CAROL MARINELLI - The Italian's Touch

‘There are better ways of going about things,’ Fleur said, though with rather less conviction.

‘On that we can agree.’ He gave her a smile but it did little to reassure her—Mario had definitely not finished proving his point! ‘For example, a better way might be to have the associate charge nurse, which I’ve been told you are, in Resus instead of down in Section B, doing the stuff that is taught to Girl Guides. Who knows? If the nurse unit manager put in an occasional appearance now and then, we might even have a semblance of a well-run emergency department.’

‘You don’t know all the circumstances,’ Fleur replied hotly.

‘So enlighten me.’

She was good and mad now and in no position to pour out her heart to this insufferable man. Turning smartly on her heel, she wrenched the door open.

‘Running off again, Sister? You really don’t like to be where the action is, do you?’

Fleur turned, her eyes blazing. ‘After hearing so many reports about how wonderful you were, Mr Ruffini, I thought we might be able to discuss this. I was obviously wrong. But as you yourself pointed out, I am an associate charge nurse, so next time you have a problem with one of my staff, please, have the common courtesy to allow me to deal with it before you lose your temper.’

‘I don’t doubt that there will be a next time, but I will certainly bear it in mind. Oh, and, Sister?’

Her hand tightened on the doorhandle but she forced herself to answer evenly. ‘Yes, Mr Ruffini.’

‘Would you mind fetching my coffee? I think I left it in the staffroom.’

She didn’t slam the door, that would have been childless and pointless. She didn’t even come up with a smart reply. But the salt cellar was so achingly close to his mug on the coffee-table and she was so blinded with unvented fury that Fleur did what was probably the one reckless thing she had ever done in her life.

And that was that.

War had been declared.

FLEUR let out an involuntary cry of anguish as she watched Alex leap to grab the football, only to be knocked sideways to the ground by the opposing team. Resisting the urge to run onto the footy pitch, she stood there nervously chewing on her bottom lip as Alex picked himself up, covered in mud but apparently none the worse for wear. Casting an anxious look in his mother’s direction, he gave her a thumbs-up sign before joining his team-mates in yet another mad dash for the oval ball.

‘The more I see of the game, the less I understand.’ A deep, heavily accented voice that could only belong to one person broke her concentration. Blushing furiously, Fleur gave a small nod of agreement. What on earth was Mario Ruffini doing at Auskick?

‘They call it football, and yet they handball, run with the ball, throw the ball. It isn’t even a proper football—it looks like a rugby ball to me. And it’s such a rough game.’

‘You’re not wrong there,’ Fleur muttered, wishing he would be quiet so she could pay attention to the game or, more to the point, Alex.

‘In my country we play real football, or soccer as you call it here. Now, that I understand. But I am slowly starting to learn this game of yours.’ He spoke as if Australian Rules football was a game she’d invented personally. ‘I brought my nephew along today, he loves it with a passion. I’m hoping to get to see a few real matches while I’m here. You know, follow it properly.’

Fleur shrugged, staring pointedly ahead. ‘Oh, well, when in Rome and all that.’

‘Not for a while yet. I’m here for a year.’

‘Pardon?’ Turning for the first time, she was somewhat taken back when she saw Mario. Out of a suit and dressed in black jeans and black crew-neck jumper, he was definitely worth a second look! Sporting a heavy few days of growth on his chin and his dark hair for once unkempt, Mario looked rather more Mexican than Italian. As if he should be in a dusty bar, drinking tequila with a bandanna on his head, not standing in the middle of a muddy footy field in the bayside suburbs of Melbourne.

‘You asked me when I went back to Rome. I was explaining I was in Australia for a year.’

Fleur gave him a bemused look. ‘Oh, no.’ She laughed as she realised what had happened. ‘I meant, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. It’s a proverb.’

It was his turn to look bemused. ‘A proverb—what is this proverb?’

Fleur thought for a moment ‘It’s like a saying,’ she said slowly. ‘An adage. When in Australia, do as the Australians do.’ From the lost expression on his face he obviously didn’t understand. ‘You’ve no idea what I’m talking about, have you? When in France, do as the French do. Like…’ She tried to conjure up an image. ‘Drink red wine and eat lots of cheese and look fabulous.’

A slow smile crept across his face. ‘So when in Australia, I watch footy and have barbecues and drink cold beer?’

‘That’s about it.’

‘Thank you for explaining this to me.’

Glad that at least had been cleared up, Fleur turned back to the game, trying to concentrate while achingly aware of his presence. Cringing as she recalled her actions earlier in the week, she’d expected him to either ignore her or at least treat her in the same curt fashion he did at work, but Mario seemed intent on being friendly as he hovered next to her.

‘Of course you can apply it to smaller things,’ Fleur said, surprising herself by resurrecting the conversation. ‘It doesn’t just have to be about countries.’

‘Now I really am confused.’

‘Well, say you came to my house and you smoked. I don’t smoke, so I’d hope you’d respect that and not smoke in my house.’

‘But I don’t smoke.’

How had she got into this? ‘No. But it if you did, as you put your cigarettes back in your pocket you might say, sadly perhaps, ‘‘Oh, well, when in Rome.’’ Look, I’m sorry. I probably haven’t explained myself very well.’

But Mario’s blue eyes were smiling now as realisation dawned. ‘No, I think you have explained things very well. Thank you.’

For a moment they turned back to the game but he was obviously intent on chatting. ‘See, there is my nephew Ricky.’ He pointed to a dark-haired boy sporting the red and black colours of the Essendon football team. Fleur actually knew Ricky, to look at anyway. He was in the same class as Alex. ‘He is the main reason I am in this country. My sister Teresa emigrated some years ago. It’s hard, realising you’ve got a nephew on the other side of the world that, apart from a few phone calls and pictures, you don’t even know. When the chance for this job came up I jumped at it.’

‘Do you live at your sister’s?’ Fleur asked.

‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I?’

Fleur shrugged. Mario looked more the penthouse type. ‘Doesn’t it cramp your style a bit?’

He laughed loudly. ‘Teresa is not my mother, thank goodness. You realise, if my mother saw us talking like this she would be booking the church already?’

‘That bad, huh?’

Mario nodded. ‘Another reason that I am here—a year off from blind dates was an added incentive. Anyway, the purpose of my year here is to catch up with my sister and get to know my nephew, so living with Teresa makes sense. Which is your son?’

‘Alex, the one in the helmet.’ He was easy to point out as Alex was the only child wearing the non-compulsory protective headgear.

‘Has he a head injury?’

Fleur gritted her teeth. Mario might be good-looking but he definitely talked too much. ‘No, that’s what I’m trying to prevent.’

‘Oh.’

His single word spoke volumes. So maybe she was a bit over-protective, but she was sick of having to justify herself for being a responsible parent. ‘I’m sure that if the other parents realised the dangers, every child on this field would be wearing a helmet.’