“So your own names?” the American asked, sitting down on a stool and crossing her long legs under the countertop. She casually flung her expensive bag on the seat next to Annie’s as if it had come from a high-street chain instead of a Fifth Avenue designer boutique.

“Annie O’Doherty,” she finally answered as the question began to loom uncomfortably in the air. “And this is Colette. She’s just arrived, too.”

“Turner,” she supplied. “Colette Turner, but Colette is fine.”

She really was too sweet, Annie thought as she looked at how the younger woman responded to questioning. Her words were soft, her eyes seemed to seek out anything but the gaze of others. She also watched how the younger girl covertly studied Kim’s attire and then her own. There was no comparing the two.

Kim was pure glamour. Colette was pure...twee.

“Where in America are you from?” Colette asked.

“Manhattan.”

“New York? Wow.”

Annie started to become self-conscious as she listened to Colette and Kim chat easily about their backgrounds and education. Annie couldn’t help it, she felt uneasy at being unable to join in the conversation. Grand when it had just been Colette, but Kim was so much more worldly and confident.

Then she thought of something and looked at her watch, having come up with an idea to help find common ground.

“Well, Valentina won’t be around for another while yet, and since we’re going to be sharing this place, I suppose we might as well get the party started. Drinks, anyone?” She slapped an exuberant hand against her thigh. “There’s a bottle of grappa in the press.” She winked.

She couldn’t help it; it was her fail-safe way of easing her anxiety. A few drinks to help get to know people had always been Annie’s social crutch.

And Colette certainly looked like she could do with some loosening up.

“Hey, sounds good to me,” Kim chimed in, and Annie automatically warmed to her a little more.

They moved back outside to the terrace and soon she and Kim were drinking up a storm, the alcohol loosening their inhibitions, just as Annie had anticipated.

Colette wouldn’t at first. She looked at the glasses of Italian liqueur as if it was some kind of poison.

“It won’t bite,” Annie urged. She’d promised herself to cut back on the drinking and she had, but she was on holiday after all. And it wasn’t as if she was in a position to get sloshed and into trouble. Not here anyway.

“Yes, go on,” Kim urged. “Have some fun. We’re in Italy, one of the most beautiful places on earth. And I think a toast is in order.”

“Great idea,” Annie enthused, thinking that maybe the American was OK after all.

The notion seemed to find a home with Colette, too, as she tentatively took a glass and had a measured sip.