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‘What, just like that? No more nice, hot, understanding guy?’
‘No, that was the whole problem. It crept up on me. At first it seemed like normal stuff, the end of the honeymoon period. One of us would get on the other’s nerves – it was usually me annoying him, if I’m honest – we’d argue a bit and then make up again. But then it kept getting worse and worse.’ I take a gulp of my wine. ‘It was this constant drip-drip-drip of insults and criticism. Like I couldn’t do anything right, no matter how I tried. And then finally he did something so awful I just couldn’t stand him any more.’
‘The funeral,’ Chiara says.
‘Right. But really, that was the last straw. I was already so worn down and he… well, he was just so angry with me all the time. It was completely miserable. But I suppose I was in denial for quite a long while before that. I kept thinking I could fix things – be better, work harder, do more – right up until the moment when I couldn’t.’
‘I see,’ Chiara says, but I can tell she doesn’t see at all. She’s looking at me with the baffled pity of someone who’s been treated normally all her life, someone who wouldn’t think twice about ditching a partner if he attempted to push her around. I try not to think about Marco. ‘Duncan sounds like an asshole,’ she says at last.
‘He is.’
‘Your family must have hated him.’
‘Not really,’ I say, and bleakness washes over me along with the shame. ‘I mean, clearly Granny had his number. No doubt that’s why he kept me away from her. But the rest of my family… no. Actually, pretty much everyone thought he was great. His employees, his friends, my friends – well, the ones who met him. He was lovely to all of them. Kind, fair, hard-working, a real pillar of the community. I thought I was losing my mind, finding him so hateful. I still wonder sometimes.’
‘I’m sorry.’ It’s obvious that she really is, too. That’s why she invited me out and that’s why she’s been quizzing me about my life for the last half hour. It’s kind of her, and I feel like a heel. ‘We have to find you a nice Italian guy,’ she says.
Oh shit, I’m blushing. ‘No, no,’ I lie, ‘that’s the furthest thing from my mind. Honestly, I’m better off on my own.’
‘Come on. My mother’s French and she always says that the best thing to drive out a nail is another nail.’ She snorts. ‘You know, that sounds kind of dirty now I say it.’
‘I like your mum’s style,’ I say.
‘Oh, she thinks she’s always right. But she’s right about that, you know. There are so many good men out there. It makes no sense to waste your time grieving about the bad ones.’
‘I’m sure Marco’s one of the good ones,’ I say, because I want to show her that I do know about their relationship and that I’m totally fine with it, even if that’s not exactly true. It still nettles me that she said all his clients fall in love with him.
Chiara’s face lights up. ‘Oh, he is. Marco’s the best. I mean, maybe he’s not everyone’s type, but he’s so sweet and funny – and loyal, of course. And so smart! He always got the best marks in our class at school. You’d think he’d turn out to be one of these really arrogant guys, you know, but he just isn’t.’
Jeez, no need to rub it in. ‘That’s great,’ I say weakly. ‘I mean, yeah, he seems really nice.’
Chiara’s phone pings. ‘I think that’s him, actually. I promised I’d meet him for dinner… yes, he’s already on his way there. Hey, you should join us! We’re going to this place that does amazing Florentine steak. You have to try it.’
She beams at me, apparently quite genuine. But the idea of spending the evening playing third wheel to Marco and Chiara is more than I can take. ‘Sorry,’ I say, and hope to sound convincing. ‘I’d love to, but I really should get back to work. Maybe another time.’
‘Of course, your book. You must be under a lot of pressure.’ She takes out her purse, and I wave for her to put it away. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Okay, but I’ll pay next time. I insist. And then you can tell me all about how your work is going. I can’t wait to read it.Ciao ciao.’ She grins again and bounces off down via de’ Tornabuoni in the direction of the river. No doubt she’s deeply relieved not to have a charity case like me earwigging on her date with her fabulous childhood sweetheart.
The sun’s starting to sink, but it’s still warm and I’m beginning to wonder just how I’ll survive the coming summer. I’m slathering on Factor 50 ten times a day, but my arms are already sprouting freckles and I’m getting that pinkish tinge around the collarbone, the mark of the pale Englishwoman in a southern climate. Just another reminder that I’ll never really fit, I think, and the sadness that’s been hovering at the edge of my consciousness starts closing in.
13
Richenda doesn’t get back to me for almost a week. The days get hotter and brighter and the urge to go to bed and stay there gets stronger, but I resist. Instead I attack the museums, dragging myself to at least one each day. I stare determinedly at suits of armour and marble busts and paintings of naked people in improbable situations, but my phone is in my hand and my mind is on my phone. Every time it buzzes with a message or an email, I jump.
I’m at the Palazzo Vecchio (again) when a message from Chiara comes in.Ciao!A friend of mine has an art show opening tonight – want to come? It should be fun.
My heart sinks. Chiara’s been in touch a few times about lunch or coffee or drinks, and every time I’ve turned her down, pleading work. I feel terrible about it, but I’m a nervous wreck. The last thing I want is to inflict that on anyone else.
Apologies! I write back. I’m on a really tight deadline, but I so appreciate the invitation. Sorry to miss out – I hope it goes well for your friend.
Her reply’s almost instant. Sure you can’t come by for a few minutes? Marco will be there and I know he’d love to see you.
Ugh. I’ve heard from Marco once since that evening at Ditta Artigianale. He emailed to ask how I was getting on with Ambra and would I be proceeding under Scots or Italian law, and I said Scots law and she was terrific, and he said well, great, hope it all goes smoothly. Which is fine, of course; it’s positively nice, but it doesn’t exactly scream ‘must have your company now’. Besides, the more I get to know Chiara – who seems nice enough, if a bit nosy, and is apparently determined to be my friend – the worse I feel about letting myself sit there holding hands with her boyfriend. Even though I’m sure it was a completely innocent action on his part. And if it wasn’t – well, that’s even worse again. Really, there’s no good outcome here.
So sorry, I reply. I’d have loved to come, but I just won’t manage it. And then I shove the phone in my pistachio-green bag, right at the bottom where it can’t bother me.
