Page 78 of A Scottish Teashop in Napoli

Surely it had to have been an accident? The alternative was too horrific and too far-fetched to contemplate; things like that only happened in Martin Scorsese movies.

‘Can you forgive me?’ Elena had said earlier that evening after supper, her face drained of colour.

Lucy had taken her hand and squeezed it. ‘Elena, it’s not your fault.’

‘I should have mentioned it at the start. I didn’t want to frighten you. I hoped they would leave us alone.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘But they are always watching, waiting…’

Lucy pulled up the collar of her coat, opened her eyes and looked out across the sea. Had she been pathetically naive for jumping into a world she knew very little about? Should she have heeded her overprotective mother’s warning for once, and not buried her head in the sand?

Now she had been forced into a corner; now she had to make an important decision – a decision she wished with all her heart that she didn’t have to take.

Italy, these people had changed her for the better. Thanks tothem, she had let go of all the nonsense, accepted herself for who she was, and had come to realise that she didn’t need Stewart, or any man for that matter, to make her life complete.

She had fallen in love with Naples; its natural beauty and raw danger, colourful history and chaotic everyday; not to mention the organic food, the wine, the coffee culture…

There was no denying it; she had felt more alive these last few months than she had ever done.

‘We will not live in fear,’ Dario had said. He was right.

Lucy now realised she had spent most of her life living in fear; fear of changing career, fear of never having children, fear of being alone.

Italy had taught her to go with the flow, to live in the moment and embrace the unexpected.

Admittedly, being the potential target of the local Mafia was pretty scary, but maybe she had to learn to live like those inhabitants of the red zone surrounding Vesuvius; accept what she couldn’t control and not worry about the future, whilst being vigilant. But was that taking carpe diem a little too far?

As Lucy entered the kitchen, Elena swivelled round from the sink, eyes wide with nervous anticipation.

Kicking off her sandy boots, Lucy hung her head, eyes fixed on her stripey-stockinged feet. ‘I’m very sorry, Elena, but having given this a lot of thought, I’ve decided…’

Elena flinched and drew a sharp breath. Lucy wiggled her toes.

‘I’d like to stay, please.’

The tension in Elena’s face fell away. Removing her rubber gloves, she playfully swiped Lucy across the cheek. Voice rich with delight, she threw her arms open wide. ‘Now you are a true Neapolitan.’

Hugging her tight, Lucy whispered, ‘Just don’t tell my mother.’

Elena poured them each a glass of wine. ‘A toast –alle donne forti!To strong women!’

‘Alle donne forti!Salute!’

Elena had been dreading the festive period, but though her heart yearned for Giancarlo and always would, with so many new things to preoccupy her in the coming year, her tight grip on the past was slowly starting to loosen: there were English lessons to plan, factory tours, teashop bookings, the film première in April and now a Scottish social event, called a ‘ceilidh’, to be held in the factory in celebration of a famous poet called Robert Burns, who was born in the village where Lucy grew up.

Elena was looking forward to learning traditional Scottish dancing with the students and tasting Scottish whisky, though she had to admit the thought of eating haggis made of sheep’s innards was not an appetising prospect.

Early one January morning Elena and Lucy were sitting at the kitchen table putting the final touches to their spring term lesson plans, when there was a sharp knock on the door.

‘Buongiorno!Il postino!’echoed a gruff voice. ‘Delivery for you – from the UK.’

‘Come in, Giuseppe,’ Elena cried. ‘We’re in the kitchen.’

Removing his cap, he shuffled along the hallway, placing the parcel on the table.

‘Good morning,’ he said, bowing his head.

Lucy looked up and smiled. ‘Buongiorno, Giuseppe. How are you today?’

He shrugged his shoulders in his typically Italian way. ‘Eh, no bad.’