Dreaming of Florence

by T A Williams

  Dreaming of Florence

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Copyright

  Dreaming of Florence

  T.A. Williams

  To Mariangela and Christina as always with love

  Chapter 1

  Debbie was feeling good.

  It was a lovely English summer’s day as she cycled through the streets of Cambridge on her way home from work. She was humming to herself, her eyes on the cycle path ahead, but her mind was far away in her happy place. Ever since her teens, this special secret place in the hidden recesses of her mind had been her refuge from everyday life and worries about school, family, work, or, more recently, Paul. It was a place to relax and unwind, to rest and recuperate, and she loved it dearly. She had seen it in her daydreams so many times over the years that by now she felt she knew every blade of grass and every single petal on the rose bushes, even though she had never actually been there.

  ‘Ouch.’

  She winced as she bumped across a pothole in the tarmac, and felt the sharp jab as a spring poked up through the battered old saddle of her battered old bike. Doing her best to ignore her stinging backside, she returned her thoughts to her place of solace. Instead of the uncomfortable saddle, she imagined the soothing feel of the wooden bench, its surface warmed by the Tuscan sun, the scent of the flowers around her, the singing of the birds and, of course, the breathtaking views over the magical city of Florence. To her, this place spelt peace, quiet and safety.

  ‘Look out!’

  Even as she shouted, she realised it was too late. A tall man had just stepped off the pavement directly into her path, his head turned the other way, totally unaware of her presence. She swerved desperately, lost control and found herself flying headlong at him. As the bike crashed to the ground beneath her feet and slid out into the road, she made contact with the man’s shoulders and felled him as effectively as a rugby player making a tackle. He was thrown sideways by the impact and landed heavily on the ground, followed, a split second later, by Debbie herself. She felt the breath crushed out of her lungs as she ended up sprawled across him, her left elbow making heavy contact with the tarmac as she did so. She would have squealed in pain, except that she was completely winded. She lay there for a few seconds, gasping like a freshly-landed fish, trying to catch her breath, before movement from beneath her shook her out of her trance-like state.

  ‘Maremma cane! Che cacchio…?’

  She immediately recognized the language as Italian, although her Italian teacher hadn’t taught her either of these expressions. They were followed by what were in all probability another few choice expletives before he turned his head to look at her. Their faces were only a few inches away from one another and she found herself looking straight down into his eyes – rather nice deep brown eyes. She suddenly became embarrassingly aware that she was lying on top of him, her left hand somehow jammed into his crotch. She shifted slightly so as to remove it before risking a few words.

  ‘I’m very sorry. You just stepped right out at me.’ She had to pause to suck in some air. ‘I just didn’t have time to stop. Are you all right?’

  He raised a tentative hand to his head and probed a bit through his thick mass of black hair, before nodding cautiously. ‘Yes, I think so, but I’m the one who’s sorry. That was totally my fault. I looked left, instead of right.’ He managed a faint smile. ‘I’ve been here a month, but I still haven’t got back into the habit of everybody driving on the wrong side of the road. What about you? Are you sure you’re OK?’

  Unexpectedly reluctantly, Debbie rolled off him and raised herself into a sitting position on the edge of the cycle path. A couple of concerned bystanders had stopped alongside them, as had a bus full of people in the road, all now peering down at them curiously. She felt her cheeks flush as she realised her skirt had ended up around her waist, and she scrabbled to pull it down again. Once reassured she was decent once more, she checked herself for damage. Her right knee was a bit sore, her left elbow badly scraped, and one of the nails on her left hand broken, but otherwise, she seemed to be all right. She transferred her attention back to the man she had hit, who was resting back on his elbows on the pavement. By now, the smile on his face had broadened. She did her best to chase away her blushes, but wasn’t completely successful.

  ‘I think I’m fine, thanks. Your body broke my fall.’ Her eyes contemplated his body for a few moments, rather liking what she saw. He looked as if he were around her age, maybe a year or two older, say thirty or so, and he clearly looked after himself. His shoulders were broad, his chest strong, and she had already felt his hard stomach muscles for herself. His tanned face was classically handsome, and his bright eyes strangely magnetic. In spite of the circumstances, she felt a distinct shiver of attraction.

  ‘Well, I’m glad I did.’ With an athletic movement, he climbed to his feet, grimacing slightly as he straightened up, rubbing his side. After a few seconds, he bent towards her and offered her his hands. ‘Here, can I help you up?’

  Debbie caught hold of his hands and let him help her to her feet. She winced as she put weight onto her right leg and gave a little squeak as she straightened her left arm. Her elbow worked, but it hurt a lot. She took a better look at it and saw it running with fresh blood where contact with the road surface had scraped away a big patch of skin. She was searching for a tissue in her pocket when he handed her a clean, white handkerchief.

  ‘Here, take this. It’s clean, I promise.’ He pressed it into her hand. ‘I took it out of the suitcase only this morning.’

  Debbie took it gratefully as the bus driver appeared beside them, a sympathetic expression on his face.

  ‘Are you all right, love?’

  Debbie nodded.

  ‘I saw the whole thing: there wasn’t anything you could do. This gentleman just walked right out in front of you. If you need a witness statement, you can get me at the bus company. My badge number’s CAM3276.’

  ‘Thank you very much, but I’m fine. Just a few scratches and a bruise or two.’ As she spoke, she felt fingers on her elbow and she let the man with the brown eyes take over bandaging her cuts. As he did so, she heard him explain to the bus driver.

  ‘I’ve already told her it was all my fault. Completely. I’ve come over from Italy and I wasn’t concentrating.’

  ‘All right, then. Well, I’m glad you’re both OK.’ The bus driver looked relieved and Debbie was quick to thank him for his concern. As the bus full of people set off again and the two pedestrian onlookers followed their example, Debbie found herself alone with the brown-eyed man. As he finished tying a knot securing the makeshift bandage, Debbie couldn’t help noticing how neatly he had done it.

  ‘Thank you so much. That looks great. Are you a first-aider?’

  He smiled again; it lit up his face. ‘Actually, I’m a doctor, and I’m glad there aren’t any trained nurses watching. I’ve never been very good at bandaging and I’m sure I could have done it better.’ He glanced down at her knee. ‘Want me to take a look at that?’ Without waiting for a reply, he crouched down and she felt his hands on her skin. She found herself looking down on the top of his
head, as he surveyed the damage.

  ‘Steady yourself against me and try bending your leg for me, would you?’

  She did as ordered, resting her hands on his shoulders and, although the knee hurt a bit as she moved it, she could feel that it wasn’t too bad. The doctor agreed.

  ‘Just a bit of bruising, I’m glad to say. Take a couple of painkillers when you get home and it should be fine by tomorrow – just a bit stiff and sore for a day or two, I expect.’ He stood up again and stretched out his hand. ‘By the way, my name’s Pierluigi Masino. I’m very pleased to meet you, although I apologise once again for the circumstances.’

  Debbie took his hand and shook it formally. ‘I’m Deborah Waterson. Everybody calls me Debbie. Thank you so much.’

  ‘For knocking you off your bike and almost under a bus?’ He was smiling and she found herself smiling back.

  ‘That was an accident. No, I mean thank you for bandaging my cuts and for breaking my fall.’

  ‘That was the least I could do under the circumstances.’

  ‘Are you Italian? Your English is fantastic.’ It really was. She saw him nod to acknowledge the compliment.

  ‘Yes, I’m Italian, but I did my medical training here in the UK, so I’ve had to learn to speak your language reasonably fluently. In fact, I’m over this summer for a course at King’s, here in Cambridge.’

  ‘So, you’ll be here for a while?’ For some reason Debbie knew that this was important for her to know.

  He shook his head and she felt surprisingly disappointed. ‘Not really. I’ve been here since early July, but now I’ve only got another two weeks before I go home again. Just until the middle of August.’ He glanced across at her bike that some kind soul had rescued from the roadside and propped against the railings at the side of the cycle track. Her eyes followed his and it became immediately apparent that she wasn’t going to be riding it, even if her elbow and her knee allowed. The handlebars were twisted, the front tyre was flat and, worst of all, the front forks were bent out of shape.

  ‘I’m afraid your bike isn’t looking too good. Why don’t I call a taxi to get you and it home?’

  ‘There’s no need for that really, thank you.’ Debbie tapped his arm to stop him reaching into his pocket. ‘My house is quite close by. I’ll just push the bike home. It won’t take long.’

  ‘Well, at least let me push it for you. That elbow of yours needs to be rested.’

  Debbie protested, but he insisted, and she was secretly rather glad of his company. There was something very appealing about this kind and handsome Good Samaritan. Together, they set off and she noticed that he had to lift the front wheel right off the ground as the forks had buried themselves in the spokes. As they walked, they chatted and she told him a bit about herself. When he heard what she did for a living, he was unsurprised.

  ‘An English language teacher, eh? There must be lots around here. I’ve seen so many schools of English all over the place since I got here. It must be big business in Cambridge. Everywhere I go, there are swarms of teenagers – and a lot of them are Italians.’

  Debbie nodded cautiously. ‘It’s been quite a busy summer, but everybody says student numbers are down. I’ve even heard of some schools closing.’

  He looked surprised. ‘You’d never know it from the numbers of kids all over the place. So, do you enjoy your job?’

  ‘Yes, I do, I really do. I’ve been working here now in the same place for almost five years and I love it. What about you – are you a happy doctor?’

  ‘A reasonably happy doctor.’ He smiled across at her as they turned the corner and she led him into the cul-de-sac where her little flat was situated. Now that Paul had left, it was proving to be pretty expensive, and she was struggling to keep it on by herself as well as try to pay off some of her student loan debt. Her alternative, she knew, would be to move back into a room in a house with other people, but she had got used to her independence and was loath to give it up. But it wasn’t easy making ends meet. They hadn’t had a pay rise at the school for almost three years now and it was tough.

  As they reached the garden gate, she showed him where to put the bike behind the dustbins, reflecting that this might well turn out to be its final resting place. It was a very old bike she had bought for just forty pounds several years earlier, but it had done its job and she had grown attached to it. Now, looking at it, she felt fairly sure it would cost more to repair than to replace. She resolved to look into getting another one as a matter of urgency, although, from the way her knee felt, it might be a few days before she tried riding again.

  ‘There, the bike’s out of the way.’ He came out from behind the dustbin and wiped his hands on the legs of his jeans. They were new-looking jeans and he looked very smart, or he should have done. For the first time she noticed the tear just above the left knee.

  ‘I’m really sorry about your jeans.’

  He smiled at her. ‘Don’t even think about it. Who knows? Maybe they’ve suddenly become fashionable.’ There was a brief pause before he stuck out his hand. ‘Well, Deborah Waterson, my apologies once more. If you need me to take a look at your elbow or your knee, here’s my card. You’ll have to stick 0039 in front of the mobile number, but do call if you need me. If I were you, I’d put that arm in a sling for support for a day or two.’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor Masino. You’re very kind.’ As she shook his hand, Debbie was seriously considering inviting him in for a cup of tea, but he had already turned away before she could reach a decision. As he closed the little metal gate behind him, he half-turned towards her.

  ‘Arrivederci, Debbie.’

  ‘Arrivederci, Pierluigi.’

  And he was gone, leaving her feeling quite unexpectedly sorry to see him go.

  * * *

  It was about six o’clock when she heard the doorbell. For a moment she felt an irrational surge of hope that it might be her Italian doctor friend, come to invite her out for dinner, but no sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she dismissed it. After what had happened with Paul, she had absolutely no interest in starting a relationship with another man any time soon. Besides, her Italian doctor friend had said he was only here for a few more weeks and she certainly wasn’t looking for a casual holiday romance, even though she had to admit that he had been rather dishy. Shaking her head, she went out into the hall and opened the front door. It was Alice.

  ‘Hi, Debs, how’s things?’ Alice stopped and gawped. ‘What’s wrong with your arm?’

  ‘Fell off my bike.’

  Following the orders of her newly-acquired personal physician, Debbie had fashioned a primitive sling out of a scarf to support her sore elbow.

  ‘Is it broken?’

  Debbie shook her head. ‘No, just scraped and bruised. Thank goodness.’

  She led Alice into the flat and told her the story as she made them both some tea. As she recounted the events of that afternoon, she omitted to mention that the man who had caused the accident had been really rather good-looking.

  There was a reason for this. Had she indicated in any way that she had found him attractive, Alice would have been at her heels like a little terrier, doing her best to put the two of them together. Alice had been quite unable to understand Debbie’s decision to take a timeout from men for the foreseeable future, after the four-year relationship with Paul had been so rudely interrupted back in the spring. Ever since then, Alice had been constantly on the lookout for suitable replacements, deaf to Debbie’s protests. So caution was the watchword as far as Alice was concerned.

  ‘He was Italian, you say?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And a doctor?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Age?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe early thirties.’ Debbie did her best to sound disinterested.

  ‘Really? That’s perfect. So, tell me, what did he look like? Buck teeth, bald, scrawny, smelly, scruffy?’

  ‘Yes, all of those, definitely.’ Debbie concentrat
ed on the tea.

  ‘Was he tall or short?’

  ‘Tallish, I suppose.’

  She handed her friend a mug of tea and they both sat down at the kitchen table. Gingerly, Debbie rested her damaged elbow on the table and let the sling fall from her shoulder. She stretched her arm cautiously, pleased to be able to move it more easily. The paracetamol had definitely begun to do its work.

  ‘Taller than you, then?’

  ‘Erm, yes.’

  ‘Well, that’s bloody tall. Look at you, Debs. Your legs are just about as long as my whole body. So, he’s tall, Italian and a doctor. Tasty!’

  ‘Don’t forget the smelly, scruffy thing.’

  She heard Alice snort.

  ‘What’s wrong with a bit of a pong? I went out with a boy a couple of years back who smelt like an elk, but it didn’t bother me.’

  ‘How on earth do you know what an elk smells like, Al?’ Debbie found herself smiling.

  ‘Trust me. He smelt like an elk. Or a moose, or a buffalo, or one of those big hairy things.’

  ‘So why did you go out with him if he smelt like some form of wildlife?’

  Alice winked. ‘The smell wasn’t the only thing about him that reminded me of a big, hairy beast, if you catch my drift.’

  Debbie sighed theatrically. ‘I always catch your drift, Al. Anyway, this guy didn’t smell like any kind of quadruped.’ She could see that Alice still wasn’t satisfied but, fortunately, she changed the subject and Debbie was able to relax, at least for now.

  ‘Anyway, Debs, you really need to do something about your hair and your clothes if you’re on the lookout for a man.’

  ‘For the thousandth time, I’m not on the lookout for a man. Besides, what’s wrong with my hair?’

  ‘Well, have you ever thought about going to a hairdresser, for instance? Your hair’s a mess and you know it. If you let it grow much longer, it’ll get caught in the chain of your bike, and you’ll have another accident even without some hunky man bumping into you. Look at yourself. Your split ends are developing their own split ends by now. If you put it off much longer, you’re going to start looking like some scruffy old bag-lady.’