Page 120 of A Scottish Teashop in Napoli

LEONARDO ROSSI 1924-1945

‘What? I don’t understand.’

‘His plane and his remains were discovered by amateur archaeologists in 1954.’

Lucy gasped. ‘But how… how do you know this?’

‘A retired colleague of mine, he volunteer in the archives at the Ministry of Defence. I tell him the story of your grandmother and the airman. He find a handwritten report, dated November 1954.’

‘But how can they be sure it’s the same Leonardo?’

‘They identify him by his wristwatch. His service number was on the back. The records confirm he was in Glasgow in 1944.’

Lucy opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Her throat tightened and tears sparked in her eyes.

She felt her knees wobble. One moment she was sinking, the next she was in Dario’s arms, face buried in his chest.

‘Sorry,’ she said eventually, pulling away, cringing at the patch of tears and snot she’d deposited on his doubtless expensive shirt.

‘Here,’ he said with a warm smile, taking a freshly laundered linen handkerchief from his top pocket.

Lucy turned her tear-streaked face to him. ‘I don’t know whatto say… thanks to you, Granny Oona’s love story has closure. I wish it was a happy ending though…’

‘Of course, but they were also lucky. Some people, they never experience true love like theirs.’

‘No,’ Lucy whispered, crouching down at the grave, head bowed.

Dario made the sign of the cross, knelt down beside her and handed her the rose. ‘For Capitano Rossi.’

‘It was an unforgettable moment, Elena,’ said Lucy that evening, through a mouthful of gnocchi, one eye on the cupcakes rising in the oven. ‘I mean, to go to all the trouble of researching the history of some random wartime veteran and his random fiancée… Why?’

‘Essato,’ Elena said, regarding her intently. ‘Why?’

Lucy shrugged. ‘And there was I, convinced the rose was for his sister.’

‘Or for you?’ Elena said.

‘Why would Dario buy me a red rose?’ she scoffed.

Elena drew a sharp breath, head awash with romance andvino rosso. ‘I told you, he’s in love with you.’

Lucy choked on her wine, secretly delighted. ‘What? Me? That’s… that’s…’

‘Yes. Whynotyou? And I believe you’re in love with him too, but you won’t admit it.’

‘That’s crazy. I—’

‘Wake up, Lucy. Has your grandmother’s story, my story, the fire, not taught you anything?’

Lucy blinked, not knowing what to say.

Elena ploughed on. ‘Remind me of your grandmother’s last words to you.’

‘“Grab happiness where you can”,’ said Lucy in a near-whisper.

‘Essato.Can’t you see that happiness is staring you in the face?’

Lucy had to admit the more she’d got to know Dario, the more she realised that she had misjudged him at the start. Just like her other favourite Austen protagonist, Lizzy Bennett, Lucy had been forced to acknowledge the error of her initial prejudices against him; true, he was charming, well-mannered and stylish, but a playboy he was not. On the contrary, he was everything she admired: caring, thoughtful, funny, protective and kind.