Page 50 of A Scottish Teashop in Napoli

She even broke her new ‘live-in-the moment’ rule, by recording a clip of Turno di Notte’s rousing rendition of Dave Brubeck’s ‘Take Five’ to share with jazz-mad Jamie.

‘Thanks, guys! You’ve been an amazing audience!’ Matteo held his saxophone high above his head, a triumphant smile lighting up his face. ‘Good night!’

Wild cheers and shrill whistles ricocheted off the walls, and iPhones flashed as the band took their final bow.

Lucy’s heart swelled and tears of pride stung her eyes. Was it really only five years ago that he had been at rock bottom, living on the street, addicted to drugs, without prospects or self-esteem?

A huge crowd was now gathering around him, hanging on his every word.

Lucy glanced at her watch. It was getting late and she had a full schedule the next day, with classes in the morning and a bus party of Welsh tourists to escort around the factory in the afternoon, not to mention two dozen scones to whip up before bedtime.

‘Fantastico,Matteo! I’ll see you in class tomorrow.’

‘Attenzione! Wait! I take you home on my scooter.’

‘No, really,’ Lucy protested, struggling to be heard above the noise. ‘If I leave now, I’ll make the eleven o’clock bus. Stay with your friends and enjoy yourself.’

Matteo turned to the cluster of fans. ‘Hey, guys! This is my English teacher, Lucy.’

All eyes swerved in her direction.

Lucy gave a shy wave. ‘Hi.’

The metal door slammed shut behind her. Moonlight poured onto the square.

After the sticky heat of the club (and one too many wines), she was grateful for the cool night air which greeted her burning face.

She made her way to the bus stop, ears still ringing, heart still pounding and feet throbbing.

She pulled out her phone from her bag, popped in her earbuds and played the video clip again and again at full volume, head nodding to the beat.

The music was suddenly interrupted by the staccato putt-putt of an engine turning over in close proximity.

Lucy lifted her gaze from the screen to find Matteo sitting astride his scooter, grinning at her like a meerkat, and indicating for her to jump on.

‘But it’s out of your way,’ she yelled. ‘The bus will be here soon.’

Matteo pointed to the church clock. Twenty minutes past eleven.

‘Let’s go!’he said, removing his crash helmet. ‘Here. Put this on.’

‘I… No. What about you? Isn’t it compulsory to wear a helmet? What if we have an accident?’

Matteo shrugged and made the sign of the cross. ‘Andiamo! Let’s go.’

With the bus nowhere to be seen, she reluctantly donned Matteo’s helmet, hitched up her skirt, launched herself onto the pillion seat, clasped her arms tightly around his waist and roared off into the black night.

They weaved in and out of traffic, rattled along cobbled streets,hared around roundabouts and bounced over ventilation grilles, with the occasional emergency stop at a red light.

Lucy had always dreamed of elegantly scooting around an Italian city, just like Audrey Hepburn inRoman Holiday,not bouncing around like a pinball, hair plastered over her mouth and nose, skirt wrapped around her waist, looking like a lady of the night.

A wailing siren suddenly pierced the air, forcing Lucy to lurch forward as they screeched to an abrupt stop.

‘Fanculo!’growled Matteo.

A swirling blue light washed over them, and a tall uniformed figure emerged from the shadows.

‘Buonasera’,said the officer over the crackle of his radio. ‘Is this your…? Matteo!’