Dreaming of Florence

by T A Williams

  One evening, while her dad had gone down to the pub for a pint, she and her mum were having a chat. The subject of her appearance came up and Debbie sought her mother’s opinion.

  ‘Mum, do you think I’m pretty?’

  ‘Of course you are, dear. You’ve always been a good-looking girl.’

  ‘The thing is, since going to Florence and, in particular, since starting doing the modelling work, people keep telling me I’m beautiful. Of course, in that world, everything’s over the top and they bandy words like beautiful about all the time. You know me – I’ve never really been interested in what I look like before, but I’m beginning to find I really rather like dressing a bit better and looking after myself. Does that make me superficial?’

  Her mother smiled at her. ‘If your appearance is the only thing in your head, dear, then yes. But that’s not the case, and you know it. You’ve got a very responsible job – and I know you’re good at it or you wouldn’t have been able to step in when the principal was taken ill. You’re a sensible, intelligent girl and if you happen to look good as well, then that’s just a bonus. Of course you’re not superficial.’

  ‘I mean, it’s not as if I went looking for a modelling job. They asked me, after all.’

  Her mother gave her a reassuring pat on the arm. ‘Of course they did and you don’t need to worry about looking good. Just watch out for the men. When they see a pretty girl, they’re only after one thing, you know.’

  After her experience in August, Debbie didn’t need to be reminded of this.

  The next day, hesitantly, she told her mum and dad about her blossoming friendship with Flora and her husband, the count. To her surprise, her father didn’t go off on one of his famous rants against the aristocracy. He normally ended up accusing all those who had inherited wealth of being chinless wonders, or having been born with silver spoons in their mouths. Instead, he sounded impressed by the fact that Flora had worked hard to build up her own business and clearly tolerated the fact that her husband had a title as just being one of many strange things done by foreigners. Debbie heaved a sigh of relief.

  Her mum was fascinated to hear all about the villa and its furnishings and both she and Debbie’s dad had to agree that Flora had been very decent in offering such a lovely centrally-positioned flat to their daughter at preferential rates. And both of them liked the sound of the Labrador.

  On New Year’s Eve, Debbie went up to Cambridge and met Alice and her new man, Guy. To her relief, she found him pleasant, friendly and, although he was pretty good-looking, definitely unlike Alice’s normal choice of paramours. She was really pleased that her friend appeared to have chosen wisely – for once.

  In return, Alice was clearly impressed by Debbie’s new, more stylish, persona and very complimentary about her clothes and her appearance.

  ‘Blimey, Debs, you’ve finally done it. So, who’s the lucky man?’

  ‘No lucky man, Al.’ She went on to relate her experiences as a fashion model and Alice nodded sagely.

  ‘I told you you’d got the bum for it. And your hair – just look at it now.’

  Guy tactfully went up to the bar to buy some more drinks, giving Debbie the chance to quiz her friend about the progress of the relationship.

  ‘So, how’s it going with Guy? I definitely approve, by the way.’

  They spoke every week and Debbie felt pretty sure that Alice was still firmly cemented into the new monogamous relationship. To her surprise, Alice looked decidedly shifty.

  ‘Erm, rather good, actually.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  Alice cleared her throat, now looking really embarrassed. ‘Erm, I know it’s crazy, because we’ve only known each other for a couple of months, but he’s asked me to marry him.’

  ‘Wow!’ Debbie didn’t know what to say. ‘Wow.’ She studied her friend closely. ‘And you said…?’

  She saw Alice take a big breath. ‘Like I say, I know it’s crazy, but, well, I said yes.’

  ‘Well, that’s fantastic.’ Debbie gave her a big hug. ‘Have you decided when?’

  ‘He’s got the offer of a full-time position from the autumn, so we thought we’d get married this summer and have a good long honeymoon before he gets tied down. I’ve already spoken to people at work and they’re happy for me to take a month off, if I like.’ Alice stepped back and looked at Debbie. ‘We were thinking about maybe spending some of it in Italy.’

  ‘Terrific idea! Well, you’ll definitely have to come and see me.’ Debbie was delighted for her. Just for a second, a vague sensation of regret passed through her as she thought for the first time in ages about Paul and her own abortive wedding. But she shook the image from her head, just as Alice read her mind.

  ‘And what about you, Debs? You really still off men?’

  ‘Definitely. Besides, Al, I’m so busy these days, I wouldn’t have time for a man even if there were one on the horizon.’

  ‘What about your neighbour? Have you met him yet? After all, if his dad’s a count, that makes him a countlet or something, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I can think of something a damn sight ruder to call him.’ She recounted her showdown with him and his friends a few weeks back. ‘If that’s the way aristocrats behave, I’m glad I’m working class.’

  Chapter 11

  There was thick snow on the ground when Debbie got back to Bologna airport on the first Saturday of the new year. Florence itself, when she got there, was free from snow, but freezing cold. Fortunately the heating in her flat worked well and she was soon snug and warm. She had thoroughly enjoyed her few days back in the UK, but she genuinely felt a sense of homecoming now that she had returned to Florence.

  The next morning, when she surfaced, she went for a walk and, inevitably, ended up in the rose garden. This time the wooden bench was covered with ice and the plants and lawns were shiny with frost. Nevertheless, she rubbed the seat dry with her gloved hand and sat down, tucking her lovely warm jacket underneath her. Her eyes half-closed as she let her mind roam.

  She was very happy for Alice and hoped, desperately, that it would all work out for her. Just because she herself had had a bad experience at the hands of Paul didn’t mean that the same would happen to her friend. She crossed the fingers on her free hand just in case.

  She thought of her mum and dad who had sacrificed so much so that she could go to university. It had been good to see them again and she could feel how pleased they had been to find her looking and sounding happier once more. It would be their thirtieth wedding anniversary this summer and she had decided to bring them out to Florence for a few days to celebrate the event. Apart from a few package tours, they had never really done much travelling, and had never visited Italy. This, she felt, was the least she could do for them.

  She even allowed herself a brief thought of Paul and then Pierluigi. These two disastrous relationships had seriously tarnished the previous year but, now, at the start of a new year, she felt a real fresh sense of optimism for the future. She was doing a job she loved – well, two jobs really if she included the modelling thing – in a city she loved and, with a few exceptions, she had met some lovely people. She opened her eyes and looked down across the rooftops. Yes, she was definitely doing something right for a change.

  Two days later, as she was locking her door before setting off to school, she heard a noise behind her and saw the door to her neighbour’s flat swing open. She glimpsed the broad shoulders and dark hair of the occupant and hurried off down the stairs before she could get roped into a conversation with him. As she neared the bottom of the first flight of steps, she heard a voice from behind her, calling out.

  ‘Buongiorno e buon anno.’

  She didn’t bother to respond, just turned the corner and made her exit. The less she had to do with him, the better.

  At the school, she was pleased to find that all was well. Giancarla arrived dead on nine o’clock as always, and the smile was still on her face. Debbie heaved a surreptitious sigh
of relief.

  ‘Buon anno. Happy New Year, Debbie.’

  ‘And to you, Giancarla. Here…’ She dug out the present she had bought in Bristol and gave it to her. ‘It’s a tea cosy, to keep your teapot warm. It’s only a little token, but a very happy New Year to you as well.’

  She had bought presents for all the staff, including Bella, as well as Nando the porter downstairs. She had wondered what to get for a while – Virginia and Claire would probably have benefited from some make-up remover – before settling on teacloths. They were easy to carry and everybody used them. Indeed, they could probably even be used for make-up removal if it came to it.

  After waving away Giancarla’s thanks, she enquired after her boss.

  ‘How’s Steven? Will he be in today?’

  Giancarla shook her head. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’ She managed a little smile. ‘He hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol since his heart attack, so as you can imagine, it’s been a pretty miserable Christmas for him.’ Her expression grew more serious again. ‘But he’s really not very well. The specialist wants to see him in a week’s time, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he tells him he needs another operation.’

  Debbie took a good look at her. Although her attitude was much friendlier than before, she was looking strained, and Debbie had a shrewd idea why.

  ‘How’re you holding up, Giancarla?’

  ‘I’m OK. It’s been a bit stressful, that’s all.’

  ‘Did you spend Christmas with him?’

  Giancarla nodded. ‘Neither of us have got anybody particularly close any more. My parents, like his, are both dead, and my sister moved to Argentina ten years ago. It seemed to make sense to spend the time together, rather than each of us on our own.’

  ‘He’s a nice man. I liked him from the first time I saw him, though I can’t say I’m sorry he’s had to cut down on his alcohol intake. It looked a bit self-destructive.’ Debbie wondered if she really should be saying these things – after all, she was talking about their boss – but Giancarla didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Self-destructive… you’re right. He pretty much went to pieces over the past few years.’

  Debbie remembered what Martha had told her, but said nothing. If Giancarla decided she wanted to talk about her relationship with Steven, she would be glad to listen and help if she could, but she knew it had to come from her.

  ‘And now, do you think he’s getting himself sorted out? I mean mentally, not just physically.’

  ‘Maybe, I don’t know. We did a lot of talking at Christmas and I think it was good for him – for both of us.’ For a second Giancarla glanced up and Debbie had the feeling she was about to say something, but then her head dropped again. ‘But, first things first, he needs to get this heart thing sorted out.’

  ‘Of course. Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Just carry on looking after things here, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind.’ In fact, Debbie felt positively cheered by the prospect, although she felt very sorry for Steven. And for Giancarla.

  Lessons restarted and Debbie was delighted to see Flora again. As she had expected, she found herself invited for tea the following Saturday afternoon and she accepted willingly. On the Thursday morning, she got a text message from Barbara in Via de’ Tornabuoni, asking her if she could come in and model for half an hour at eleven o’clock. Debbie wasn’t teaching until the evening, so she said yes.

  This time was a bit different from the previous occasions on which she had been there before. As she stepped out from behind her screen, wearing a lightweight summer dress and sandals, she found that today’s clients were a woman and, for the first time, a man. As she walked up and down in front of them, she heard them speaking to each other in Italian and she wondered where they were from. She sensed the man’s eyes on her body, rather than the clothes, and, for the first time, she began to feel a bit uncomfortable. He was probably ten years older than her, maybe more; a good-looking man, with immaculately styled, suspiciously jet black hair, but with a hint of grey at the temples. His clothes screamed good taste and expense, as did those of his partner. His eyes followed her every move and she repressed a shudder.

  Her discomfort increased when she was asked to pose in one of the new range of swimsuits. This costume had a plunging neckline and virtually no back and Debbie wouldn’t have been seen dead in anything like it on a public beach. Business was business, however, so gritting her teeth, she slipped into it, checked that it covered everything, and stepped out. This time she could almost feel the lust dripping from the man as she walked past and turned, trying her hardest to be professional, disinterested, aloof. Even so, she could feel her cheeks colour as she sensed his eyes on her body.

  Mercifully, this was the only swimming costume she was called upon to wear and it was with a sigh of relief when she heard Britta tell her the end of the session had come. As she dressed once more, Barbara came in to thank her and to apologise.

  ‘These two have a chain of luxury boutiques all around the coast and they buy a lot of our summer clothes. They’re among our best customers here in Italy, so we try to look after them. You’ve probably noticed that Signor Rossellini has a bit of an eye for the ladies. If he makes any advances, I’d advise you to say no.’

  ‘Damn right, I’ll say no.’ Debbie could still feel his eyes on her.

  ‘But if you can do it without insulting him, I’d be grateful. They do a lot of business with us.’

  Barbara’s warning was timely. As she walked out of the main door, she found none other than Signor Rossellini waiting on the pavement for her.

  ‘Deborah. How good to see you. I was very impressed by your skills as a model, considering that Barbara tells me you’re really a teacher.’

  Debbie did her best to produce, and hold, a smile. ‘That’s right. In fact I’m on my way back to the school now.’

  ‘Can I give you a lift? I’ve got a car coming for me any moment now.’

  ‘Thank you, but there’s no need. The school’s just round the corner from here.’

  ‘I was wondering, Deborah, if you might like to come out for dinner with me one of these days. I’d love to hear more about your life as a teacher of English.’

  Debbie had absolutely no intention of going out anywhere with him, so she shook her head. ‘That’s very kind, but I’m afraid it’s a very busy time for me. I appreciate the offer, but no thank you.’

  Signor Rossellini looked disappointed, and surprised. Presumably he wasn’t used to girls turning him down. Debbie capitalised upon his momentary discomfiture to toss him a quick “buongiorno” and hurry across the road, away from his clutches. As she walked back to the school, she reflected that there was no doubt a certain type of girl in this business who wouldn’t have hesitated to accept an invitation from such an obviously well heeled patron. For the second time that morning, she repressed a shudder.

  * * *

  On Saturday afternoon, Giacomo arrived in the Mercedes and Debbie gave him his Christmas present – an Aston Martin T-shirt she had seen in a shop in Bristol. He was surprised and clearly very pleased at the gift and the two of them chatted as they drove up to Fiesole. He told her that Flora’s daughter’s wedding was now scheduled for April. Apparently this was assuming the proportions of a major event and loads of people would be invited.

  Flora repeated this to Debbie when they sat down for afternoon tea. It was the first time Debbie had seen her friend looking stressed.

  ‘What I can’t understand, Debbie, is why Claudia wants to invite so many guests. The number’s up to about three hundred already. She seems to be inviting anybody and everybody. The last thing I heard was that she wants to invite some random Greek couple that they met on holiday. They hardly know them. I ask you…’

  Debbie did her best to be supportive. At her feet, the adoring Labrador was stretched out, paws in the air, desperate for attention. She scratched his tummy as she tried to find some words of encouragement
for Flora.

  ‘Surely not all three hundred will come. After all, April’s only a few months away now and many of them will have already made plans.’ She looked up from the dog. ‘Where’s the wedding taking place?’

  ‘That’s the problem. We thought it could be here. Well, the service would be at the church just up the road in Fiesole first, and then back here for the reception. This is a big house, but there’s no way we can fit three hundred in.’

  ‘What about her fiancé, what does he say about it?’

  Flora caught Debbie’s eye and smiled. ‘You haven’t met my daughter yet, have you? I’ll have to invite you for dinner one of these days so you can meet her. You’ll see. When she makes her mind up about something, Claudia’s more stubborn than a mule.’ She dropped her voice and grinned. ‘Takes after her father, you know.’

  ‘So her husband-to-be doesn’t get a say in it?’

  Flora shook her head. ‘He gets to invite his family and a few friends, but be in no doubt, this is Claudia’s wedding, nobody else’s.’ She gave a helpless shrug of the shoulders. ‘And her father just agrees with whatever she wants.’

  Debbie wondered for a moment what her dad’s reaction would be if she told him she expected him to shell out for a three-hundred-guest wedding. She dropped her eyes to the dog and grinned at the thought.

  Before she left, she handed Flora her Christmas present, ignoring her protests. She had spent a morning scouring the antique shops around Bristol before she found what she was looking for. Remembering what Flora had said about her husband turning his nose up at anything less than two hundred years old, she had managed to find something she hoped would be suitable. It was a Royal Doulton hand-painted plate, depicting two apples and an orange, with the date stamp of 1793 on the back. It hadn’t been cheap, but she felt she owed Flora and her husband so much for their kindness. She left Flora to open it after she had left.

  That evening, as she climbed back up the stairs to her flat, she heard footsteps running down towards her. She glanced up and saw the shadowy outline of a tall man with dark hair, dressed in running gear. Recognizing his silhouette, she hastily stopped and fiddled with her boot, eyes down, as he came past. Once again, she heard him greet her and, once again, she ignored him. As the noise of his feet retreated into the distance, she felt a sense of satisfaction. Her opinion of him and his lifestyle was very low and she had no desire to get involved in any conversation with a spoilt, selfish brat like him.