Page 4 of A Scottish Teashop in Napoli

A bubble of excitement fizzed inside her as she contemplated her own wedding to Malik, the gardener, in just two months’ time. Theirs was to be a simple affair in the tiny village church, followed by a family feast of home cooking on the beach. Although she often drooled over the glossy magazines scattered around the hotel, she knew a designer dress and glitzy, champagne-and-roses wedding didn’t guarantee a happy marriage. Jacinta and Malik had very little money, but were rich in other ways. She counted her blessings and didn’t long for the things she couldn’t have.

As she was about to leave the room, she noticed the white dress cover draped over the couple’s luggage. She picked it up carefullyand hung it on the wardrobe door. Her fingers traced the length of it. She longed to pull the zip and take a peek. There was no harm in looking, was there?

All at once her walkie-talkie sprang into life, sending her reeling.

‘Jacinta, do you read me?’

‘Yes, Mrs Jackson. Sixth-floor bridal suite checks complete.’

‘Jacinta, we have a problem. Do you copy? We have a problem…’

Narrowly avoiding the spiky foliage in the brushed-steel planter, Lucy fell into the lift and hit the button for the sixth floor. The doors slid shut, then promptly parted. A handsome, bronzed couple in fluffy, white bathrobes bounced inside, giggling and whispering to one another. The woman darted Lucy a beatific smile. Lucy smiled back weakly, then catching sight of her reflection in the mirror, lowered her sunglasses onto her nose.

‘Snap!’ said the woman, holding up her left hand. ‘Mine’s an emerald too. Are you getting married here as well?’

‘Yes… I… I mean, no…’ Lucy stammered, placing her hand behind her back.

The couple looked at her nonplussed. An awkward silence filled the lift.

The chime eventually sounded, heralding the sixth floor.

Stepping into the corridor, Lucy could feel the weight of the couple’s stare, their stifled giggles deadened as the doors whooshed shut.

She had to lie down. She doubted she would sleep, but she needed to be alone with her thoughts, to try to make sense of what had happened and plan her trip home.

She inserted the plastic card in the slot, depressed the handle,drew a deep breath and entered the bridal suite. She was stopped in her tracks by the sight of a young woman with rose petals falling through her fingers.

Both let out a simultaneous gasp. ‘I am so sorry, Mrs… Miss…’ stammered Jacinta, a look of horror on her lovely face.

‘MissAnderson, but please call me Lucy.’

‘Jacinta. Housekeeping. I was just… I’m so sorry… I…’

Lucy blinked and smiled reassuringly. ‘Please don’t worry. It’s not your fault.’

‘I’ll run a soothing bath for you after your long flight. Yes?’

‘No, but thank you.’ All at once Lucy became painfully aware of the knots and tension in her neck, back and shoulders. ‘Well, yes actually, that would be nice.’

‘It will help you to relax,’ said Jacinta with a serene smile.

‘Thank you,’ Lucy whispered.

She unlocked her suitcase, drawing a sharp breath at the sight of the beautiful silk and lace nightdress her mum had bought for her. She laid it out on the bed, wondering what she would say when she found out. She had to call her and give her the news, but not yet. She wasn’t ready for her sympathy. She needed time to gather her thoughts and her strength.

She unpacked a cotton dress and cardigan to travel home in – the next day with any luck. Her watery eyes landed on the dress cover hanging on the wardrobe door. She rolled it up, put it in her suitcase, then took it out again and stuffed it on top of the wardrobe, out of sight.

Jacinta appeared from the bathroom and handed her a luxurious, white towelling robe with P.H. embroidered on the pocket and a pair of slippers.

‘If you need anything, just dial zero for reception.’

‘Thank you. You’ve been very kind.’

Jacinta hesitated by the door, turned and opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.

Left alone, Lucy pondered for a moment, undressed, entered the bathroom, and letting the robe fall, stepped into the warm, rose-petal water.

The ceiling fan whirred, the white muslin curtains billowed in the gentle breeze. Lucy’s stinging, swollen eyes flickered open. The bright morning sunlight beamed mottled patterns across the tiled floor.