For the tenth time in as many minutes Frank glanced at the gold watch which told him that it was now ten past eight and once again he started making a mental list of all the possible reasons why she still hadn’t shown.

The waiter appeared as if from nowhere with the black coffee he’d ordered a few minutes earlier. He placed it deftly on the table, nudged the glass and chrome sugar dispenser in Frank’s direction, and with a slight bow from the waist, glided away between the tables.

Frank reached for another cigarette and lit it carefully before measuring one level teaspoon of sugar into his coffee and began to stir it slowly. He took a sip, glanced at his watch again and drew heavily on his cigarette. Twelve minutes past.

He squinted through the cigarette smoke and shafts of evening sunlight which washed his corner of the piazza with the colour of old parchment. He loved Rome, especially in early September when the tourists were not quite so thick on the ground. The Café Nero was a favourite of his. Whenever he was in Rome he made a point of stopping by there as often as possible to enjoy a coffee or aperitif before strolling leisurely to one of the many nearby restaurants. He enjoyed watching the myriad of people, visitors and locals, as they sauntered past the busy sidewalk cafes or sat at the tables laughing and chatting in the balmy evening air.

Then he saw her! Stepping briskly through the little knots of people, couples and family groups, taking their evening stroll. She moved quickly, arms swinging like a petite drum majorette. The sun was low behind her and he could see the shape of her slim figure through the crisp organza dress. A golden halo surrounded the dark, shoulder length hair which framed her face.

His heart leapt and a smile creased his face which only a moment ago had been sombre and introspective. Quickly, he stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette and leaned forward to push back his chair as he rose to greet her.

Halfway to his feet, he glanced up and froze like an old man, shoulders bent, as the white organza dress swished past, carried away by the click-click-click of stilettos. He’d been mistaken. It wasn’t Gina after all though the girl had looked so much like her but he knew as soon as he saw the profile that it wasn’t her.

There was a giggle from the ragazza at the next table who seemed to have had her mouth permanently glued to her partner’s ear ever since Frank had first arrived at the café. Frank turned to see that the lovebirds had momentarily disengaged themselves and were looking at him, smiling wryly.

Embarrassment, anger and then deflation swept through him in quick succession as he lowered himself back into his chair with as much dignity as he could muster. He kept his head turned away from the lovebirds and seethed inwardly as he heard the boy whisper something to his partner who responded by throwing back her head with a loud, husky laugh, the way Italian women do.

Frank reached again for the pack of cigarettes, pulled one out and tossed the pack back onto the table petulantly. He lit it, snapped the lighter closed and inhaled deeply before throwing back his head and blowing the smoke out noisily through tightly pursed lips.

The coffee was still hot but didn’t taste quite as good as the previous two he’d ordered in the forty-five minutes he’d spent waiting. He thought of the girl in the white dress – perhaps it had been Gina after all. But no, he’d know that profile anywhere – hadn’t he spent three hours studying it in detail on the flight from London that very morning?

She’d seemed rather cool when he first boarded the flight at Heathrow. She was already seated when he located his seat next to her, she by the window, he the isle. He’d nodded when she glanced up quickly as he stowed his briefcase in the overhead locker but she had turned away just as quickly when their eyes met.

Even before easing himself into the seat beside her, he’d noticed her perfume, the intoxicating, heady scent of…what was it now…yes, he knew. It was the scent of orange blossom. Immediately he was transported back in years to a time when he’d been in the Middle East. It conjured up memories of a white villa on the outskirts of Amman, a walled villa surrounded by the dusty, stony desert. But within the walls was a lush green garden filled with the dark, glossy-leaved trees laden with the perfumed waxy flowers.

His attempts to make conversation during the flight had produced short non-committal responses in a soft, luscious voice with a charming Italian accent. She’d spent most of the flight with her head back, eyes closed as if feigning sleep. During this time Frank spent long periods tracing the outline of her profile with his eyes. He gazed at the dark brown curl against her cheek, the arching brow, the long dark lashes, beautifully modelled nose and full soft lips, slightly parted. Her complexion was creamy bronze and unblemished save for a small black mole below the curve of her lower lip.

He’d watched her, first hesitantly, from the corner of his eye, then boldly, as she reclined dreamily in her seat. He watched the rise and fall of her bosom beneath the blouse of white silk. His eyes traced the line of a fine gold chain around her slender neck and imagined the warmth of the gold cross against her breast. 

About an hour before they were due to land at Fiumicino she stirred slightly. The long lashes flickered open and she drowned him in those big, liquid brown eyes. It was as if the girl who’d closed her eyes had drifted away in sleep. Gone was the distant, cool demeanour as she smiled and spoke,

“Will we arrive soon”? 

Frank, caught unawares, stammered like a schoolboy,

“No. I – I mean, yes. Not long now – about one hour.”

“That is good. I am ‘appy to return in my home.”

“Oh, have you been in England long?”

“Just three month. I make visit to my brother.”  

“Does your brother live in London?”

   “Yes, he marry English girl since two years. She is very nice.

They very, very happy.”

And so it went, he asking most of the questions, delving gently while thirsting madly to find out as much as possible about this strange, beautiful girl. It seemed they had only been talking for a few minutes when the announcement came that they would soon be landing at Fiumicino.

He knew he had to see her again. He would be in Rome just two days to finalise a big sales contract for his company. It was a tight schedule but he was willing to break a leg if necessary to juggle meetings so that he could spend as much time as possible with Gina.

Frank snapped his seatbelt on thinking, “It’s now or never; here goes.”

Bracing himself against the seat, he took a deep breath and spoke.

“Just a few more minutes and we’ll be there. I would really like to see you again. Do you think we could meet for dinner tonight – it would make me very happy if you said yes?”

He spoke clearly and slowly so there would be no chance of her not understanding.

“I don’t know…you are very kind but my aunt, she wait for me. Tomorrow I go to Napoli, there is my mama. Tonight my aunt she is, how you say, speta-me.”

“I understand; your aunt is expecting you to spend the evening with her but please say you will meet me for dinner-anywhere in Rome, any time you say.”

Gina laughed gently at the sound of quiet desperation in Frank’s voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen, in a few minutes we shall be landing at Fiumicino. Please extinguish all cigarettes and make sure that your seatbelt is fastened and your seat is in an upright position. We hope that you have enjoyed your flight and look forward to being of service to you again soon. Thank you and Arrivederci.”

Frank scarcely heard the announcement; he wanted only to hear Gina’s reply.

 

“Maybe, I don’t know. I will try.”

“Wonderful! Do you know the Café Nero in the Piazza del Populo?” he asked.

“Yes, I know very well.”

“Okay, please meet me there this evening – is seven-thirty okay?”

“I will try. Seven-thirty, okay?”

There was a loud roar and the whole aircraft trembled as the wheels hit the runway. Minutes later they taxied to a halt.

The customs hall was total confusion. People jostled each other for baggage which came out in floods or trickles. Frank tried to keep as close to Gina as possible, mindful of the fact that he had a meeting to attend at two o’clock which left him little time to get through customs and immigration and check into his hotel before jumping into a cab to get there on time. Her baggage appeared first and Frank helped her load it onto a trolley. He was hoping she would wait for him but she was tired from the flight and anxious not to keep her aunt waiting too long.

She thanked him once again for his help, assured him that she would do her best to meet as arranged and disappeared into the crowds with a shy wave over her shoulder.

It was another twenty minutes before Frank managed to retrieve his baggage and head towards the customs tables then out to the waiting line of cabs for the drive to his hotel.

Now, sitting at the table in the Café Nero, he began to kick himself for not doing the obvious like giving Gina a number where he could be contacted or, better still, asking her for a phone number – not that she would have given him one – Italian families, especially protective aunts, don’t take too kindly to strange men contacting their young women.

He looked at his watch again and sighed in resignation. Eight thirty-five. She wasn’t going to show now; it had been over an hour. Calling the waiter over, he paid the bill, lit another cigarette and stood up.

The sun had slipped behind the old buildings at the far end of the piazza and the air was noticeably cooler. An accordion was playing a romantic tune in another of the many sidewalk cafes, the melody drifting plaintively on the evening air.

Frank looked up and down the vast expanse of the piazza before glancing once again at the young couple at the next table. They sat, fingers entwined, gazing into each other’s eyes. They didn’t see Frank leave, head across the piazza and disappear into the distant crowd.

Minutes later, an attractive girl with dark shoulder-length hair, walked quickly up to the café. She hesitated, her eyes scanning the crowded tables, and glanced at her watch. A frown furrowed her brow. She hesitated again, appeared to make a decision, then sat down at the vacant table next to the young couple.

A soft breeze moved like a whisper in the violet twilight, carrying with it the soft perfume of orange blossom. The young man at the next table turned his head towards the scented breeze. His girlfriend frowned and pinched his arm in mock jealousy and, turning back to her, he leaned over and kissed her on the neck and whispered something in her ear. She threw back her head and laughed a loud, husky laugh, the way Italian women do…