‘I might just do that.’
‘No “mights”. Do it. It’ll make you feel better.’ He smiled at her. ‘Go home. I’m not going to make you stay really late on a Friday night.’ Even though what he wanted to do with her would take the rest of the weekend, let alone the night. Because he was going to be sensible about this. ‘I’ll see you on Monday, OK?’
‘Sure. Have a nice weekend.’
He laughed. ‘You’ll never know how glad I am that you didn’t say, “Giovanni Mazetti, don’t you work too hard”…’
‘MORNING, Fran. How was your weekend?’ Gio asked as she walked into the coffee shop on the Monday morning.
‘Fine, thanks. Yours?’
‘Fine.’
She’d just sat down when he brought a latte in to her. This time, there was the shape of an apple floating on the crema. ‘You’re definitely showing off. Flowers, hearts, apples…’
‘Just you wait. Tomorrow I’ll do you an ammonite,’ he said with a grin.
She scoffed, ‘No way can you free-pour an ammonite.’
‘I didn’t actually say I’d free-pour it. I said I’d do you one.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘But as challenges go…that’s a good one.’ He leaned against her desk. ‘Did you do what I suggested, on Friday?’
She nodded. ‘Thanks for the advice.’
‘Don’t thank me—it’s Nonna’s wisdom, not mine. She says you can never tell people too often that you love them. And no doubt, as she’s coming over from Milan soon, you’ll get to thank her in person.’ Gio sighed. ‘I have this feeling she’ll be “just passing” the café, like Mum was. And when she’s finished grilling you, she’ll start on me. Telling me that I work too hard, and I need to find myself some bella ragazza and settle down and produce a great-grandchild for her to spoil.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I’m really hoping that she gets distracted by her newest great-granddaughter. Lorena’s absolutely gorgeous.’ He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and flicked through the photographs. ‘See?’
For someone who was so adamant that he didn’t want babies, Fran thought, Gio had a very soppy look on his face. She’d bet he had a picture of every single child in his family on his mobile phone. Not that she was going to take him to task for being a fraud. ‘She’s lovely,’ she said.
‘Nonna will enjoy cuddling her. But then again, it’ll probably make her worse. Once she gets started on this settling-down stuff…’
‘You can always try distracting her with latte art,’ Fran said, laughing and gesturing to her mug.
‘I could even draw her a bat with a long nose, to make the point. But she’d only laugh and say I was trying to get her off her favourite subject. Like when is her youngest grandson going to settle down,’ he said ruefully.
The week got better and better. Gio switched to etching pictures in her coffee, from the promised ammonite through to a lion with a shaggy mane and a spider in a web, making her laugh. Fran teased him back by making a rosetta in his latte with chocolate syrup and ignoring his demands to see a proper free-poured rosetta—she was still a long way from being ready for that. Though she’d been practising in secret, coached by Sally in return for a promise of half-share in the chocolates Gio had bet her.
Even the food hygiene course on the Thursday wasn’t that bad; everything was practical, common sense, and the multiple-choice exam wasn’t as scary as the exam papers she remembered from her schooldays. Thirty questions in forty-five minutes—and, as Gio said, she was organised and practical, and most of it was simple common sense. She just had to wait a fortnight for the results. A fortnight that just sped by so she actually forgot about the wait.
The post hadn’t arrived before Fran left for work on the Thursday morning, but Fran came home to find a large envelope on the doormat. An envelope with the logo of the college on it.
Her results.
It had been nearly eight years since she’d taken an exam. And she’d been physically sick afterwards, knowing she’d done badly and furious with herself because the second she’d walked out of the exam room all the knowledge had come flooding back again and she could’ve answered all the questions after all.
And when she’d opened the envelope containing her results—proof in black and white that she’d messed up her A levels and let everyone down—she’d spent the whole day crying, because she was such a failure. Despite the fact her parents had tried to comfort her and said it didn’t matter, she knew she was a disappointment to them. They were academics, living in Oxford: how could they not be disappointed that she’d failed her A levels and wouldn’t go on to university?
Would she be a disappointment to Gio, the same way?
On the day of the course, she’d felt she’d done OK. The exam hadn’t thrown her.
Now…she wasn’t so sure. Not with her track record. And she couldn’t bear the idea of Gio losing his faith in her. Of letting him down.
But she wasn’t a coward. She took a deep breath and ripped open the envelope. Stared at the piece of paper inside. No, two pieces of paper. A letter and a certificate. So she didn’t even have to read the letter to know.
She’d passed.
She whooped and did a Snoopy dance on the doormat.
She’d actually passed!
Gio’s belief in her had been right. She’d come good.
And she needed to tell him. Right now. She grabbed the phone—and then replaced the receiver without dialling. He’d be in the office, she knew; although he was a stickler for sending her home on the dot, he worked until at least half past seven most nights.
Tonight, she was going to take him out to celebrate. And they were going to drink champagne. She locked her front door, took the tube back to Goodge Street and walked down to the café. As she suspected, the closed sign was up and the front of the café was dark, but she could see the faint light from the office in the back of the shop. Gio was still there. Still working.
She banged on the door.
No answer.
She knocked again.
Still no answer.
Third time lucky?
Yes.
The frown on Gio’s face dissolved as he saw her and unlocked the door. ‘Hi, Fran. What are you doing here?’
‘You sent me to learn about and understand the importance of food hygiene and hazards, plus good hygiene practice and controls based upon food safety management systems,’ she said. ‘So there’s something I need to talk to you about.’
‘Uh-huh. Come through to the office.’ He stood aside, then locked the door behind her again.
She followed him to the office, rummaging in her handbag, then handed him the letter.
He handed it back without unfolding it. ‘I don’t need to read this.’
‘Yes, you do.’
‘No, I don’t.’ He smiled. ‘I told you that you’d pass.’
‘Gio, it’s the first exam I’ve taken in eight years. Last time