Mac strode through the streets whistling a merry tune, hat rakishly set on her auburn tresses. She was in a good mood today. A rare day off, a promised game of snooker with the ladies and enough money saved for whatever small luxury she wanted. Stopping off at a market stall, she browsed the produce for whatever took her fancy. The Italian restaurant opposite sold some of their produce there; fresh vegetables and olive oil and Mac was urged to test the goods. Slowly marching up and down the line, her eye was caught by something she liked the look of. Nestled in a paper lined bassinette were a vast quantity of mixed olives. She had a great taste for olives. Many a day a few of those savoury pods had livened up her cheese sandwiches. She asked for a small bag. While that was being dealt with, she looked across at the restaurant. Strano's. She doubted she could afford to eat there. Maybe for her birthday this year she'd save up and splash out.

Standing at the entrance was a tall handsome woman. With chestnut curls set in a heavy wave and wearing a black lace dress, she cut a statuesque figure. Mac couldn't help but stare at her. She had the face of a Madonna. Seeing the woman turn and spot her, Mac gave a discreet wink. The object of her observation froze, with a slight inclination of her head to suggest that she'd seen it. Handing over the cash with thanks, Mac tucked her purchase in her satchel and went left, around the corner to where she could lean against the wall and observe this beauty. There was a slightly forlorn look in her eyes as though she had seen grief that never truly left her. Mac watched her covertly from under her hat for a few seconds more and then started walking.

She walked straight past just as the woman in question dropped her box of cigarettes. Perfect. Mac stooped, seized it and swiftly brushed off the mud with her handkerchief she kept knotted around her satchel. Handing it over with a cheeky smile, she raised her hat to the now heavily blushing woman and strode on. She had been close enough to smell a soupçon of perfume, something elegant and oriental. She did love making women blush.

Concetta stared after the dapper female that had chivalrously given her more attention than any man had recently. She felt a fluttering in her heart that she couldn't quell and tried to chastise herself for such nonsense. She was a silly romantic. But there was a part of her that couldn't help it. She had enjoyed it.