Cobalt

by Shelley Grace

  ‘Who?’ Rick asked.

  ‘The delightful creature standing beside you.’ Angela retorted as she gestured noncommittally at Madeline. Rick's eyes followed the gesture, until they met Madeline's questioning gaze. He swallowed.

  ‘Oh, this is Madeline, Angela. Ah, my business partner.’ he said quickly, introducing them as a necessity. He could tell by Angela's expression that she was unimpressed at this latest development. He flicked his gaze at Madeline. She seemed fine, not a hint of resentment or displeasure read in her face, or her voice as she addressed the blonde in front of her.

  ‘It was lovely to meet you Angela, but unfortunately we can't stay. We have a schedule to keep. Come on, Partner.’ To a stranger it was a pleasant request, but Rick caught the ice that underlined the last word. He glanced at Angela.

  ‘She's right Ang, we have to go.’ Angela leaned forward and kissed Rick on the lips, slipping her card into his hand, as she did so.

  ‘Call me,’ she whispered, as she drew away. She turned to face Madeline, who stood expressionless. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, too, ah...’ She feigned distress as she tried to recall Madeline's name. ‘Anyway, Rick, enjoy Florence. Oh, ah you too, honey.’ With that Angela glided away, hips and hair swinging to the beat of her stride. Rick watched her leave, admiration shining in his brown eyes. Once she was gone, Madeline regained Rick’s attention by thrusting one of the suitcases into his chest.

  ‘We've got work to do. Come on.’ she stated as she moved away.

  Rick, staying in step, smiled as he stated accusingly, ‘Why Madeline, I do believe there is a hint of jealousy erupting from that seemingly emotionless facade you've created.’

  Madeline just walked quicker out of the airport, and towards the taxi ranks.

  CHAPTER 11

  By the time Madeline stopped the taxi outside the Duomo she seemed to have forgotten all about Angela, and Rick's obvious attraction to her. As they climbed out of the taxi, Madeline captured the view. The Duomo, Florence's biggest and most famous cathedral was spectacular. She smiled as she made her way across the cobbled street to stand on its steps.

  ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ she asked as she gently touched one of the many sculptures, depicting scenes from the Old Testament, which surround the main door.

  ‘Oh, wonderful.’ Rick remarked sarcastically as he ascended the stairs, carrying both of their suitcases. Madeline examined him for a moment, and then took a second to think.

  ‘I know something you'll like better,’ she said, scanning the square. ‘Follow me.’

  Madeline picked up one of the bags as she went down the stairs. She walked the full length of the cathedral, and entered Via De Calzaiuoli, the street that ran directly vertical of the building. It was the street the tourists took to visit the Ponte Vecchio and the Uffizi Art Gallery. The windows of the shops were all brightly lit and across the street, joining one side with the other where arches of fairy lights, giving the postcard illusion more substance. It was beautiful. Passing the peddlers, and the stalls they had set-up in the narrow street which offered mock-designer sunglasses, cheap silver jewellery, hand-painted scenes of Italy and mock-designer watches for any price you were willing to pay, she paused at a cross road, and waited for Rick to catch up.

  ‘Where are we going?’ he asked as he reached her side.

  ‘You'll see.’ Madeline answered as she turned down the third street, to the left, Via Speziali. Two doors down, she stopped, crossed the street and entered a brightly lit cafe. Rick followed to the doorway Madeline had entered, stopped and smiled.

  ‘Remember I told you Florence has the best ice-cream shop in the world? Well, this is it.’ She said.

  Rick looked up at the stores Neon sign. ‘Festival del Gelato’ he read aloud. ‘Sounds wonderful.’

  Madeline beckoned for him to come in and see for himself as she began walking past the glass cabinets, examining the many varieties of flavours. Rick dumped the suitcases, he was carrying, on one of the booths and also began browsing through the selections. They ordered. Madeline chose Baci - a combination of chocolate and hazelnuts - mango and coffee. Rick, not being able to read the Italian labels, stuck with chocolate, the only illustration he could decipher. Madeline laughed at his selection and ordered him a helping of Stracciatella, choc-chip Italian style. They took a seat at the booth Rick had placed the luggage, and Madeline glanced around the small gelateria. The ice-cream had not changed one bit, but over the decades the café sure had. The juke box that once stood in the corner had been replaced with a big screen television set tuned to MTV, the booths were now pine park benches with glass-topped tables instead of bright green vinyl, the tiling wasn’t red, but a tasteful marble-look and the attendants wore white blouses instead of pink, cotton-candy uniforms. The roof was made up of brightly lit, fluorescent tiling with diamonds, squares and multi-colours. The gelati was displayed in glass casing with labels telling you the flavour pieces of the flavour as decoration. There were mango slices on the mango gelato and on the Baci there were loose Perugini chocolates.

  Around them sat families, couples, groups of friends and one solitary elderly woman, all embarking on various servings and flavours of the colourful dessert. Of course, with there being eight-nine flavours of gelato, including onion, the options were endless.

  While they ate Madeline talked of the wonderful market shopping Florence offered. Rick's mind was elsewhere. ‘Madeline, you go shopping, sightseeing, whatever you've been talking about. I'm going to go to the hotel to assemble the communications equipment. I've got a few calls to make, also.’ he interrupted.

  ‘You won't be lonely?’ Madeline teased, from across the booth.

  ‘No! I'll be on the phone all afternoon. I won't have a chance to be lonely.’ he answered abruptly. Madeline thought it was strange, him not wanting to spend the afternoon with her, but she didn't press the issue.

  ‘Well, if you're sure. I've got the mobile if you need me’ she responded. Rick rose from the table, and taking their two suitcases with him, left the cafe.

  ‘I'll be back in a couple of hours,’ she called after him.

  ‘Take your time!’ was his only response.

  Madeline left the shop shortly after and made her way to the market place. It had been almost sixteen years since she had been to Florence, but nothing about the ancient city had changed. It was postcard perfect, just as she remembered it. She had been to Italy twice before. Once when she was eight years old and she and her older brother, Alexander, had accompanied her parents on a European tour. That was exactly one year before they were killed in an automobile accident. Her second trip had been sixteen years ago when she retraced the tour, in memory of her parents. The trip reminded her of all the good times she and her family had had before tragedy separated them. Her parents died and Alexander, unable to cope with their untimely deaths and inheriting the responsibility of a gifted nine years old girl, moved to California and studied Anthropology at UCLA, leaving Madeline to fend for herself. She decide then and there that she would no longer depend on anyone for anything. She became self sufficient, and living at her parents home in the Baltimore region she finished school and college in the Washington area, and then went on to graduate from Harvard University with Doctorates in psychology and law, by the age of eighteen. It was then that Alexander came physically back into her life. They had been writing letters since he had left her, and every so often he had sent her money. Money that she had placed into a bank account, without taking a cent. When Alexander’s daughter had been born, two years later, she gave him the bank account to secure Caythryn’s future. Madeline held nothing against Alexander. In fact she knew that had he not left when he did her life would not have turned out as it did. She loved the fact that she played a vital role in Caythryn’s up-bringing. Alexander refused to talk about their family, so Madeline told her all about her father’s family. She took her horse-riding every second Saturday and helped her with her studies. Alexander worked on writing thesis after thesis f
or publication and he lectured at Harvard university. His wife, Louisa worked at home. Before she had married Alexander she had been working as a journalist and foreign correspondent for the New York Times Newspaper, but with Caythryn’s birth she decided she would follow in her mother’s footsteps and remain at their four bedroom, two bathroom Boston home. Madeline spent many a Sunday evening helping Louisa in the kitchen, preparing the Sunday roast. It was a tradition involving Louisa’s entire family and herself - as she was Alexander’s only family. She had never taken Rick to dinner there, but then she hadn’t met his family, either. Alexander’s family had met him a few times when they visited her in DC. She had initially introduced him as her business associate. Only they knew that Rick and Madeline went beyond professional partners, however they also sensed there was some tension existing between them. Alexander instructed his family not to pry, although Caythryn always questioned Madeline as to when she would finally bring Rick to meet the rest of the family- Louisa’s parents included. Madeline was yet to answer.

  Madeline also loved her job, and she was extremely good at it, and while they had their differences, she enjoyed working with Rick- most of the time. After she had graduated university she had been accepted into the Quantico training facility for the FBI, CIA and NSA. There she received two years training and at the age of twenty-one she was recruited into the CIA, the youngest agent to be recruited. It was here that she met Rick. He had been assigned as her partner to oversee her progress and final training. They had been partners ever since. She looked at the scenery as she wandered along Via De Calzaiuoli, one of the hundreds of cobbled street that led back to the Duomo. Fourteen years was a long time, she decided.

  As she passed the Duomo she stopped to admire its beauty once more. The huge gothic structure, also known as the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, was highly decorated in red, white and green marble. It’s exterior made for a beautiful landmark, visible across the Florentine Skyline, yet it was the decorated interior that had thousands of tourists flocking to Florence each year to see. The inside of the dome was painted with scenes depicting Brunelleschi’s visions of heaven and hell. It included beautifully depicted people moving between heaven and hell. There was a boat and some morbid looking skeletons also to be found amongst the masterpiece. Unlike Michelangelo’s heaven and hell scene entitled ‘The Judgment Scene’ found in the Vatican’s Sistine Chapel, Brunelleschi’s vision did not include blasphemous portraits of the eras Pope in hell, or an image of the artist himself. The walls of this cathedral were also highly decorated with portraits of the Florentine Medici family and saints of the time of construction. The cathedral had some of the most beautiful stain-glass windows in all of Italy, each being constructed in the city itself and mounted high above the cathedral’s alcoves- a feat of architectural genius, a testament of the times.

  Madeline crossed the pebbled street to stand in front of a currency exchange, and looked up at the dome of the cathedral. She couldn’t see it. She smiled, remembering her father saying something very similar the day they all stood there looking up at the sky. She may not still have her parents, she thought, but she would always have the memories. The huge dome dominated the Florentine skyline and the story went that the dome was visible from every point in the city. Well, every point but this one, she thought.

  Madeline remembered learning that the dome had taken sixteen years to be completed, and that it was a feat of architectural genius associated with the fifteenth century. Madeline turned and headed towards one of the other well known cathedrals in Florence - the Santa Maria Novella - a small, yet imposing structure. She looked at it from across the busy road and smiled. In her mind it did indeed deserve the title of the most beautiful church in the city. It was an excellent example of Italian renaissance architecture, that dated back to the mid 1400’s. Madeline had wanted to see the Franciscan church of the Sacred Cross, after reading a brochure about it during the flight. She was really interested in viewing the tombs of Michelangelo and Galileo inside, but she decided two beautiful churches were enough for one day. After all she wanted to do some shopping in the famed Florentine markets, and the afternoon was moving on. She made her way towards the market place.

  As she passed through the Piazza della Signora Madeline looked at the statues that bordered the square. The famous fountain of Neptune stood to one side of the square, and on the other stood a true-size replica of Michelangelo’s David. The statue was fourteen point two feet tall, and made entirely out of marble. Madeline remembered that when Michelangelo had sculptured the famous statue he had intended it to be displayed on the roof of the Palazza Vecchio. Weighing as much as it does, even with today’s modern construction equipment and technology it would be impossible to place it high above the square, where Michelangelo had intended, Madeline thought. Instead the imitation stands in front of the Palazzo and the original masterpiece resides in the Galleria Dell’ Accademia. One day, she decide she would bring Caythryn, to see it. Madeline wandered over to the statue and examined the craftsmanship. She noticed that true to the original the hands and feet were sculptured slightly larger than the rest of the statue, and therefore slightly out of proportion. Michelangelo had done this intentionally, she remembered, to ensure that all of his creation would be visible from the square below. As she stood admiring David in his eternal wait for Goliath some tourists approached and began taking photo after photo.

  Madeline left the Piazza and wandered further into the heart of Florence, in search of the market place. She headed down Via Cavour towards where she remembered the markets had been. It had been a while since she had been shopping there, and she enjoyed the quest of finding them in the labyrinth that was the Florentine city streets. Turning down one of the smaller cobbled side streets Madeline noticed the motorini parked along the edge of the road. In the other Italian cities cars were highly abundant. Cars and motor scooters drove and parked all over the road and the footpaths, and they far outnumbered the pedestrians, yet it seemed in Florence most of the traffic consisted of these small motor scooters. Had Madeline counted the motorini she was sure she would have counted over fifty of them parked close together along the wall. They were so close together that as she looked at them she could visualise what would happen should one of the end scooters fall. She could imagine the domino effect that would occur if some devious teenager pushed one of the bikes. Madeline paused for a moment deciding whether she really wanted to find the markets, or just head back to the gelato shop. She decided on the markets, she would have a ice-cream later should the time permit, after all, she concluded, how often would she have the time to experience really good market shopping.

  The Florentine markets offered excellent shopping for tourists and locals alike. It was a market for wine, olive oil, vegetables, fruits, flowers, and Florentine traditional handicrafts such as silverwork, gold and cameos jewellery, straw work, leather goods, glass, pottery, wood carvings, furniture, and embroidery. The hundreds of stalls catered for every taste and every budget. The sales people were always open for negotiation and most of them offered top quality merchandise. Occasionally you ran across a not so honest sales person, but generally they were a wonderful organisation.

  Madeline wandered aimlessly through the hundreds of stalls. She casually examined the merchandise and haggled with the sales people, like a local, speaking perfect Italian. She brought a fine silk scarf and a small marble replica of Michelangelo’s statue of David, for the fish-tank on the shelf in their shared office. She looked at her watch. Three hours had passed since Rick had left her at the gelato shop. She began to move back through the markets, towards the Duomo. She had wanted to visit the nearby Ponte Vecchio, which housed the goldsmiths' and jewellers' shops, but the day had escaped her. The bridge was built around 1350 AD, and it was the only bridge in Florence spared during World War II. Madeline decided that one day she would return to Florence and cross the bridge to visit the Palazzo Pitti. She read the brochure she had picked up at one of the stalls. It gave
brief descriptions of all the Florentine attractions, and told her that the Pitti Palace had once housed the grand dukes of Tuscany from 1550 to 1859, however now it contained another famous art collection, particularly rich in works by Andrea del Sarto, Raphael, Il Perugino, Titian, and Tintoretto. Behind the Palace were the vast Boboli Gardens, botanical gardens of great beauty that Madeline had wanted to visit since she had first seen their photograph in a school text book. The picture in the brochure was just as spectacular as the one she remembered. As she turned the corner to stand directly in front of the Duomo she noticed that the sun had dropped behind the buildings and it was getting dark, quickly. As she moved along one of the narrow, cobbled side streets, her phone rang. Thinking it was Rick, she answered quickly.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Madeline?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Location confirmed. Club Fun is a cover for the terrorist operation. You have clearance.. Proceed with caution.’ Madeline tensed. As the message ended, Madeline thanked the phone. She felt a bit silly thanking a computer-generated speaker, but she did it none-the-less. Madeline dialed the hotel in which they were staying while they were in Florence.

  ‘Mr Glazer's room, please.’

  ‘I'm sorry, he asked me to hold all calls.’ answered the concierge.