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‘No, actually,’ I say. ‘Granny was very strict on that account. The money is for me to use and me alone, so if I’m honest, I didn’t even tell him about it. Is that a problem, do you think?’
Ambra shakes her head. ‘No. No, absolutely not. In fact, I’m very relieved to hear it. And you have enough to live on, for now anyway? Because if some kind of interim maintenance is needed—’
‘I’m comfortable. At least for a while.’
‘That’s good. And do you feel safe where you are?’
No.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I mean… yes, of course. Actually…’ I have to clear my throat. ‘If we go ahead with this – if I’m the one who files for divorce – will I have to see him? Talk to him?’
‘No,’ Ambra says. ‘You can direct all communication through me, so you won’t have to see him or talk to him. Not unless it goes to court.’
‘I really don’t want to go to court,’ I say.
‘I understand. But look, Tori.’ Ambra taps her pencil against her notepad. ‘Obviously I can’t make any definite statements, certainly not at this stage. But if what you’re telling me is anything to go by, Duncan won’t want to go to court either. In fact, he should be very wary of doing so.’
*
When the call ends, I pace around the living room from door to window to sofa to kitchen to door. The rage in my gut is growing and I feel horribly restless. Of course I knew on some level that Duncan wasn’t being fair to me when he said all those things about my being useless, a burden, not contributing. But to hear it stated by someone else – to be told in such plain, businesslike terms that I wasn’t useless, that I was far from a burden, that I did contribute… I stop at the window and lean on the sill, staring out into the sun-baked street as the memories assail me again.
Like the London thing. The year before last, I had a particularly fat royalty payment from the ALCS – apparently lots of people had been photocopying my articles, or something – and I was going to use it to go and visit my best friend from school, Sarah. She and I had barely managed to see each other since I married Duncan and she got a terrifically high-flying PR job. I’d told Duncan I planned to go, and he’d said it was all right. But then when I went to book the train ticket, my card was declined. The ALCS money was gone.
I actually got upset that time. I barrelled along to Duncan’s office and asked him why he’d withdrawn the money when he knew perfectly well that I had plans for it, and he looked at me like I was stupid and said that the feed barrier in the sheep shed had to be fixed; that I’d have noticed if I ever went near the sheep myself, or did anything other than drift around the house playing at lady of the manor. So then I had to phone Sarah and explain that I couldn’t come after all. She listened to me for a bit and then said quite calmly that it was fine. I’d cancelled on her so many times that she didn’t expect me to make it anyway. And now she doesn’t talk to me, not really. We exchange the odd text, if I message first, but that’s it.
‘Right,’ I say out loud. ‘Need to get out.’
I grab my bag from the sofa, slip on my sandals and head down the stairs. It’s stifling outside and the afternoon sun is beating down. I never usually go out at this time of day. I linger in the shadow of the doorway, unsure of what to do next, until I hear someone calling my name. Elisa, who runs the bar across the road, is waving to me.
‘Ciao, Tori! Just the person I need to see. Do you have a moment?’
I cross the street, flinching as someone on a bike swerves past me. ‘Ciao, Elisa. What’s up?’
‘This just arrived,’ Elisa says, brandishing a copy ofFiorenza, one of those glossy English magazines you find in stacks all over the city. ‘There’s an article about the bar – just a short review – Alessio speaks better English than I do, but he’s not working today. Would you mind reading and telling me what it says? If you have time.’
‘Of course,’ I say.
‘Oh, great. Sit down, sit down. Do you want a negroni?’
‘If it’s not too early.’
‘Come on,’ Elisa says. ‘It’s always the right time.’ I sit down at a table in the shade of an umbrella, and she hands me the magazine before going inside to make my drink.
The review is easy to find.Ten Hidden Gems in Central Florence, the headline reads, and then there are ten little mini-reviews of various bars and restaurants. I’m gratified to see that Trattoria dei Serragli is in there, too.
‘Well?’ Elisa asks when she re-emerges. She places the negroni in front of me along with various dishes of nibbles.
‘This is really good,’ I say. ‘Listen.Tucked away in a quiet street near the Duomo, Bar Dianora is a charming little place. Come here for warm hospitality, excellent cocktails and a decent selection of Tuscan wine, all at a more than reasonable price. We especially love the aperitivo with a generous spread of cold cuts and crostini. Our favourite discovery this year.And look, you’re right at the top of the page.’
‘But that’s amazing!’ She takes the magazine from my hands and looks at it, beaming. Her joy is so evident that even my spirits lift a little. ‘Thank you, Tori. This is just wonderful.’
‘It is,’ I say. ‘It really is.’
12
The ten thousand words are finally ready on the morning of Richenda’s deadline day. I polish them as much as I reasonably can and send them off. She replies almost instantly.
Thanks, darling. Will be in touch ASAP. Now go out and have some fun!
