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Olivia smiles shyly as I start the engine and pull away down the street.
“Trattoria di Stefano is on the opposite bank. It’s not that far away.” I laugh, then add, “But I need to drive a big loop around the city. It’s a good thing I like driving. Especially this car, so I don’t mind.”
Olivia clutches her bag in her lap and faces forward looking directly ahead. She is probably captivated by the magic of the place, which is not at all devalued by the tourist numbers that increase year on year.
“When is Florence for the Florentines?” I say, voicing my thoughts as the Alfa Romeo roars through the one-way system. “Never. It is universal. It is Italy’s gift to the world.”
Olivia smiles and nods and flicks a sideways look across at me but doesn’t say anything. Perhaps she is in awe of the city we’re driving through.
“Italy, the tourists forget, is a relatively young country,” I continue as we cross the Ponte Alli Grazie. I briefly take in the view of the lit-up night-time Ponte Vecchio reflected perfectly in the water below. “The states were only unified, and Austria kicked out, in the mid-nineteenth century. It’s easy to forget, when most of what you see around you, when you visit, is ancient, going back to the empire of Rome and further back still.”
Olivia looks preoccupied. Perhaps I am boring her. Or maybe she is self-conscious, shy. She seems on edge. Perhaps she will be overwhelmed by the people and the restaurant. Maybe we should have gone to a less up-market place. Would that make Olivia feel more comfortable? I drop down a gear to take a corner.
“It’s such a special place,” says Olivia eventually.
“Yes, it is.”
We arrive at Trattoria di Stefano. I pull up outside. A uniformed valet opens the car doors for us. His eyes light up when I give him the keys. “Careful with her, okay?” He grins and climbs into the driver’s seat.
We are shown to a table set for two in the window with a view of the lit-up city across the river. The view is why I like coming here, but the food is legendary too. Olivia sits quietly and nods when I suggest a Negroni to start. The waiter says he’ll bring the drinks and be back to take the dinner order when we are ready.
“I love the Negroni,” I say, hoping some chitchat will relax my companion. “This cocktail was invented here in Florence, and you know, it doesn’t taste right anywhere else. But that could also be me.” I pause for a moment and look around. I don’t see anyone I recognize. The place is filled with tourists enjoying my town. Who can blame them? It’s just so beautiful on such a night. I turn my attention back to Olivia who is more tense than ever. “I didn’t ask before, Olivia. Is this your first time in Italy?”
The waiter comes back with two Negroni’s on a tray with a small plate of green and black olives. He makes a show of placing each glass on the table in front of us. The olives are for sharing, in between.
“Saluti. Cheers.” I raise my glass to Olivia’s. The quality crystal sings on contact. Olivia smiles but avoids my gaze. She sips her cocktail.
“That’s delicious,” she says, then she takes a big gulp. Half the Negroni is gone in one swallow. “Phew. Very nice.”
“Easy. It’s quite strong.” I sip mine and put the glass down. “So, is this trip…” Olivia cuts me off mid-question.
“No. I’ve been here before,” Oliva says, finishing her cocktail in another gulp. She puts down the empty glass, then waves at the waiter for another one.
“Ah, really. You didn’t say.”
“You haven’t asked… before now.” She almost snaps out her prickly response.
I’m taken aback by Olivia’s tone, but I brush it aside and say, “So, tell me about it. When did you come?”
Olivia stares at the Ponte Vecchio and sighs. “About ten years ago. I was on a school trip.”
“Ah, how wonderful. And did you like it? What is your best memory?”
“I fell in love.”
“With the city? I can imagine.”
“Yes, with the city, but also… I met the love of my life.”
“Ah yes. So romantic. I think your story is typical of coming to Italy. It’s true what they say about us Italian men, isn’t it?” I’m making a joke, but Olivia isn’t laughing. Her face is set and stern. Another negroni arrives.
Olivia drinks half the cocktail then says, “My heart was shattered. And…” She drinks some more before taking off her glasses. Then Olivia turns to me. “Gianni. It’s me, Libby.”
The whole world is silent and still. I’m confused. My memory flip-flops back in time to meeting the feisty girl with the sketchbook on the bridge. I didn’t know how to get her attention, she was so lost in her drawing. Then I bounced my soccer ball too close. It wasn’t the most elegant move, but it worked. She wasn’t happy at first, but I won her over, eventually.
“Libby? Is it really you?” I pick up my Negroni and take a long drink. “You are so…” I try and think of what I want to say. “… different. I had no clue.” Then after a minute, I ask, “How did you know it was me? When did you know?”
“I am so different, but you are exactly the same.”
