Page 48 of A Scottish Teashop in Napoli

Gathering up the coffee cups, Elena whispered delightedly, ‘Dario would kill me for saying this, but I think he has a serious crush on you.’

Lucy laughed nervously, colour flooding her cheeks. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Did he tell you he liked me?’ She was immediately struck by how school-girlish her question sounded.

‘He doesn’t need to.’ Tiny sparks were dancing in Elena’s eyes. ‘I notice him looking at you in a certain way, and when you’re not here, he mentions your name at every opportunity.’

Lucy wished the burning sensation in her face and neck would disappear.

‘In fact, the other day he asked me if you had a special someone back home.’

‘What did you say?’

‘At first I teased him and said, “How should I know?” “Comeon, Elena,” he said, “you must know.” Then I innocently said, “But you told me not to meddle in your love life.”’

‘And then…?’

‘I didn’t go into details – obviously – but I told him you’d been badly let down and it would probably take a long time for you to trust someone again. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘No,’ said Lucy with a nervous laugh. ‘Why should I?’

‘You know, all Italian men aren’t Casanovas, Lucy. Dario is kind, honest, protective, has high morals. He’s more of a… Mr Knightley. Why not give him a chance and see where it goes?’ With an impish shrug she then disappeared to the bathroom for a quick shower.

Lucy gulped the dregs of her coffee, took a damp cloth and started furiously wiping the clean table. Distant cheers and the thud of a ball hitting the arid grass floated through the open window.

Did Dario really have a crush on her? She was convinced it was more bemused curiosity than sexual attraction. He probably had never come across anyone quite like her before: unsophisticated, scatty and immune to his charms. He most likely viewed her as an interesting challenge. Oh yes, she had this all worked out. There was no denying his appeal, but after Stewart, why on earth would she want that kind of complication?

Chapter Twelve

All was quiet on the buffalo farm – very, very quiet in fact.

Lucy put down her bucket and checked her watch. Being a Sunday, she was hoping Jamie would be at home. She scrolled for his number.

‘Hey, Sis.’

‘Hi. Where are you?’

‘I’m in Glencoe on a walking trip with some of my fifth- and sixth-year students. Everything okay?’

‘Uh huh. I’m at the farm and I just wanted to show you something, but I can tell you about it tomorrow if this isn’t a good time.’

‘No, it’s perfect. In fact, I’ve been telling my students about the buffalo, and how you clean their teeth and that they have an eclectic taste in music. I kinda get the feeling that some o’ them think I’ve lost the plot, so you’d be doing me a favour if the buffalo could say a quick hello to everyone.’

‘You lost the plot a long time ago, sir,’ piped up an anonymous voice, followed by a chorus of sniggers.

Lucy giggled. ‘I’m afraid my buffalo can’t be disturbed at the moment, ’cos you know the “Scottish Chillout” album you sent?’

‘Aye.’

‘Well, whenever we play it, look what happens…’

She turned her phone towards the snoozing buffalo, grunting and snoring peacefully to the soothing sounds of the flute, fiddle and harp, ears flicking gently back and forth.

‘Hey, guys, come and look at this,’ called Jamie to his students. ‘Now will you believe me?’

‘Hellooo, everyone!’ cried Lucy, bobbing into the frame.

‘Listen, Sis, while I’ve got you on the phone, do you remember the documentary I took part in after returning from Afghanistan?’

‘Uh huh.’