Page 76 of A Scottish Teashop in Napoli

Her body started shaking and her pent-up tears began to flow unrestrained.

‘Please tell me what happened,’ he whispered, stepping round to face her and tilting her head to see into those troubled emerald green eyes. ‘Tell me.’

It was no use; fear-fuelled adrenaline and exhaustion flooded through her veins. Her face crumpled, her legs turned to jelly and she collapsed, sobbing into his arms.

Chapter Eighteen

Early the following morning, Lucy found herself in a police interview room.

She rubbed her eyes and looked nervously around the stark white walls. The flickering strip lighting was starting to make her head spin.

Dario entered, holding two cardboard cups of strong coffee and a file under his arm.

His long-fingered, olive-skinned hand briefly touched hers as she took the steaming drink from him.

‘Grazie.’

‘Prego.’

Scraping his chair across the floor, he sat down opposite her and opened the file.

‘Allora,you stated that on the first of December you were alone in the teashop and were visited by a strange man around fifty years old, whom you took to be your taxi driver.’

He looked at her earnestly through his Clark Kent glasses.

She found herself thinking how well they suited his face. They not only gave him an added air of authority, but there was no denying how…

He raised an eyebrow in anticipation of her answer. ‘Is this correct?’

Focus! ‘Sorry. Yes. That… that’s right.’ She bit her trembling lip. ‘Looking back, I should have said something at the time, but…’

She took a steadying sip of espresso. She could have kicked herself. She’d pushed the incident to the back of her mind and had allowed it to stay there, hidden under all the Christmas planning and excitement.

Dario grabbed a manila envelope from the file containing several black and white photographs. He carefully laid them out in rows on the table in front of her.

‘I’d like you to look at these and tell me if you can identify the man. Take your time.’

Lucy leaned forward, studying each one carefully. There were no sounds but her quick breathing and the steady ticking of the clock.

The images were obviously taken in secret with a telephoto lens, just like those you see in spy movies. She was no detective, but couldn’t help wondering why a well-dressed, mature man was suspected of vandalising a little teashop. It didn’t make sense.

Her eyes flicked up at Dario. ‘I’m sorry. But they all look so similar.’ Her gaze dropped back to the table. ‘I don’t recognise any…’

Something had caught her eye. Shifting to the edge of her seat, she looked closer. The bald man in the photograph had his hand on another man’s shoulder. His sausage-like fingers were covered in gaudy rings and there was a deep scar running down his right cheek.

Lucy tapped her fingernail on his face. ‘I can’t be one hundred per cent sure, but I think that’s him.’

Dario shot her a knowing glance. ‘Grazie.’

‘Do you think he might be responsible for the break-in?’

He nodded slowly.

‘But why? What was he looking for? Christmas cake?’ Lucy quipped.

Dario’s dark eyes fixed her with a serious gaze and her smile disintegrated. She swallowed hard. ‘Who is he?’

He leaned towards her, lowering his voice. ‘I can’t tell you his name, but he is a member of an organised crime syndicate. He has been under surveillance for some considerable time.’