by T A Williams
‘That does sound lovely.’
The restaurant chosen by Dario was the sort of place Debbie would never have dreamt of entering. There was just a fairly anonymous door, sandwiched between a shop selling T-shirts and another selling lingerie. The only indication of its identity was a small brass plate bearing two words, Numero 12 – no menu, not even the word restaurant. She followed him in and up the stairs to a glass door. Inside was the restaurant.
It was a large room with a handsome beamed ceiling and an ancient wooden floor made up of wide oak boards. There were probably around twenty tables in there and almost all were full. She couldn’t see a single tourist anywhere. An immaculately dressed man, probably no older than they were, advanced towards them. As he recognized Dario in the subdued lighting, his face broke into a broad smile.
‘Ciao, Dario. I haven’t seen you for ages.’
He and Dario shook hands warmly.
‘Michelangelo, this is my friend and neighbour, Deborah.’
Michelangelo shook hands politely.
‘Piacere.’
At that moment, another waiter appeared and relieved them of their coats. Then Michelangelo escorted the two of them to a table in the far corner. As they got there, Dario explained the situation.
‘We’re in a bit of a hurry. What can you do that’s going to be quick?’
Michelangelo held Debbie’s chair for her as she sat down and then pushed it gently in.
‘How about a few slices of ham along with a salad of fennel and parmesan as a starter? Then, maybe pappardelle alla lepre? That’s quick and won’t take much time to prepare. If you’re still hungry after that, we can easily do you something on the grill. How does that sound?’
‘Debbie?’ Dario looked across the table at her.
She had no hesitation.
‘That sounds perfect, although I doubt if I’ll get past the pasta.’
Michelangelo nodded. ‘Water? Still or sparkling?’
Debbie shrugged, so Dario opted for still water.
‘Wine?’
Dario glanced at Debbie again. ‘Red or white?’
‘Whichever you prefer. Red, maybe?’
‘Red it is. Michelangelo, could we have a bottle of Villa Antinori?’
As Michelangelo retreated, Debbie breathed in the atmosphere of the place. This was what she loved about Florence. A verbal menu, unusual dishes like raw fennel, and her favourite pasta – the wide ribbons called pappardelle, along with the iconic Tuscan sauce made with roast hare.
‘Let’s see if these pappardelle are as good as yours.’ Dario was grinning.
She grinned back. ‘My pappardelle, for your information, were meant to be tagliatelle, but I gave up trying to cut the strips any thinner.’ She shuddered at the memory. ‘That bloody machine! I’ve been having nightmares about it.’
He looked a bit more serious. ‘If those are the only nightmares you’ve been having, then you’re doing well. Are you sleeping OK?’
‘Yes, thanks.’ She nodded. ‘For the first couple of nights sleep was a bit broken, but I’m fine now. Besides, I’m so busy at school at the moment, I’m absolutely worn out by the time I get back home and that helps.’ She smiled at him. ‘Thanks for asking.’
‘That’s what friends are for.’
The meal was perfect, exactly what Debbie wanted. The fennel, finely sliced and drizzled with the unmistakable Tuscan olive oil was minty, crunchy and excellent, and went very well with slices of freshly carved ham. The pasta was as good as she had hoped and neither of them needed anything else afterwards, apart from a little espresso to wash it all down.
As the coffees arrived, Dario caught her eye from the other side of the table.
‘Have I told you how amazing you look?’
‘I assumed from the incoherent noises you made when you first saw me in this dress that you thought I looked all right.’
She was torn. She rather liked the fact that he evidently approved of her appearance, but her intention had been for him to think of her as nothing more than a friend.
‘You definitely look more than all right.’
There was something in his eyes and in his voice that made her sit up. Maybe this dinner had been a mistake after all, as she had feared. She did her best to steer the conversation back to the everyday.
‘Well, you scrub up pretty well yourself, Dario. The main thing is that I didn’t spill any of the lovely pasta sauce on this gorgeous dress.’
Maybe he picked up the lightness in her tone, but she saw him smile.
‘Pasta sauce wouldn’t dare. Don’t forget, you’re a gang leader. Anyway, I’m glad you liked it.’
‘It was a super meal – simple, tasty and perfect. I rather think that evens the scores – Dario two, Debbie two.’
‘Mm, still two-one, I think. I know when I’m beaten.’
‘Not at all. A meal like this deserves two points. And it’s good to eat with friends. You’re a good friend, Dario. I really like having you as a friend.’
He nodded, no doubt noting her repetition of the word, and she saw what could have been comprehension on his face. ‘I’ll try to be as good a friend as possible. That’s a promise.’
He held out his hand across the table to her. She took it and shook it, but held onto it for a moment.
‘Thanks, Dario. That means a lot.’
Chapter 16
Next morning the wind had abated and the sky was clear once more. When Debbie got to school, she saw Bella with her vacuum cleaner and stopped to thank her again for her help with the coats at the Palazzo Vecchio. Bella waved away her thanks.
‘You’re very welcome. I work at the Palazzo Vecchio every now and then when they’ve got a big function and they need more staff. It’s useful extra money.’
‘Well, you certainly did us a favour.’
‘Debbie, you looked wonderful.’ Bella’s eyes looked as if they were going to water. ‘You looked like a princess.’
Debbie smiled at Bella. ‘That’s very sweet of you, but it was all down to a dress I borrowed.’
Bella shook her head. ‘You were beautiful. You are beautiful.’
As starts to the day went, this was just about as good as it got. Her self-confidence bolstered, Debbie went through to her office and found herself humming as she worked her way through the papers on her desk.
The air outside was cold but drier and, instead of coming home for a cup of tea and a sandwich at lunchtime, Debbie decided to go for a walk. It had been a busy morning. Giancarla had taken the day off to be with Steven who was having his big operation. Giulia, the other secretary who normally worked in the evenings, came in to cover for her, but Debbie had spent most of the morning in reception, helping out. A stroll in the sunshine to clear her head was just what she wanted.
She walked out of the school and instead of going round the back of the cathedral, she headed round the front, past the Baptistery, to Via de’ Tornabuoni. She was greeted by Cristoforo on the door as an old friend and she went upstairs to the offices and returned the peacock blue dress for cleaning, thanking Barbara most warmly once more. Barbara gave her a broad smile.
‘Two people have already told me you were the belle of the ball.’
‘Really?’ Debbie was stunned.
‘Yes, I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to you last night, but I caught a few glimpses of you and you looked perfect. And I’ve had two calls this morning already asking me who the outstandingly beautiful girl on Dario’s arm was.’
‘I wasn’t on his arm, just by his side.’ Debbie felt it was important to make the distinction. Barbara didn’t reply, but her raised eyebrows made Debbie blush.
Outside once more, Debbie set off walking through the narrow backstreets, as ever in search of new things to see, new little details she had missed up to now. It was cold, but in her cosy jacket, she was very comfortable, and the feel of the crisp January air on her face was just what she needed after a busy morning inside. Scooters and cycles weaved a
round the crowds of tourists who even now flocked to the city. As she walked, she was constantly having to step aside or move into the road, keeping a watchful eye for bikes and the silent electric taxis as she did so, to let groups of Brazilians, Poles, Chinese – in fact, visitors from all over the world – go by. Like anybody living and working in such a busy tourist hub, Debbie had got used to the crowds by now and, although they could be annoying on the days when she was in a hurry, she quite liked being surrounded by happy people.
Her meandering walk finally led her into the Piazza di Santa Croce. At the end of the square was the impressive white marble façade of Santa Croce church, the greatest church of the Franciscan order. She had visited it a few months back with Alice and it had been awe-inspiring to walk among the tombs of such giants as Galileo, Machiavelli and Michelangelo.
The thought of Alice had her reaching for her phone. Now warm as toast after her walk, she took a seat at a table outside a café at the side of the square as she called her friend.
‘Hi Al, am I disturbing you?’
‘Not at all. I’m on my way down to London for a meeting and I’m standing at the station, waiting for the next train. How’s things?’
As they chatted, a waiter appeared and Debbie mouthed the word “cappuccino” to him. The coffee arrived as she was listening to Alice telling her about the weekend she and Guy were planning in a romantic little hotel in deepest Suffolk. Debbie was delighted to hear that all was still going well with them. Alice then turned the conversation, inevitably, to Debbie and men.
‘So, any developments on the hunky neighbour front?’
Debbie told Alice about the drinks reception and dinner the previous night and repeated what she had been telling herself, namely that she and he were developing into really good friends and that was the way she intended it to stay. Also inevitably, Alice wasn’t having any of it.
‘So is this still because of the whole Upstairs Downstairs thing? Humble serving wench and handsome prince forever divided by the class barrier?’
Debbie was reminded for a moment of Bella’s comment about her looking like a princess.
‘He’s not a prince.’
‘Poetic license. So is that still it?’
‘No, not really. He may be from a very different background, but he’s a genuine sort of guy.’ Debbie found herself sounding almost grudging as she spoke. ‘No, it’s more just a self-preservation thing, Al. I’m pretty emotionally battered and bruised at the moment, one way and another. I like him a lot and I want to keep him as a friend, without it becoming weird.’
‘Since when has sex been weird?’
Debbie decided not to bring up the dinosaur incident at the Natural History Museum again. ‘I mean I just think it would be better to keep feelings out of it for now. Maybe in a year or two, I may feel differently.’
‘Debs, in a year or two, if he’s as hunky as you say, he’ll be married to some princess, with triplets on the way. You’ve got to strike while the iron is hot.’
‘That’s the point, Al. This particular iron isn’t hot at the moment.’
As she spoke, her eyes opened wide. Coming diagonally across the square towards her was none other than Dario, looking good in a dark brown leather jacket and jeans. Clinging onto his arm with both of her hands was a very pretty dark-haired girl. As they approached, the girl reached up and caught hold of his shoulders, tugging him towards her until she could nuzzle up against his neck. Debbie saw his arm stretch around her waist as he hugged her tightly to him.
Still clutching the phone in one hand, Debbie grabbed the laminated menu off the table and buried her face in it until a full minute had elapsed, before raising her eyes once more. Dario and the girl were just visible in the distance, now holding hands, turning the corner at the end of the square, in front of the cloisters. A moment later, they disappeared from view.
‘Debbie, have you been listening to a single word I’ve been saying?’
She became aware of the phone in her hand and Alice’s voice sounding decidedly shirty. She cleared her throat and took refuge in a white lie.
‘Sorry, Al, the waiter just brought the cappuccino and I had to pay him. What was it you were saying?’
‘I was asking you what your feelings are towards your neighbour. Do you really mean it when you say you see him as just a friend?’
If Alice had asked that question a minute or two earlier, Debbie would have had little or no hesitation in answering yes. Now, the waters had suddenly been muddied. And the cause of the muddy water was an inexplicable, but unmistakable, sensation of jealousy that had sprung into her head as she watched her neighbour and his very pretty girlfriend canoodling in the square, without a care in the world. And where there was jealousy, there were feelings. Could it be she had fallen into the very trap she had been seeking to avoid?
‘You still there, Debs?’
‘Yes, Al, sorry. I was just thinking.’ Debbie gave herself a mental shaking. ‘Anyway, he’s just a friend. Period.’
Alice must have heard something in Debbie’s voice, because she immediately changed the subject. They chatted for another couple of minutes about events and people in Cambridge before ringing off. Debbie dropped the phone on the table and picked up her now lukewarm coffee and sipped it.
He’s just a friend. The words still echoed in her head.
She glanced at her watch, knowing where she really wanted to go now. It was half past one, so she should have ample time. Heading for the river once more, she crossed the Ponte alle Grazie and walked back along the riverbank until she reached the turnoff for the steps. She climbed slowly, but steadily, and reached the rose garden not too badly out of breath.
She went in through the wrought iron gates and was momentarily disappointed to see two people sitting on her bench. She needn’t have worried. As soon as they saw her, they stood up rather guiltily and Debbie got the distinct impression they had been canoodling, just as Dario and his girlfriend had been, back in the square outside Santa Croce.
She waited until the couple had walked out through the gate before taking her usual seat alongside the bronze statue. She reached out and took hold of the metal fingers, feeling them still warm from the hand of the girl who had been sitting there. She leant back until she could feel the statue’s arm cradling her shoulders and let her mind roam.
Debbie felt all at sea. After everything that had happened to her over the past year, and particularly over the past couple of weeks, she really hadn’t had any intention of letting herself get caught up with any man, however kind and considerate he might appear. And yet, it was quite clear now that her subconscious had had its own agenda. But what neither she nor her subconscious had known, was that he had been unavailable all along. Or, even worse, he might be out of the same mould as Pierluigi and Rossellini, hoping to have his cake, or rather two cakes, and eat both of them.
She didn’t start crying, but she felt an overwhelming sense of loss – ironic really, seeing as only half an hour earlier she hadn’t been aware of having anything to lose.
Her eyes followed the contours of the ground as the hillside fell away towards the roofs of Florence below. These same roofs had been in exactly that same position for five, six, seven hundred years. Beneath them had lived countless thousands of people, some of whom had lived blameless lives, some who had cheated, some lied, some loved, some lost. She was just one more in this endless chain. This knowledge that she was just an insignificant grain of sand on the beach of humanity should have cheered her.
But it didn’t.
She leant back against the bronze arm of the statue and steadfastly refused to let the tears run. For once, her special place was unable to provide the comfort she was seeking.
* * *
Giacomo arrived in the Mercedes just after three o’clock on Saturday. He gave Debbie a searching look as she climbed into the passenger seat.
‘So, are you all right again now, Deborah?’
Debbie gave him a reassuring smile
. ‘I’m fine, thanks, Giacomo.’
‘It’s just that you looked a bit bothered, standing there on the pavement. I’m sorry I was a bit late. I got stopped by the police again, and had to produce my documents for them. They think I look too young to be driving a big car like this.’
‘You weren’t late, and I was just thinking about work. No, it’s all good, honest.’
In fact, he had been pretty close to the mark. Ever since seeing Dario and his girlfriend, she had been wrapped in her thoughts, trying to unscramble the confused sensations going through her head. She had been so sure that all she wanted was a simple friendship with him – but if that were the case, why on earth had she felt that stab of jealousy? The only logical explanation was that she had, deep down, been developing feelings towards him. But, if so, where did this now leave her? Could she still be friends with a man who – she was reluctantly coming round to accepting – meant more to her than that? Not to mention that, as the scene in Piazza di Santa Croce had revealed, it would appear that he was already well and truly spoken for.
Just this morning, she had got a text message from him, asking if she felt like coming to a performance of La Traviata with him that evening. She had replied fairly tersely.
Thanks, but I’m busy.
She got a text back from him almost immediately.
OK. I’ll go skiing with the boys again. Ciao.
Now, as she drove up to Fiesole to have tea with his mother, she had this lingering regret in the back of her mind, as well as the ever-present fear that she was shortly going to discover she had slept with Flora’s future son-in-law. Yes, Giacomo had been right when he said she had looked bothered.
This time, as they drove up the gravel drive to the villa, there was a very smart silver Porsche parked by the steps. Giacomo drew up alongside it and Debbie got out. As she did so, the front door opened and a familiar black shadow came charging towards her. She crouched down to say hello to her four-legged friend and did her best to persuade him not to lick her face. Once his initial, albeit affectionate, assault had been repelled, she straightened up again and headed up the steps to the front door.