Debbie smiled weakly. ‘It’s not ideal, to be honest. I had my own flat in Cambridge and I really miss that. Rory’s a sweetie, but Virginia and Claire do tend to monopolise the bathroom, and they come and go at all hours of the day and night. I suppose it’s because they don’t need to get up in the mornings, but I do. Anyway, I’ll manage.’
‘I don’t think I’d enjoy that very much.’ Flora played with the piece of cake on her plate for a few moments, before appearing to come to a decision. ‘I might have a solution, if you’re interested, Deborah. We’ve got an apartment in the centre of Florence that we don’t use. Why don’t you give your room to the new teacher and move into our apartment? It’s empty.’
Debbie’s hopes soared for a moment before she gave herself a reality check. A flat in the centre of Florence would be bound to be out of her financial league. She was about to refuse the offer as politely as possible, when Flora carried on.
‘The flat’s been used by my daughter until recently, but she and her fiancé have just moved in together. They’re getting married next spring, but young people don’t wait for things like that any longer – and we were wondering what to do with it. I do think property needs to be lived in, don’t you? Could I ask – how much are you paying for your room at present?’
Debbie gave her the figure and saw Flora nod her head a few times. ‘Deborah, would you excuse me a moment while I go and have a word with Enzo?’
Flora was out of the room for about five minutes, but the Labrador remained to keep Debbie company. Clearly, with his head on her foot, he was far too comfortable to move. She reached down and scratched his ears while she waited and she heard him sigh happily.
When Flora returned, it was to give Debbie the astounding news that she and her husband would be delighted to rent her their flat for the same amount she was paying at the moment.
‘It’s not a big apartment. There’s a little kitchen, a lounge, and only one bedroom, plus a bathroom, but it should do you, I would think.’
Debbie was flabbergasted and protested that she couldn’t possibly accept such a generous offer. Flora tapped her on the arm and shushed her.
‘Really, Deborah, you’d be doing us a favour by using it. Enzo wouldn’t dream of selling it and it seems such a shame to keep it closed up – like a lot of places in Florence, I’m afraid. It’s fully furnished because Claudia, my daughter, wanted all new stuff in her new place. She and her fiancé are on holiday at the moment and I’m sure she’ll come back with even more new things.’ She lowered her voice and grinned at Debbie. ‘To be honest, I’d quite like some new furniture here myself, but Enzo won’t hear of it. If it isn’t at least two hundred years old, he doesn’t want to know.’
Debbie still couldn’t really believe her ears and continued to protest, but Flora was having none of it. At the end of a very pleasant afternoon, she gave instructions to Giacomo, the autista, to take Debbie round there on the way home, to see if she liked the look of the place.
Debbie loved the look of the place.
The flat was in an amazing position, only a stone’s throw from the Duomo in the pedestrian area, and barely three or four minutes on foot from the school. It was on the top floor of a Renaissance palazzo that could almost have been a carbon copy of the school building, complete with massive gates opening onto the street and a shady courtyard on the ground floor with a centuries-old fig tree in one corner. The flat was on the top floor and there wasn’t a lift, but Debbie didn’t mind that one bit. As Giacomo accompanied her up the stairs, she breathed in the sense of history the old building inspired.
The apartment was delightful. There was a decent-sized modern kitchen with granite worktops, a luxurious bathroom, a lovely big bedroom with a lovely big bed, and a sizeable living room with French windows, through which she could see over the roofs of Florence all the way to Fiesole. Even better, the ornate glass doors opened onto a spectacular terrace running the length of the building and connecting with the other flat on the top floor. That apartment, Giacomo informed her, was where the contessa’s son lived, when he was home. Not a bad place to live at all. She reflected upon the fact that Flora had described the flat as small when, in fact, it was almost as big as the house where she had been born and brought up. Clearly, Flora’s standards were very different from hers.
She asked Giacomo to tell Flora and her husband that she would be delighted to take the flat and when he had left, she walked the short distance from there to the school, and let herself in. As it was a Saturday evening it was empty and it felt rather good to be able to walk around wherever she liked without fear of being told off by the grouchy secretary. She turned on her computer, located the file for Flora Dellatorre, found her email address and sent her an email, repeating her thanks for the lovely afternoon and confirming what she had told Giacomo, if they were really sure they wanted her to take it. The offer of the apartment was the best news she could have hoped to receive and she was delighted to accept.
She was humming to herself as she switched the computer off again and left her office. Things were definitely on the up. She was just crossing the main reception area on her way to the front door when she heard a strange noise and stopped in alarm.
It was coming from the principal’s office and, for a moment, she wondered if there were thieves in the building. Then the noise came again and it sounded more like somebody in pain. She went over and cautiously pushed the office door open. There, sprawled on his side on the floor, was Steven, doubled up in agony. His right hand was clenching his left arm and he was gasping for breath, his eyes almost popping out of his head.
Debbie had done several first aid courses and she immediately recognized the symptoms. Her boss was having a heart attack. She ran for the phone and dialled 112, the number for the emergency services. After telling the operator what was happening and then giving the address, she dropped the phone and crouched down beside Steven, cradling his head in her arms. As she did so, he gave a choked cough and, to her horror, stopped breathing. Remembering her training, she reached for the big artery at the side of his throat and was appalled to feel that his heart had stopped along with his breathing.
She ripped off her jacket and threw it away while she desperately set about performing CPR on him. She counted to herself as she repeatedly thumped his chest, just as they had taught her, and it was very hard work. Five or six minutes later, she was mightily relieved to hear footsteps outside and pounding on the door. Abandoning Steven, she ran to open it and the paramedics took over. She left them to it and went out into the reception area, breathing deeply. She was bathed in sweat after her exertions and badly needed a sit down. As she gradually regained her breath, she reflected how lucky it had been that she, by sheer chance, had happened to be here on a Saturday evening. If she hadn’t been there, she had no doubt as to what Steven’s fate would have been.
Five minutes later, one of the paramedics came out with the good news that they had managed to restart his heart and would be taking him to hospital. As he went off to fetch a stretcher, Debbie wondered whom to call. Giancarla was the obvious choice, but she didn’t have a home number for her. She suddenly had an idea and went back into Steven’s office. He was laid out on the floor, his chest bare, a drip in his arm. His eyes were closed and he looked as if he was still unconscious, but even from the door, Debbie could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed once more. The female paramedic glanced up as she came in and Debbie explained.
‘I need his phone. I need to tell people what’s happened.’
The mobile phone was lying on the desk and she picked it up, hoping it wouldn’t be password protected. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw the screen light up. No password. She hunted for Contacts and then scrolled through, realising as she did so that, even after more than a month in post, she didn’t know Giancarla’s surname. Fortunately, the phone number was in there just under her first name.
Debbie pressed the call button and heard it start to ring. As she
waited for a reply, she had a thought and looked down at the paramedic.
‘Where are you going to take him?’
‘Careggi.’
‘Can I come too?’
‘Yes, if you want to. You can ride in the back of the ambulance with the patient and my colleague.’
Just then Giancarla answered. Debbie was totally taken aback to hear her voice quite literally screaming down the phone.
‘I told you never, ever to use this number again! What on earth do you think you’re doing?’
‘Giancarla, listen. It’s me, Debbie. Steven’s had a heart attack.’
There was sudden silence at the other end and Debbie was just beginning to wonder if Giancarla had rung off when she heard her voice again, this time little more than a whisper.
‘Santo cielo! He’s had a heart attack? Is he all right?’
Debbie told her what had happened and said she would ride with him to the hospital in the ambulance. When Giancarla replied, her voice was very different from her usual frosty tone.
‘Thank you, Deborah. I’ll meet you at Careggi. Thank you again.’
Chapter 9
The next week was strange. So much had changed at the school in the blink of an eye. Debbie was now interim principal, finding herself working even harder then before, but the strangest thing of all was the change in Giancarla.
When the ambulance arrived at Careggi Hospital, Debbie had found Giancarla already there, hovering around the Pronto Soccorso entrance, biting her lips apprehensively. As Steven was wheeled out of the ambulance and in through the automatic doors, Giancarla took up station alongside the trolley and took hold of his hand. As she spotted Debbie, she gave her a little smile and Debbie was stunned. She had never, ever, seen a smile of any kind on the secretary’s face. It was strangely unsettling.
Back at work on the Monday, the smile reappeared more than once. When Giancarla arrived at school and saw Debbie already there, going through the pile of documents on Steven’s desk, she came rushing towards her. Debbie jumped to her feet, frightened she was going to be assaulted, at least verbally, for having the temerity to invade the principal’s office. She was then even more startled to be on the receiving end of a big hug and a kiss on both cheeks.
‘Debbie, you saved his life. Thank you so much.’ Debbie was stunned by two things: first the hug, and second, the fact that Giancarla had called her Debbie. Clearly, Steven’s cardiac arrest had brought about some sort of sea change in Giancarla.
The sea change continued to manifest itself throughout the week. As the news from the hospital improved, Giancarla became almost cheerful and everybody commented on it. It was Martha, the teacher who had been there the longest, who supplied the likely explanation.
‘Steven and Giancarla were an item when I first started working here. They lived together just round the corner from here.’
Debbie’s eyes widened in surprise as Martha went on.
‘He did the academic stuff and she looked after the admin, and it all worked really well. Then, maybe five or six years ago, something happened.’
‘What sort of something?’
‘Nobody knows for sure or, if they do know, they aren’t saying. Whatever it was, it split them up and they’ve been at daggers drawn ever since.’ She glanced round to make sure they weren’t being overheard. ‘For my money, he had an affair with Jodie. She was one of the teachers at the time and you could see that she fancied him. I reckon that’s what happened.’
Debbie was very surprised. She had never really thought of Steven, with his drink problem and his pot belly, as an object of desire for anybody – apart from, possibly, a wine salesman.
Martha read her mind. ‘He was a pretty good-looking guy back then. I think the drinking started as a result of the break-up.’
Debbie shivered, trying to imagine how it must have been for both of them, working together after an acrimonious break-up. For a moment, she wondered if she could have faced walking into work with Paul after the way he had behaved towards her. She was pretty sure she knew the answer to that one.
‘Why didn’t one of them go off and get a new job?’
‘Jobs are scarce, Debbie. Since the financial crisis, unemployment in Italy’s gone through the roof. I’m sure either or both of them would have leapt at the chance to get away, but there was nothing on the horizon.’
So, Debbie thought to herself, presumably the change in Giancarla’s attitude towards Steven showed that she still had feelings for him after all. Whether Steven reciprocated those feelings or not remained to be seen. Anyway, whatever the reason, the thawing of Giancarla’s manner was greatly appreciated by everybody, and by Debbie in particular.
Back at the flat, she told Rory and the girls that she would be moving out at the weekend and that her room would be taken by Sam, the newly-engaged teacher who would be arriving from England. She thought she saw regret in Rory’s eyes and maybe even on the faces of Virginia and Claire as well. She had been getting on increasingly well with all three of them, particularly Rory. However, in spite of that, she was having a hard time keeping a broad, silly smile off her face as she broke the news. It would be so good to regain her independence – and her own bathroom.
On Tuesday, Giancarla arrived at work unusually early. She was quick to explain to Debbie.
‘I got a phone call this morning just after seven thirty. It was Steven. He’s well enough to use the phone.’ She sounded, and looked, delighted. ‘His voice was a bit weak at first, but it was him all right. Debbie, he asked me to tell you how grateful he is for what you did to save him and I’m really, really grateful too. Without you, he’d be dead.’
‘It’s lucky I did those first aid courses. When I felt his heart had stopped, I very nearly panicked.’
‘But you didn’t panic. You knew what to do and you did it.’
‘So, how are you holding up, Giancarla?’ It was strange to think that, just a few days earlier, she would never have dared ask the grumpy secretary anything of a personal nature. Now, she saw Giancarla muster a smile.
‘I’m fine, thank you, Debbie. I’m so glad you’re here. I know I told you I ran the school, but it’s always been with Steven. Now that he’s out of action, I’d have been lost without you.’
‘You’re very welcome. Any idea when Steven will be coming out of hospital? And what’ll he do then? Will he be able to look after himself?’
‘I don’t know when he’ll be coming out, but I’ll look after him.’
Debbie remembered what Martha had told her. Maybe this stroke of bad luck for Steven might turn out to have a silver lining if it brought him back together with Giancarla once more.
She went in to see Steven a couple of times during the week and learnt that he was being released from hospital at the weekend. He looked better each time she saw him, and he continued to be terribly grateful for her part in saving his life. She shrugged off the thanks and asked him how long it might be before he came back to work. He shook his head and said the doctors had told him to take it very slow for a while, so he might not be back for the foreseeable future. He asked her if she was managing and she answered, honestly, that with Giancarla’s help, she was. He appeared relieved and thanked her again.
Flora invited her for tea again on Saturday, and said she would instruct Giacomo to give her a hand to move her things to the new flat afterwards. Debbie was delighted to take her up on the offer, but she protested that she could, at least, make her own way up to the villa on the bus. Flora wouldn’t hear of it.
‘Giacomo’s only too happy to pick you up. Besides, the car’s just sitting there. Really, it’s no trouble.’
Debbie not only received a warm welcome from Giacomo, but she was almost knocked on her back by the boisterous Labrador when she reached the house. Clearly, Byron was very pleased to see her indeed. She wondered to herself if he realised just how enormously lucky he was to be living in such luxury. Some dogs had all the luck.
This time, instead of cucumbe
r sandwiches, Flora’s housekeeper produced a selection of Italian pastries along with the tea. These included profiteroles; some with dark or white chocolate topping, some with coloured icing. Along with them came miniature pastry cornucopias filled with whipped cream, delicious biscuits and more. Throughout the afternoon, the Labrador sat between the two of them, his eyes glued to the tabletop, a look of longing in his brown eyes. Flora told her he didn’t get food from the table.
‘Like all Labradors, he’s very greedy, so we keep him on a strict diet so he doesn’t get fat.’
Debbie smiled down at him. Maybe he wasn’t as lucky as she had thought.
She and Flora talked for a while in English, then swapped into Italian. Debbie learnt more about Flora’s background and the fashion business she had created. It soon became pretty clear to Debbie that her initial assumption that Flora had married into money wasn’t quite so straightforward. Apparently she had offices and a shop in Florence and, according to Flora, the company also had shops in all the main Italian cities, as well as Paris, New York and in a few other countries. She had built the business up from scratch by herself and clearly was a very talented businesswoman. Maybe, Debbie thought to herself, the fact that Flora had worked for her wealth would make her more acceptable to her dad if they ever met.
At five o’clock, Giacomo appeared with the car and drove Debbie round to her old flat to collect her stuff and, from there, to the new apartment. Presumably he had some special kind of permit that allowed him to enter the pedestrian zone and Debbie felt very self-conscious as they crept through the crowds at walking pace in the luxury limousine. He squeezed the big vehicle in through the gates and parked in the courtyard, insisting upon carrying Debbie’s big suitcase all the way up the stairs. All she was left to carry was a small cardboard box with the food she had been keeping in the fridge.
When they got up to the flat, she tried to give him something, but all he would accept was a cup of tea without milk. Together, they sat on the terrace with their drinks and enjoyed the sight of the sun going down over the rooftops. The heat of August was now a distant memory, but with a jacket, it was still pleasant to sit outside. She asked him a little about himself and learnt that he had worked for the count’s family for almost ten years, ever since leaving school and, as well as driving the car, he also looked after the garden and did all the odd jobs that a huge property demanded from time to time. He sounded very happy with his life and his work.
Dreaming of Florence Page 11