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‘It’s nothing, really – we had a misunderstanding. I’ll tell you about it when you get back.’
‘Are you sure? If something’s wrong…’
I almost tell him. I almost open my mouth and let it all spill out, but I can’t just tell him over the phone that Duncan showed up. I need to do that in person. Maybe Chiara will call him before I can do it – maybe he’ll even be as confused as she was, but that’s a risk I need to take.
‘No, it’s fine. Nothing to worry about. I’ll see you later, okay? At mine,’ I say hastily. ‘I’m back here now sorting things out.’
‘Okay. I’ll come straight round. I can’t believe it,’ he says. ‘About Stella. It’s just fantastic.’
‘It really is,’ I say.
*
By mid-morning I’m fizzing. I try to work, or rest, or do anything but obsess over what just happened with Duncan. But the fear’s subsiding and the anger’s rising. I can’t think about anything else. I can’t rest, and I’m certainly not going to get any work done.
Maybe it’s time to do what Marco’s been nagging me to do for ages, and take a day off. I could, I suppose. I’ve been making good progress with Achille’s letters, and now I’m actually going to talk to Stella… The book’s going to be all right, I realise, and a little warm glow sparks up somewhere inside me. It’s going to be better than all right.
I suppose I could go to a museum. I haven’t been back to the Uffizi yet, and that was one of Granny’s favourite places. The Uffizi takes a whole day if you want to do it properly, and for the last weeks I just haven’t had a day to spare. I have a day now, though. Marco isn’t back until around seven, so I could totally go to the Uffizi.
The idea is quite galvanising. I chug down some more coffee, put on my most comfortable shoes and practically bounce down the stairs, feeling like a woman with a plan. But then I walk out from my quiet street into via de’ Pucci and find it heaving with people dragging suitcases and consulting maps and taking selfies, and my resolve fails. I don’t want to stand in line for ages so I can haul myself around a museum. I don’t even know what I was thinking. No, what I want is peace. Somewhere I can be alone, but not isolated; somewhere I feel safe and understood.
Suddenly, I know exactly where I need to go.
*
As I emerge from Romituzzo station into piazza Achille Infuriati, I’m already starting to feel better. The square is quiet – empty, in fact, bar an elderly lady sitting on one of the benches with her little dog. The only other human in sight is Totò, who’s cleaning the tables in front of his bar. I wave to him and he beams, setting down the spray bottle and tucking the cloth into the pocket of his apron.
‘Ciao, Tori.’ As I approach he advances towards me, pulls me into a brief bear hug and plants a kiss on each cheek. ‘Come to do more research? Please tell me you have. My dad will be over the moon.’
‘Not today, though I will, I promise. I’ve just come to spend some time with Achille.’
Totò nods. ‘Say hello to him from me. Are you heading there now?’
‘Yes, I thought I’d go while it’s quiet. And then come here for lunch, if you’ve got a table for me?’
‘Of course. I’ll see you shortly. Oh, wait a second.’ Holding up a hand, he vanishes into the bar and returns holding out a little bottle of water. ‘Take it, please. I know summer’s over, but the humidity’s a killer today. Don’t want you passing out.’
He’s right, too. By the time I arrive at the cemetery gates, sweat’s rolling down my back and I’m regretting wearing jeans. I down half the water straight off and tuck the bottle into my bag.
The roses on Achille’s grave are still red, the petals darkening around the edges. When was Stella last here? Yesterday, the day before?I had such a shock when I saw you,her voice echoes in my mind.I thought it was Rita back from the dead.
‘Not Rita, I’m afraid,’ I murmur out loud, brushing the marble of the tombstone with my fingers. ‘Sorry, Achille. But then I suppose you’re with her now, if that’s how the universe works.’
It’s funny: I thought I’d feel silly talking to Achille, but somehow I don’t. There’s nobody to hear me, after all. And I’ve spent so much time reading his personal letters, talking about him, thinking about him, that he feels like… like a person in my life. A friend, or a family member – though, come to think of it, he’s a bloody sight more reliable than either of those. I feel like I could tell him anything; weirdly, I actuallywantto.
I take a deep breath. ‘Achille, I’m scared,’ I say. ‘Okay, mostly I’m angry. Really, really angry. But deep down I’m scared. Maybe that’s even the main issue.’
Wow. That actually does feel better. I look around to make sure I’m definitely alone, and go on.
‘I’m not scared of Duncan any more. No, that’s not right,’ I say, as my gut gives an unpleasant squeeze. ‘I am still scared of him. He terrifies me. But I’m scared for other reasons too.’ The words are starting to flow now, coming of their own accord. ‘What happened this morning was horrible. And on top of that, and I know I shouldn’t be, I’m worried about what Marco’s going to think. What if he doesn’t believe what I tell him? What would that say about him? Honestly, Achille, if I’ve gone and got involved withanotherarsehole—’
My phone starts ringing at the bottom of my bag. I fish it out and my heart sinks as I see Charlie’s name on the screen.
‘Sorry about this,’ I say to Achille. ‘I know it’s rude, but if I have to talk to her then I’d rather have company while I do it.’ I accept the call and put the phone to my ear. ‘Yes?’
‘Before you start,’ Charlie says, ‘I had no idea he was going to show up like that. You have to understand.’
Oh God, I’m so tired. ‘You gave him my address,’ I say.
