An excerpt from Dreaming of Florence

Chapter 1

It was about six o’clock when she heard the doorbell. For a moment she felt an irrational surge of hope that it might be her Italian doctor friend, come to invite her out for dinner, but no sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she dismissed it. After what had happened with Paul, she had absolutely no interest in starting a relationship with another man any time soon. Besides, her Italian doctor friend had said he was only here for a few more weeks and she certainly wasn’t looking for a casual holiday romance, even though she had to admit that he had been rather dishy. Shaking her head, she went out into the hall and opened the front door. It was Alice.

‘Hi, Debs, how’s things?’ Alice stopped and gawped. ‘What’s wrong with your arm?’

‘Fell off my bike.’

Following the orders of her newly-acquired personal physician, Debbie had fashioned a primitive sling out of a scarf to support her sore elbow.

‘Is it broken?’

Debbie shook her head. ‘No, just scraped and bruised. Thank goodness.’

She led Alice into the flat and told her the story as she made them both some tea. As she recounted the events of that afternoon, she omitted to mention that the man who had caused the accident had been really rather good-looking.

There was a reason for this. Had she indicated in any way that she had found him attractive, Alice would have been at her heels like a little terrier, doing her best to put the two of them together. Alice had been quite unable to understand Debbie’s decision to take a timeout from men for the foreseeable future, after the four-year relationship with Paul had been so rudely interrupted back in the spring. Ever since then, Alice had been constantly on the lookout for suitable replacements, deaf to Debbie’s protests. So caution was the watchword as far as Alice was concerned.

‘He was Italian, you say?’

‘Yes.’

‘And a doctor?’

‘Yes.’

‘Age?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe early thirties.’ Debbie did her best to sound disinterested.

‘Really? That’s perfect. So, tell me, what did he look like? Buck teeth, bald, scrawny, smelly, scruffy?’

‘Yes, all of those, definitely.’ Debbie concentrated on the tea.

‘Was he tall or short?’

‘Tallish, I suppose.’

She handed her friend a mug of tea and they both sat down at the kitchen table. Gingerly, Debbie rested her damaged elbow on the table and let the sling fall from her shoulder. She stretched her arm cautiously, pleased to be able to move it more easily. The paracetamol had definitely begun to do its work.

‘Taller than you, then?’

‘Erm, yes.’

‘Well, that’s bloody tall. Look at you, Debs. Your legs are just about as long as my whole body. So, he’s tall, Italian and a doctor. Tasty!’

‘Don’t forget the smelly, scruffy thing.’

She heard Alice snort.