Best of Bosses 2008(65)

Just ‘Gio’.

Not ‘love, Gio’, as his flowers had been.

Just ‘Gio’. Impenetrable.

Fran thought about it. Very hard. And she didn’t make her final decision until the evening of the concert.

She’d go.

But she’d slip in very quietly. Merge into the background. Once she could judge the situation, she’d know whether to go and talk to him—or whether to leave again, just as quietly.



She wasn’t going to come. Gio paced his office. This was the most stupid, stupid idea he’d ever had. He should’ve called the whole thing off when she hadn’t replied to his invitation. He knew she’d definitely received it—he’d sent it by courier so he could check whether it had been delivered and who signed for it. But she’d stayed silent.

She wasn’t going to come.

And he had a café full of people out there, waiting to hear him play.

How the hell was he going to do this?

Because it wasn’t his reputation on the line, at the end of the day. It was the café’s. If he made a fool of himself, so be it. He could live with that. But he didn’t want to undermine all the work his father had put in to Giovanni’s. Or the ten years he’d dedicated to it himself.

He should have booked other acts, too. So if his own set was a complete waste of time, at least the audience would remember something good from the evening. A string quartet, a small jazz trio, a folk singer. But, no, he was doing this solo. Putting his heart and soul on the line.

And for what?

Because she wasn’t going to be there.

Maybe he should’ve done this as a private performance. Just for Fran. And then if she hadn’t turned up he wouldn’t have made such a fool of himself.

Why had he been so stupid?

‘Gio. You’ll be fine, honey,’ Angela soothed, coming in and patting his shoulder. ‘This is a little bit of stage fright. Perfectly normal. Just relax.’

It wasn’t stage fright. At all. ‘Is she there? Could you see her?’

‘You’ll be fine.’

The evasion was all too obvious. She didn’t want to say no because she didn’t want the knowledge to hurt him. But he knew anyway, and his stomach felt hollow. Adrenalin made his fingers feel heavy and buzzy—no way could they work with the precision he needed to play Bach and Dowland and Tarrega. He was going to screw this up. Seriously screw this up.

He took a deep breath. The last night he’d played a classical concert had been the night his father almost died.

He couldn’t do this.

But then his father walked in and hugged him. ‘I’m so proud of you, son. Now go out there and show the world what Gio Mazetti is made of. Go and shine.’

‘We’ll be right by your side,’ Angela said softly.

He couldn’t let his family down. And even though he knew the one person he wanted to play for wasn’t there…he’d do it.

He picked up his guitar and walked into the café. Sat down on the stool at the front of the crowd. Heard the buzz of conversation dip to a murmur and then a hush.

He wasn’t going to look for Fran. There was no point. But he’d play as if she were there. Play the pretty pieces she’d loved. ‘Spanish Ballad’, ‘Air on a G String’, the ‘Alhambra’, Dowland…

And as the minutes ticked past, he realised.

He could still play.

He could still do this.

And he began to smile.

At last he came to the end of the set. ‘Thank you for listening to me tonight,’ he said. ‘I’m going to play one more song for you. For someone who’s very special to me. Someone I love very much, from the bottom of my heart, and I was stupid enough not to tell her so when I had the chance. She’s not here tonight, but I’m going to play it for her anyway.’ His voice caught. ‘Because without her I wouldn’t be playing here tonight. Wouldn’t be playing at all.’



Tears pricked Fran’s eyes. Someone he loved very much, from the bottom of his heart. Did he mean her? But she was here. She frowned. OK, she’d slipped quietly into the back, but surely he’d seen her?

And then he began to play. The most beautiful arrangement of a song she knew well—her parents adored musicals and her mother’s favourite was South Pacific. ‘This Nearly Was Mine’ was a song that made her mother cry, about the man who was in love with a woman who didn’t return his love. And this instrumental version would definitely have her mother in tears. A minute and a half of sheer wistfulness.

It practically had Fran in tears, and she could see how moved the audience was, too.

‘Thank you for coming,’ Gio said when the last notes died away. ‘Goodnight.’ And he left the café to wild applause.