He settles us at a little table in the corner. The table cloth is cream and embroidered with the Italia Turrita. It’s very pretty.
‘Luigi, this is Ava. ’ Jesse introduces us.
Luigi bows at me. ‘Ah, a beautiful name for a beautiful lady, yes?’ I’m a bit embarrassed by his forwardness. ‘What would Sir Jesse like?’
‘May I?’ Jesse asks, nodding at the menu.
He’s asking me? ‘You usually do. ’ I mutter. His eyebrow arches as he puffs his lips slightly, in a don’t-push-it gesture. I let him get on with it. He obviously knows what’s good on the menu.
‘Okay, Luigi. We’ll have two of the fettuccine, with yellow squash, parmesan and lemon cream sauce, a bottle of the Famiglia Anselma Barolo 2000, and some water. You got that?’
Luigi scribbles frantically on his pad, backing away. ‘Yes, yes, Sir Jesse. I go now. ’
Jesse smiles fondly. ‘Thank you, Luigi. ’
I gaze around the cluttered restaurant. ‘Now, this is what you call Italian shit. ’ I murmur thoughtfully. I find a smiling face around a chewed lip when my eyes reach Jesse. ‘You come here often?’ I ask.
His smile broadens into knee trembling territory. ‘Are you trying to chat me up?’
‘Of course,’ I smile as he shifts in his chair.
‘Mario, the head barman at The Manor, insisted I try it, so I did. Luigi’s his brother. ’
‘Luigi and Mario?’ I snort, rather rudely. Jesse raises his eyebrows at me. ‘I’m sorry, that’s really tickled me!’
‘I can see that. ’ He frowns as Luigi returns with the drinks. Jesse pours me some wine and himself some water.
‘You didn’t get a whole bottle for me?’ I blurt. ‘Are you not having any?’ Christ, I’ll be on my back.
‘No, I’m driving. ’
‘And I’m allowed?’
His lips press into a straight line, but I can see he’s trying to suppress a smile at my cheekiness. ‘You may. ’
I grin, picking up my glass and sipping carefully as he watches me. It’s lovely.
As I look over the table at the beautiful, neurotic man, who has fucked my plans right up, my brain is suddenly bombarded with questions.
‘I want to know how old you are. ’ I state confidently. This whole age thing is really quite stupid.
He circles the rim of his glass with the tip of his finger as he watches me. ‘Twenty eight. Tell me about your family. ’
Huh? Oh, no, no, no! ‘I asked first. ’
‘And I answered. Tell me about your family. ’
I shake my head in despair and resign myself to the fact that I’m in love with a man of an age I don’t know and, quite possibly, never will do.
‘They retired to Newquay a few years back,’ I sigh, ‘Dad ran a construction firm, Mum was a house wife. My Dad had a heart attack scare so they took early retirement to Cornwall. My brother is living the dream in Australia. ’ That’s pretty much it in a nutshell. ‘Why do you not speak to your parents?’ I ask. I know I’m on dodgy ground here, especially after his last response to that very question.
I watch carefully, almost apprehensively, for his reaction. I’m more than shocked when he takes a sip of water, then launches into his answer. ‘They live in Marbella. My sister’s there too. I’ve not spoken to them for years. They didn’t approve when Carmichael left me The Manor and all of his estate. ’
Oh? ‘He left it all to you?’ I can see why that might cause a family feud, especially if there’s a sister in the picture.
‘He did. We were close, and he didn’t talk to my parents. They didn’t approve. ’
‘They didn’t approve of your relationship?’