Under a Siena Sun (Escape to Tuscany #1) - T.A. Williams Page 0,67

not realise it, but I owe you a lot.’

‘Like for allowing some casual man friend of mine to recognise you and reveal your whereabouts to the entire world? With friends like me, who needs enemies?’

He was still smiling. ‘You’ll never be an enemy, Lucy. Ciao.’

He slipped back into the driving seat and set off up the hill. As he did so, she saw him deliberately remove his baseball cap and sunglasses, ready to face the cameras. She crossed her fingers for him.

She let herself into the house and put the kettle on. As it came to the boil, she opened the back door to check that her lovely rambling rose hadn’t dried up in its pot and found that Armando had already been round and had constructed a fine cat’s cradle of wires around the doorway for the rose to climb. She went out to the little old brick shed at the bottom of the garden and located a spade, determined to dig a hole and plant the rose in the ground that evening once the full heat of the sun had diminished.

As she came back out with the spade in her hand, she was startled to hear a dog bark right beside her. She glanced around and saw a black nose and two paws just peeking over the stone wall between her and next door. She went across to say hello and, as she did so, she registered that her neighbour’s shutters were now open. Evidently the proprietor, the Florentine who worked at the university, was now in residence.

‘Ciao, dog. So what’s your name, you handsome beast?’

She held out her hand for the dog to sniff and received a friendly lick in return. It was yet another black Labrador. Somehow she wasn’t so surprised. Evidently the offspring of Roberto’s Labs had populated most of the homes in this area.

‘His name’s Barolo, but he answers to Bari – if I’m holding food. Good afternoon.’

Lucy looked up from the dog. The dog’s master was standing at his back door. He was a middle-aged man with glasses, and he was wearing a baggy pair of sand-coloured shorts and a short-sleeved check shirt. From the look of his pale arms and legs, he had probably spent most of the past few months indoors working, rather than out in the sunshine. His accent was unmistakably Tuscan and he looked friendly. She gave him a smile and a wave.

‘Good afternoon. I’m Lucy, Lucy Young. I live here now.’

They shook hands across the wall and for a moment it reminded her of the end of a tennis match which, in turn, reminded her of David, and she spared him another thought as he tried to fight his way into his home through a media scramble.

‘My name’s Guido Scandicci. I’m very pleased to meet you. Did I hear you speaking English with my dog?’

‘That’s right. I’m English, but I work here now. I’m a doctor.’

They stood and chatted and she found him very approachable. One thing he said made her ears prick up. It was when she asked him what he did.

‘I’m a professor of Medieval History at Florence University.’

‘Did you say Medieval History? That’s my field of interest as well.’ She was quick to correct herself. ‘Purely as an amateur of course. But I’ve just come back from checking out the fresco commemorating Giovanni Acuto, John Hawkwood, in Florence.’

‘Well, well, well. One of my doctoral students is doing a thesis based around Hawkwood and his mercenary army, the White Company, so I’ve also been doing a considerable amount of research on him. You’ll have to come round for a glass of wine some time and I’ll see if I can give you any pointers.’

That sounded amazing. ‘That would be wonderful. Thank you so much.’

Chapter 20

The next day marked the start of a week of night duty. Lucy had already done this the previous month and had managed pretty well, although, as always with nights, the first was the most difficult until the body began to get used to the change in timetable.

It was a quiet night and she spent a lot of it in the empty patients’ lounge, flicking through the comprehensive collection of newspapers in a variety of languages, ranging from Italian to Arabic. It came as no surprise to find that all of them, without exception, mentioned David to a greater or lesser degree. Even the Wall Street Journal had an article headed Tennis Ace Emerges From Hiding. Some alluded to his failed marriage,