belonged only to him. She had never seen him, but she knew what he looked like-not the details of his face and body, but the tension of his attitude that told of misery.
‘Don’t look like that,’ she begged.
‘How do you know how I look?’ he demanded.
‘I know your silences,’ she said sadly. ‘I can always tell.’
Why was she here? she wondered. In a moment of madness she’d thrown up everything and followed him to Naples, hoping to teach him that he could love her and still let her be free. But within a few hours they were enmeshed in the old quarrel. Nothing had changed. However much it hurt, perhaps they were better apart. In a moment she would find the courage to tell him finally.
‘Are you hoping for a PR contract from Sandro Danzi?’ he asked, in the tone of a man determined to find a more pleasant subject.
‘No, I already have that. I’ve invested my money in his business, and I might go in a bit deeper.’
At Celia’s feet Jacko gave a small grunt and became alert.
‘What is it, boy?’ she asked, touching him gently.
‘He’s seen another guide dog,’ Francesco said.
The strange dog was leading a young man towards them.
‘Hey, there!’ he called.
‘Sandro!’ Celia’s face lit up. ‘This way,’ she called.
The newcomer was in his early thirties, tall and strikingly handsome, with a brilliant smile that appeared as soon as he heard her voice.
‘Go for it, boy,’ he instructed his guide, and the dog came forward confidently until he reached the table, gave
