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Chapter Eleven
Hard to believe it, but today was our last full day here.
I felt so relaxed. The combination of the idyllic surroundings, great company, fantastic food and learning new skills (although Lorenzo would say not quickly enough) made it a great getaway. Albert was surely presiding over everything to help me enjoy myself.
Monday was a working day, which meant I should be checking my emails… no.Stop!The deal was 11 a.m., wasn’t it? And it was only seven. With breakfast at eight, that gave me a full hour to get ready.
I’d enjoyed being more low-key with my dress sense, wearing less make-up and, as we were working with food, putting my hair up in a loose, ‘undone’ ponytail these past few days—something I’d try to do more often when I was back. However, because we’d be venturing outside of our cosy group to Florence, and it was our last full twenty-four hours together, I decided there was no harm in making a bit more of an effort on the appearance front today.
After my shower, I painted my toes so that they could dry whilst I was brushing my teeth. I applied my make-up, then smoothed out my hair with my hairdryer so I could have it down.
What to wear? I wanted to keep the clothing comfortable, but I was sure I had a little something more smart casual.
I opened the wardrobe and sifted through the rail of clothes I’d neatly hung up when we’d arrived to ensure they didn’t get creased. Starting from the left, I pulled out a black slogan t-shirt. Nah.
Next I came to a black Karen Millen jumper, which I’d packed to look more high street and less Bond Street. Nope.
I continued trawling through the hangers. Ah yes.Thiscould work. I pulled out a vibrant orange mini dress—one of the items that mum had given me for my birthday. Whilst she comes across as regal and always looks immaculate, she loves nothing more than a good rummage at TK Maxx and refuses to spend lots of money on clothes. And she thinks the amounts I pay are ridiculous.
Once, when she spotted the price tag on my Victoria Beckham V-neck dress whilst she was nosing through my dressing room, she almost fainted. ‘How much?’ she’d shouted. ‘You could buy three hundred dresses in Primark for that—literally a new one for every day of the year!’ As well as trying to encourage me to look more relaxed, I think she’s convinced that if she keeps giving me high street clothes, I’ll realise the error of my ways and stop buying designer altogether.
I held the orange mini dress up to the light and checked the label. Top Shop? I’d always considered them as a younger brand, but it still looked good. Yep. This was the one.
I took a fresh pair of leggings off the hanger to wear underneath. Yet another gift from Mum. Leggings were not something I’d normally wear unless it was for Pilates. I checked the label. Atmosphere? Hadn’t heard of them. The tag was still on. £2.50 from Primark! That’s practically the same price as a coffee at Pret. Wow. I knew Mum had always gone on about it being cheap, but that was crazy. This would be at least £60 in Whistles or Joseph. It’d be more stylish, but you can’t argue when something’s that inexpensive.
Right, footwear: now my toes had been painted, I could wear my sandals. A lot more feminine than the pair of white Converse I’d been living in for the past few days. I grabbed my phone and checked the weather. A quick search for Florence revealed that it would be a sunny eighteen degrees until 6 p.m., when it would become cloudy, followed by heavy rain at eight. That was fine. We had our last cookery lesson later this afternoon, so we’d be back before then. Black and gold sandals it was.
I stood in front of the long mirror on the wardrobe door. That’s better.
I’d scrubbed up okay. It wasn’t full-on work-mode scrubbing up—just a more comfortable version. How I’d wanted to feel when I went out, but I’d always been paranoid about bumping into clients without heels or being completely done up to the nines.
As a beauty PR, I felt that I need to look glam at all times. That I’d be misrepresenting my brands or letting them down if I wasn’t a walking advert for their products. But today I was off-duty, so I decided to wear make-up, but nowhere near as much as normal. No primer, concealer, blusher, highlighter, lip liner or eyeshadow. Just eyeliner, mascara, a bit of eyebrow pencil, a little base and a nude lipstick with a slick of pink gloss on top.
I was ready for action. Well, not quiteaction, as we’d established that I didn’t have a cat in hell’s chance of that happening, but I was ready to face the day. Whether that involved more criticism and scornful looks from Lorenzo, I didn’t care. I was feeling great, so screw him (if only…).
I walked downstairs and glanced in the kitchen. Mr Moody was there, making coffee.
‘Buongiorno,’ I said cheerily.
He looked up, and maybe it was just me, but I could have sworn that his eyes momentarily popped out of his head. Okay, maybe they stayed in their sockets and didn’t extendallthe way, but there was definitely a hint of surprise in his eyes. Perhaps evenpleasantsurprise tinged with a touch ofdesire?
‘Buon–buongiorno,’ he stuttered. And, wait: I think he just strained a smile.
No way. Either that or he had wind? Wonders will never cease.
‘Buongiorno, Sophia. Wow!’ said Erica as she bounded into the kitchen, heading for the fridge. ‘Che bellezza!You look very beautiful today!’
‘Grazie, Erica,’ I said graciously.
Well, that’s a promising start isn’t it?Lorenzo had actually spoken to me and even tried to smile, which was probably such a painful experience that he might shortly need medical attention. Erica said I looked nice too. I know as a confident thirty-nine-year-old woman, I shouldn’t need validation from others, but hell, I’m human, and who doesn’t like to be complimented?
After a quick breakfast, we all bundled into the people carrier and nattered the whole way to Florence. It dawned on me as we arrived that it was now approaching 11 a.m.—email checking was on the schedule.
Fuck it! I’m on holiday.For once in my life, I wouldnotbe checking my messages. Time for a mini digital detox. Whatever it is could wait until I got back.
Even more progress.
The driver dropped us off just outside the perimeter of the centre, so within minutes of walking, we were at the Piazza del Duomo. The Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore was breathtaking. The exterior was a decorative mix of pink, white and green marble. I’m not the most cultured person and was never one to do the whole museum/monument sightseeing thing when I went away (I’m more of a beach holiday kind of girl—well, I would be, if I actually took proper breaks), but evenIcould appreciate the beauty of this city.
