One Night in Italy (24 page)

Thankfully, there were classier choices. Anna lingered over the menu of a fancy new French restaurant just off Leopold Square – that could be worth a punt. A fine-dining place near the Peace Gardens? Hmm, it looked worryingly posh. You could never relax in those places, in Anna’s experience –
and
the portions were always tiny. What else was there? Ahh.

Yes. Enrico’s Italian Kitchen – now
this
was more like it. She glanced through the sample menu stapled to the invitation, her mouth watering: risotto, pasta, dishes
al forno
. . . She licked her lips and picked up the phone.

‘Hiya,’ she said when Pete answered. ‘What are you up to on Wednesday night?’

‘Oh, hi, love,’ he said, sounding surprised. It was only then that she remembered she was meant to be in a massive huff with him still. He’d blown her out at the last minute on Saturday night when he was meant to be coming out with her to her friend Chloe’s birthday drinks. Some mate’s stag do, he’d said at eight-fifteen, two minutes before she was about to leave the flat. Even worse, he hadn’t even phoned to apologize the next day. Rude, that’s what it was. No wonder he was taken aback to hear her sound so friendly now, asking him for his midweek plans, no less. ‘Um . . . playing football with the lads,’ he said after a moment. ‘Why?’

‘I thought football was Thursday?’

‘It got changed. Why? What are you up to? How are you, anyway?’

‘I should be asking you that. What happened on Saturday? Did it get messy? I tried ringing you, you know.’

‘Sorry about that, babe. I couldn’t hear my phone in the club, that’s why I didn’t answer.’

She twisted a pen between her fingers, not sure she believed him. And they still hadn’t mentioned last week’s sexting. What was going on?

‘Oh, right,’ she said. ‘How about Tuesday then?’

There was a pause. ‘Er . . . I’ve got this work thing.’

‘Have you?’ Pete never had work things. He escaped from his desk at five-thirty on the dot every night.

‘Yeah. It’s . . . Someone’s leaving. They’re having a do.’

‘On a Tuesday?’

‘Yeah! It’s allowed, isn’t it?’ Now he was getting defensive.

She sighed impatiently. ‘When
am
I going to see you, then?’

‘You’ve got the hump with me now, haven’t you?’

‘No, I—’

‘I knew it. That’s why I didn’t ring you, because I knew I’d get it in the neck.’

‘Pete, I’m only—’

‘Look, babe, I’m at work. Let’s talk about this in our own time, yeah? I’d better go. See you.’

She heard the connection click off and gaped in disbelief. What the hell had just happened? She’d been ringing to invite him to the nicest new Italian restaurant in Sheffield, yet somehow he’d managed to turn the call into her being the nag who cramped his style. ‘Unbelievable,’ she muttered crossly. ‘Absolutely unbelievable.’

‘What is?’ asked Joe, coming in just then. ‘The number nineteen bus? Tell me about it. Twenty minutes late again. A wheelbarrow could go faster than that useless piece of crap.’

Anna was still fuming about Pete. ‘
You
wouldn’t turn down a night in a gorgeous Italian restaurant, would you, Joe?’ she asked crossly.

‘Course I bloody wouldn’t,’ he said. ‘Why, are you offering?’

She laughed. ‘No, but . . .’ This was the moment where he was supposed to laugh too and say, Only joking, he didn’t really think so. Instead, he was standing expectantly as if he was seriously waiting for an offer to be made. ‘Well . . .’ she said hesitantly, ‘I do need someone to go with me, actually. It’s a restaurant review – remember I’m covering for Marla? I just asked Pete, but he can’t make it.’

‘I can,’ he said promptly. ‘Unless it’s tonight or Thursday.’

‘I was thinking Wednesday.’

‘Cool.’

‘What – really?’

He shrugged. ‘Why not? Could be a laugh.’

She thought about it. Why not indeed? It wasn’t like a date-date. He was a fellow writer, they could bounce ideas off each other. And he was right – they could have a laugh together, too. Even better, it was a chance to practise some of her Italian.

‘All right, let’s do it,’ she said. ‘I’ll book us a table. Cheers, Joe.’ Then, just so that he wouldn’t be in any doubt about this unexpected arrangement, she added, ‘You’re a real mate.’

The following evening, it was Italian class again, and Anna was pleased to see the other students. After a single night in the pub together the week before, she now felt as if they were her new friends. ‘Hi, Geraldine, how are rehearsals going?’ she asked, walking into the room. (Wonderful, she was word-perfect and now trying to wangle a new outfit for the show.)

‘What happened on your blind date?’ she whispered to Nita, opening her textbook. (He was late and had a moustache, came the answer, complete with pulled face. His number had already been deleted from Nita’s phone.)

‘Lovely hair – wow!’ she marvelled to Catherine. ‘Pheebs, did you do that?’

‘I totally did,’ Phoebe said, looking chuffed. She was wearing her hair in two plaits tonight – the demure schoolgirl look. ‘Looks mint, doesn’t it?’

‘Thanks,’ Catherine said, blushing. ‘I’m really pleased. Everybody – get Phoebe to make you over this week. She’s a miracle worker!’

Phoebe leaned forward, eyes gleaming. ‘By the way, Cath,’ she said. ‘Sad news. After you left, there was a terrible accident with Rebecca’s white coat. Coffee all down it. No idea how it happened.’

‘No!’ breathed Catherine in shocked delight, then giggled, her hand flying up to her mouth. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yep. She said she wouldn’t come to us any more. We’re all so upset. Really gonna miss those non-existent tips.’ She winked naughtily.

George raised an eyebrow. ‘Blimey, your salon sounds like it needs its own TV show,’ he said. ‘Your hair looks great, by the way, Catherine.’

‘Thank you!’ she said, turning bright red.

‘If you ever want a little trim, George, just pop in,’ Phoebe said instantly, brandishing one of her business cards. ‘I could do you a wicked boyband cut, one of those big floppy fringes and . . .’

He shook his head, grinning. ‘I’m happy with the shaggy, unkempt kind of look, thanks,’ he replied, running a hand through his sandy hair and batting his eyelashes. ‘But I’ll bear that in mind, Pheebs, if I ever want a change.’

As their homework the week before, Sophie had asked each of the students to prepare a few sentences about themselves, featuring the phrases they’d learned so far in Italian. The lesson began with them taking it in turns to read these aloud, occasionally stumbling over some of the pronunciations, although a couple of students – well, Geraldine – threw themselves very theatrically into the accent, complete with rolling ‘r’s and flamboyant hand gestures.

After Sophie had praised them for their efforts – even Phoebe, who giggled every time she had to say ‘
Ho
’ – she went on to teach them the vocabulary for features in a town (market, cathedral, tourist office, etc.) and nationalities. Anna felt a thrill run through her as she imagined herself arriving in Rimini and asking directions in fluent Italian. She was so going to sort that trip out. Any day now.

As usual, the two-hour lesson went by in a flash. ‘Well done, everyone, you’re all doing great,’ Sophie said at the end. ‘See you next time.
Ciao!
’

‘
Ciao!
’ the others all chorused enthusiastically.

Sophie beckoned Anna over as she was about to go. ‘Can I have a quick word?’ she asked.

‘Sure,’ Anna said.

‘It was Rimini, wasn’t it, where you thought your mum had met your dad?’ Sophie asked without preamble.

‘Yeah, that’s right. Why?’

‘Only I’ve had an idea. A mate of mine’s working there at the moment, according to Facebook. I was thinking . . . If you let me borrow that photo of your dad, I can scan it in and email it to my friend, see if he recognizes where it was taken,’ Sophie said. ‘It would give you somewhere to start looking, wouldn’t it, if he can pinpoint the exact place? He might even know him!’

Anna’s heart quickened. ‘That would be brilliant,’ she said. ‘Thank you!’ She thought of the photo propped up on her bedside table, wishing she could hand it over there and then. ‘How can I get it to you? Are you in town at all during the week? I work at the
Herald
office, so could nip out and meet you any time.’

‘I’m popping into town on Thursday,’ Sophie said. ‘How about grabbing a coffee sometime then?’

‘Perfect,’ Anna said. ‘Do you know Marmadukes? I’ll meet you there at around eleven. Thanks!’

Outside the classroom, Catherine was waiting for her. ‘Um . . . Anna, can I ask you something?’

‘Course you can,’ Anna said. ‘Shall we walk while we talk? My parking ticket runs out in fifteen minutes.’

They went along the corridor. ‘I’ve found something out,’ Catherine said bluntly. ‘Something a bit weird, that I don’t understand. I know journalists are experts at getting to the bottom of a story, so I just wondered . . .’

Anna’s polite smile froze on her face. This happened every now and then – she’d be asked to investigate a missing will, or people would tell her indignantly about some injustice they’d suffered at work in the hope that she would highlight it in the newspaper. Axes to grind, usually. She was glad now that she’d given Catherine a fifteen-minute time limit. Some people could go on and on and on, given half a chance.

‘Well . . . It’s a GP, basically. He’s a good GP, but I know that somebody’s been giving him thousands and thousands of pounds – nearly a hundred thousand in the last year and a half. And I don’t know why.’

Anna frowned. This wasn’t the usual fare, admittedly. ‘And you don’t know who this mysterious donor is?’

‘No. That’s the thing. What would you think, as a journalist, if you knew those two facts?’

‘What, that a GP had been receiving secret payments?’ Anna said, walking through the revolving door at the front of the college and stepping out into the cold, dark night. She shivered as she waited for Catherine to emerge, shoving her hands into her coat pockets for warmth. ‘I’d think the GP was being bought off,’ she replied. ‘Blackmail or bribery. Sounds dodgy to me.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Catherine said. Despite the cold, there was a sort of glow about her, as if she was burning with nervous energy.

‘Who is it? What’s the story?’ Anna asked, unable to help her interest.

‘Um . . . It’s complicated.’

Damn. And now she was clamming up, just as Anna’s appetite had been whetted. ‘Well, if you need my help with any digging around, just drop me a line,’ she said, taking a business card from her bag and handing it over. ‘I can do investigative journalism as well as cooking, and I’m happy to help.’

Catherine pocketed the card with a nod. She seemed to be thinking hard about something. ‘If the GP in question
was
involved in some racket or other, what do you think would happen to them if they were caught?’

‘Depends on what they’d actually done. I mean, might they have been left this money by a grateful patient?’

‘No,’ Catherine said. ‘It’s regular payments from a company. It’s not a grateful patient.’

Intriguing. ‘Well, in that case, assuming some kind of fraud or corruption, the GP might go to prison,’ Anna said. ‘They’d almost certainly be struck off too, if it was extortion or bribery. Hard to say without knowing the full story, but there would definitely be repercussions.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

Anna paused at the edge of the car park. ‘Sure you don’t want to talk to me about it now? I promise it’ll be confidential.’ Hey, I’ll even blow another quid on the parking, she thought to herself.

Catherine shook her head apologetically. ‘Better not,’ she said. ‘Maybe another time.’

Anna shrugged, trying to mask her disappointment. There was nothing worse than having a juicy story dangled under your nose then snatched away. ‘It’s your call,’ she said. ‘But obviously, if you suspect wrong-doing – and you have some proof – you should really go to the police. Because if you don’t, you might get done as well for being an accessory to the crime.’

That startled her. Anna had meant it to, of course. If anything was going to persuade quiet Catherine to talk, it was the prospect of being in the dock herself for keeping schtum.

Catherine’s expression was hard to read in the dim glow of the lamppost, but she looked pretty uncomfortable. ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ she said. ‘Thanks, Anna. It’s all a bit . . .’ Anna found herself leaning in closer.
Come on, Catherine, spill the beans.

‘It’s complicated,’ Catherine said again. ‘Sorry.’

‘No need to apologize.’ She wasn’t going to get anywhere now. Anna put her hand up in a little wave and pressed the remote unlocking button on her car key fob. ‘I’ll see you next week.’

She glanced over her shoulder as she opened the car door to see Catherine looking deep in thought as she went on her way. The mystery tugged at Anna’s mind and a whole raft of new headlines sprang to life.

UNCOVERED Local GP exposed as fraud.

IN THE DOCK Blackmailing GP weeps in court.

DOCTOR, NO Dodgy Doc struck off for embezzlement.

It had all the hallmarks of a headline story, no doubt about it, thought Anna, starting her engine and cranking up the poxy little heating dial to maximum. She drove away, her mind ticking over with questions.