She slipped into the cool shadow of the doorway as he stopped again. How did he know so many people? She was near enough to see he was smiling and waving his arms about in typical Italian fashion. She could almost read his lips saying ‘Ciao’. As he strolled on she followed, making sure there was always someone in front. Not difficult in this narrow street with its colourful Festival banners hanging from every balcony, crowded with people and lined with cars. She could always slip behind a Fiat or a Lancia if he turned round.
He’d stopped again, to greet two women, embracing them both, but spending longer, she was sure, with the younger one. Close enough now to see his lips moving against the smooth, tanned cheek but not what he was murmuring. Was this her? Another embrace and a kiss on both cheeks, his hand lingering around the waist of the senorita.
He wandered on. Now she was within striking distance. She could do it, slip the point of the little stiletto through his ribs, just there. She thrust her fingernail into the exact spot.
He twisted round quickly, his face lighting up with his brilliant smile when he saw who it was.
‘Where have you been? We’re going to be late.’
Tucking his arm through hers he marched off towards the green of the sunlit vines on the hillside at the end of the narrow vennel.
Next time, she promised herself, next time.