Second Chances in Chianti (Escape to Tuscany Book 2) by T.A. Williams (best ereader under 100 TXT) 📗

into something far more sinister. Who were these two men and, for that matter, just exactly who was Matthew Livingstone?

His reply went some way towards reassuring her that she wasn’t in the company of a mafioso, but did little to explain what on earth had sparked off this reaction.

‘It’s the two paparazzi from outside the villa. I recognise them from earlier. I don’t think they’ve seen me yet, but it’s only a matter of time.’ He looked up again and she read real concern in his eyes. ‘Is there a back door to this place?’

‘Um, I don’t know. I don’t think so.’

Alice’s bewilderment intensified. Why had he said the paparazzi hadn’t recognised him? Surely, she was the only celebrity at this table. Just who on earth was he? She took another look across the garden and saw the two men deeply involved in studying the blackboard with the menu on it, which the waiter was holding up for them. One thing was for sure: she had no desire to be recognised and photographed either – irrespective of why Matt appeared to be freaking out – so she made a quick decision.

‘They’re busy looking at the menu. If we want to get out, now’s the moment. Come on!’

She got to her feet and made her way through the tables towards the bar, deliberately resisting the temptation to take to her heels and run. Behind her she heard footsteps as Matt followed on her heels with Guinness bringing up the rear. To her considerable relief, they managed to get past the paparazzi without being observed. They positioned themselves at the far end of the bar by the till and waited for Giovanni. As the friendly restaurateur slid the bill across the counter, and she dropped a hundred-euro banknote on top of it, he gave her a knowing wink.

‘Paparazzi – I can smell them a mile off.’ He tapped the side of his nose with a finger. ‘Don’t worry, Polly, they didn’t see you.’

Alice smiled back at him, genuinely surprised that he was familiar with her alter-ego from five years ago. She had eaten here a few times now but this was the first time he had ever even hinted that he recognised her. Of course, maybe Father Gregorio had told him but, either way, he was an excellent, discreet host. As he took the banknote and produced the change and receipt, Alice glanced across at Matt, who was still hunched down, with his shoulders towards the room. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to have registered that Giovanni had used the name Polly. He was still looking furtive and her bewilderment returned. Just who was her dinner companion and what did he have to fear from those two men?

Moments later they were outside in the street and she heard Matt let out a heartfelt sigh of relief.

‘Wow, that was a close call.’

They walked back to her house in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. When they got there, to her surprise, he hesitated at the door.

‘I think I’d better go, Alice. I’m sorry.’ She saw his eyes glint in the orange glow of the streetlight. ‘This is the reason I don’t go out much. I’m really sorry.’

‘You’re sorry… but why, Matt? What have you got to be sorry for? And why were you so freaked by those men?’

‘They’re paparazzi and I’ve had it up to here with paparazzi.’ She heard him sigh again. ‘I was hoping to get to know you a whole lot better before I told you my dirty little secret. I’m sorry.’

He leant forward, pecked her on the cheek and turned on his heel. As he and his dog headed back along the street to the piazza, she stood and watched them go, a confused mixture of sensations rising up inside her. The overriding one was mystification. She just couldn’t get her head around what had just happened. Along with it came annoyance, frustration and maybe even a little bit of fear. What exactly had he meant by his ‘dirty little secret’?

Chapter 27

Inevitably, she didn’t sleep well that night. She lay awake for quite some time, turning over and over in her head what had happened, his reaction and what he had said. What was clear was that he had a real terror of being exposed by the paparazzi, which meant that he had to be famous – or infamous – for some reason. Sometime in the middle of the night she even got out of bed and tried googling the name Matthew or Matt Livingstone, but without success. Although frustrating to find nothing, the fact that she didn’t discover his name on a ‘most wanted’ list was heartening.

She returned to bed and lay there, staring up into the dark, turning over scenario after scenario in her head that might explain his weird behaviour. The most obvious one was that the name was an alias. Maybe he had adopted a false identity when he moved to Italy. What made this less likely was the invasiveness of Italian bureaucracy. In order to open a bank account and buy the tower, he would have had to prove his identity numerous times so, unless he had a range of counterfeit documents, it seemed unlikely. Besides, why would he change his name? It pointed towards him having a dubious background of some sort.

Given his obvious wealth and his relative youth, could he be involved in organised crime, maybe even a drug baron? Had his business in Rome last week been criminal business? Mind you, she reminded herself, paparazzi normally confined their attentions to celebrities rather than gangsters, for obvious reasons. Angry celebrities normally only sue, while gangsters kill. But why on earth would a normal, honest man choose to conceal his true identity? Somebody with nothing to hide would hardly do such a thing – unless he were in a witness protection scheme or similar. It was baffling.

She finally drifted off to sleep, but when she woke next morning, it was with that same