After a cup of tea and a lot of thought, she took her courage in both hands and headed across the landing to his door, wondering if he would be in. He was.
‘Hi, Debbie, want to come in?’
‘I’d better not, thanks, Dario. It’s late and there’s stuff I’ve got to do.’ She didn’t tell him she had yet to eat, in case he insisted on returning the favour after Sunday. ‘I just wanted to say thanks for the invitation for tomorrow night. Of course I’ll be happy to keep you company at the reception thing, but I’d better say no to dinner.’ Crossing her fingers, she added her invented excuse. ‘I’ll have a load of homework to mark before Thursday, so I’ll need to get back straight afterwards, or else I’ll be up until all hours.’
For a second, a flash of disappointment crossed his face, and then he was smiling at her again.
‘Well, maybe some other time. That’s great about the reception though. Thanks, I owe you.’
‘Not at all.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘Is it going to be a dressy affair? Presumably not just jeans and a jumper?’
‘I’ve been told to wear a suit, so I suppose you’d better glam up a bit. Not that you don’t look absolutely lovely just as you are.’ His gallantry would have been more convincing if he hadn’t winked at her as he said it.
‘Straight from school with whiteboard marker pen ink all over my fingers? It’s the latest fashion on the catwalks. All right, I’ll put on a dress tomorrow. Where and when do we meet?’
‘Shall we go from here at eight fifteen? I’ll come and knock on your door?’
‘Great. See you then.’ She left him and returned to her flat, the expression of disappointment she had noticed on his face still worrying her. She really didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about this relationship. They were friends, hopefully good friends, but she did so hope it wouldn’t become complicated by feelings. She really couldn’t cope with any more feelings for a while.
She had a modelling session the next morning at ten for two rather haughty-looking ladies from Paris. It was almost impossible to read their expressions and it was with relief that Barbara told her afterwards that they had been very pleased and were placing a big order. Debbie took advantage of Barbara’s presence to quiz her on what she should wear for the reception that evening. As it turned out, Barbara was also going to be there with her husband.
‘It’ll be very showy. There’ll be quite a turnout of the great and the good of Florentine society there, so you’d better make sure you look the part.’
‘I was thinking of wearing that gorgeous dark blue dress you and Flora gave me.’
Barbara stepped back and studied Debbie for a few moments, her thumb stroking her chin.
‘Yes, that would look good, but I’ve got another idea. How do you feel about strong colours?’
‘Depends on the colour, I suppose.’
‘I was thinking about blue again, but lighter than the other one. In last year’s winter collection we had a fabulous peacock blue dress, classic fit, square neck, long sleeves. We sold out in the space of a couple of days as I remember, but we should have the original still here. Just give me a moment.’
Barbara was back within a minute, carrying the dress. Debbie took one look at it and immediately fell in love. It was amazing. It was quite obviously made of silk and the colour was the most perfect rich blue. Peacock blue, Barbara had called it, and it did, indeed, remind Debbie of peacocks she had seen.
‘Here, it’s a 40. Your size. Try it on.’
Debbie slipped out of her clothes and into the dress, feeling it adhere to her body as she pulled it up her legs.
‘Squisita.’ Debbie heard Barbara’s voice from behind her back. ‘You look exquisite. Take a look at yourself in the mirror. It fits you like a glove.’
Debbie walked over to the mirror and surveyed her image. There was no getting away from it; she looked really good.
‘I love it, Barbara, but it’s got to be way out of my price range. It’s silk, isn’t it?’
‘It’s the very best silk as well. These retail at just under four thousand euros.’ Debbie almost fell over. ‘It’s last year’s stock, though,’ Barbara continued, ‘so you can have it for a thousand or, if you prefer, you can wear it, bring it back and just pay for the cleaning.’
‘Barbara, that’s terrific. I can’t possibly afford to buy it, but if I can just borrow it for tonight, that’ll be wonderful.’
* * *
Before going out that night, Debbie couldn’t resist taking a couple of photos of herself in the amazing dress and her highest heels. She sent one to Alice and one to her mum, wondering what she and her dad would think of it. She had curled her hair up onto her head in the quick and casual way Britta had taught her, with just a few fronds hanging down one side of her face, and had resisted adding any jewellery. She reckoned she looked pretty good, but if she had had any doubts, they were instantly dispelled when she opened the door to Dario and saw his reaction.
‘Wow.’
‘That’s all? Just “wow”?’ She grinned at him. ‘How about, “Good evening, Debbie”?’
‘Good evening, Debbie.’ His voice sounded as if somebody had been grabbing him by the windpipe.
‘So, will I do?’
‘Porca miseria, you look amazing.’ He still sounded half-choked.
By the time she had picked up her coat and put it on, he appeared to have regained the power of speech, even though his vocabulary was still very limited.
‘Debbie, you look absolutely wonderful. Wow.’
Together, they went down the stairs and into the street. She was relieved to find that her recent experience as a part-time fashion model had made her a lot less uncertain on her feet when wearing heels and she managed to negotiate the stone slabs of Via del Proconsolo without too much difficulty. Beside her, Dario finally regained control of his vocal chords and explained what would take place this evening.
‘There’ll be half an hour or so of standing around, drinking warm champagne and talking to people whose names I’ve forgotten. It’s all right for you. You probably won’t know anybody, so you won’t have to worry about names. Then some random Eurocrat will make a speech about something, and then a random Italian politician will make another speech and, when that’s all over, there’ll be a mad rush to join the queue for the cloakroom to collect coats before the great and the good disappear into the priciest eating houses in Florence.’
‘Do I detect a slightly cynical note in your voice, Dario?’
‘Not at all. It’s a totally cynical note, not a slight one. These things are all the same, even down to the canapés that are just too big to eat in one bite and end up dripping all down your front.’
‘I’d better not drip anything down my front. I’ve just borrowed this dress. It’s got to go back tomorrow.’
‘Really? It suits you so well, you should keep it.’
‘Even with an immensely generous discount, it’s out of my league, Dario. Besides, when am I ever going to need a dress like this again?’
‘You never know. You’re director of a well-known school. Has it occurred to you that your presence here tonight elevates you to the ranks of the chosen few of Florentine society?’
She could see the smile on his face, but she wasn’t smiling inside. She was under no illusions that she was only here because she was at his side. There was absolutely no way she was part of these upper echelons of Florentine society. She was a fraud; even if he wasn’t prepared to admit it, she knew that’s what she was.
The reception went pretty much as Dario had predicted, but with a couple of differences. First, he was wrong in thinking she would know nobody. Standing behind the counter at the cloakroom as they arrived to deposit their coats was none other than Bella, the cleaner from the school. She gave Debbie a big smile when she saw her.
‘Debbie, you look wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.’ She took their coats and then leant over the counter towards them as she handed them the ticket. ‘There’ll be
a big queue afterwards. You come to that door over there.’ She pointed to their right. ‘Knock three times and somebody will give you your coats.’
‘Three times?’ Debbie was grinning.
‘Yes, it’s a sort of code.’
‘That’s very kind, Bella. Thanks so much.’
Dario added his thanks. ‘Thank you very much indeed, Bella.’ Out of the corner of her eye, Debbie saw him slip a banknote into Bella’s hand. As they walked off, he lowered his mouth towards her ear. ‘Debbie one, Dario nil.’
‘The game’s only just started.’
He was wearing a dark grey suit and looked very smart indeed. You didn’t need to be Christian Dior to recognize that it had been hand-stitched. Debbie suddenly felt glad she was wearing the amazingly expensive dress. She reflected that she and he went together rather well. As friends.
They followed the other guests into the massive Salone dei Cinquecento, helped themselves to glasses of not too warm champagne, and Dario began pointing out some of the many items of artistic interest, starting with the amazing paintings that covered the compartments of the ceiling, crisscrossed by sculpted beams, highlighted in gold. He had just started talking about the paintings by Vasari on the walls, when they were approached by a middle-aged man wearing a dinner jacket.
‘Dario, good evening.’
‘Good evening, sir. Can I introduce you to my friend and neighbour, Professoressa Deborah Waterson. She’s the director of the Florence Institute of English Studies, the best school of English in Florence.’ He turned to Debbie. ‘This is Professor Archangelo, dean of my faculty.’
Debbie and the dean shook hands and she felt his eyes linger on her body. She did her best to ignore the sensation of repugnance this provoked in her and managed to produce a smile for him.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Professor Archangelo.’
‘And I you, Professoressa. And I you.’
He eventually dragged his eyes off her and launched into a conversation with Dario about internal university matters and Debbie’s attention soon began to wander. She caught Dario’s eye and indicated with her fingers that she would go for a little walk around the room. Leaving them to it, she made her way through the crowd and got her second surprise of the night.
‘Deborah, isn’t it?’
Debbie turned towards the voice and saw a face she recognized, but it took her a few moments to place the woman. She was very elegant, wearing a dress that certainly hadn’t come out of a supermarket, and she was dripping with gold: huge pendant earrings, heavy bracelets and enough rings on her fingers for her hands to be classified as offensive weapons. Debbie got a shock as she suddenly realised who this was. She was none other than the woman who had been alongside Tommaso Rossellini when Debbie had modelled the summer collection back at the beginning of the month. Could this be his wife, maybe? She instinctively glanced round for any sign of him and was relieved to see the woman on her own.
‘Good evening. You are Signora Rossellini?’ The woman nodded and Debbie realised she had guessed right.
The woman smiled. ‘Yes, and I must say that dress looks absolutely amazing on you.’
‘Thank you, and yours is gorgeous, too.’ Although in truth, to Debbie’s increasingly trained eye, it looked a bit vulgar, not just because of the plunging neckline, but because of the shiny, ostentatious, silver and gold cloth. She risked a question.
‘And your husband, he’s not here?’
‘No, he’s still recovering. I’m afraid he was attacked by a gang of youths the other night. He fought them off bravely, but sustained some cuts and bruises, along with a broken nose, in the process.’
‘Oh dear.’ Debbie kept her face straight. ‘And have the police managed to find the culprits?’
Signora Rossellini shook her head. ‘He’s in regular contact with the police, but I believe they’re still looking. It could take some time.’
Damn right it could. Debbie didn’t know whether to laugh or explode. What a rotten, lying bastard he was. “He fought them off bravely” indeed! It occurred to her that now would be the perfect opportunity to open the woman’s eyes to just what a bastard her husband was. Unfaithful and a liar – maybe it was her duty to tell his wife what he was really like, even though she knew this might not be good for Flora’s business. She was still debating the right course of action when a man appeared.
He came complete with a deep blue dinner jacket, an expensive suntan, and an even more expensive set of teeth. Debbie felt his eyes flick over her, check her out, and then move on, leaving her feeling almost defiled by the intimacy of his gaze. She was just about to turn away when she saw him slip his arm around Signora Rossellini’s shoulders, his eyes now drawn magnetically to her cleavage. She looked up and beamed.
‘Davide! Here you are at last.’
Signora Rossellini looked and sounded very pleased to see him. She wrapped her free arm around him and kissed him on the cheeks – not the usual perfunctory fleeting touch of cheek to cheek, but hard enough to leave the impression of her lips clearly visible on his face as she drew back again.
‘Antonia, carissima. You look stunning, irresistible.’
There was something about the way he said it that convinced Debbie that he certainly wasn’t going to resist whatever came his way. Signora Rossellini was staring into his eyes, her fingers now resting against his cheek, and looked ready to ravage him right there, right now.
This, Debbie decided, was the moment to return to Dario – pronto. And as for opening the woman’s eyes to her husband’s foibles, it looked very much as though the pot calling the kettle black. She gave them both a nod of the head, unseen by the man in the blue suit, whose eyes were once more lost deep in the Signora’s audacious décolleté, and went back across the room, shaking her head in disbelief. It would seem, after all, that Signora Rossellini and her husband were made for each other.
‘If you would excuse me, Professor Archangelo.’ Dario gave her a surreptitious wink as he shook hands with his boss and made good his escape, taking Debbie by the arm and leading her a safe distance away. This time, Debbie didn’t recoil from his touch and she felt pleased. When he released his hold, she was surprised to find she had rather enjoyed the contact.
‘I make that Debbie two, Dario still nil. That’s a good system you’ve developed. If you see me get locked into conversation with somebody again, would you repeat the process? Just wander off for a few minutes and then come back again to call me. If you’re feeling creative, you could throw in a line or two like “I simply must introduce you to…” or “you’ll never guess who’s been asking for you…”’ Dario laughed, shaking his head. ‘That was great. I thought I was going to be stuck for the whole evening with the dean. Without you, I would have been.’
Debbie gave him a smile as he drained the last of his wine and took her now empty glass from her.
‘I think we both deserve a drink.’ A passing waiter provided replacements and Dario took a big mouthful of his. ‘Getting warmer, but still just about cool enough to be drinkable. So, did you see anybody you know?’
‘Well, actually, I did.’ Debbie told him about her encounter with Signora Rossellini and she saw him roll his eyes heavenwards.
‘Per l’amor del cielo! I never cease to be amazed and appalled by my fellow man… and woman.’ He caught her eye and smiled. ‘Well, nobody can accuse you of not being multi-talented. I see you’ve graduated from school director to fashion model – and now you’ve become a whole gang of teenage hoodlums.’
‘You’d better be nice to me, or I’ll get my gang on you.’
‘I promise I’ll be nice to you.’
They were interrupted by a howl of electronic feedback, followed by the unmistakable sound of a finger tapping a microphone. All eyes turned to the stage. Debbie felt Dario’s breath against her ear.
‘At least we’ve got full glasses. Try not to fall asleep.’
In fact, the speeches were over remarkably quickly. From what Debbie cou
ld hear and understand, the European delegate thanked the Italian government for doing something, although she couldn’t work out what, and the Italian politician then thanked the European Commission for thanking them. At the end, after polite applause – always difficult when holding a glass in one hand – they followed the crowd out towards the cloakroom and Debbie slipped along to the secret door, knocked three times and was impressed to receive their coats immediately. Ignoring the indignant looks of the people in the long queue, she and Dario headed for the exit.
Outside, it was still dry, and though the sky had clouded over and the temperature was maybe a degree or two higher, it was still bitterly cold in the increasingly gusty wind. Dario paused on the top step and turned towards her.
‘Home? Or can I tempt you to a bite to eat after all? I notice you didn’t risk the canapés.’
Debbie hesitated. Maybe a quick meal with him wouldn’t be too compromising. After all, they were neighbours and it was quite normal for neighbours to see each other regularly. Wasn’t it? She was still deeply involved in internal debate when he tried again.
‘Come on. You must be hungry, surely.’
She made up her mind.
‘Yes, I am hungry and stop calling me Shirley.’ She saw him smile. ‘Go on then, you’ve twisted my arm, but I really mustn’t be late.’
An expression of relief and satisfaction crossed his face and she hoped she had done the right thing. He would know they were just two friends hanging out together, wouldn’t he?
‘If you want something really, really quick, we can always go and have a burger.’ He didn’t look enthusiastic. ‘Alternatively, I’ve still got the reservation I made at a place halfway between here and home. The food’s good and we can tell them we’re in a hurry.’
Dreaming of Florence Page 19