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Stella sighed. ‘But that’s not who I married. And that’s what I just can’t understand. Did I just not see him for what he was? Seriously, have I been a complete bloody idiot all these years?’ Stella passed her cup to Bridget. ‘More please.’
Bridget filled it to the brim, bubbles frothing over the top. ‘No, Stella. You are not an idiot. None of us saw this coming. I admit I wasn’t his biggest fan, but that’s more because he didn’t seem interested in us as your friends. He always wanted you to himself.’
Lucy shot Bridget a look and shook her head slightly.
Bridget got the invisible memo and changed tack. ‘Look, Stella. We can only imagine how hard this is for you and we want to do everything we can to help you. But stop blaming yourself. None of this is your fault.’
Stella nodded slowly. But the reality was now as clear as the blue sky above her head. He’d stolen money and left. The question was: why?
15
Slowly, the friends headed back into the city centre in search of ice cream, crossing the next bridge along from the Ponte Vecchio to get there. They’d stopped halfway across for a few moments to look back towards the bridge and watch the changing reflections in the river below them.
‘I love the way the river cuts through the city, like it’s a way out at any time,’ said Sarah, to herself as much as anyone.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Stella.
‘Well, think of Siena, with its walls keeping you in. But Florence is so small, neat even. Hills on either side but the river gives you the option to leave whenever you like. I kind of like that about it.’
On they went, by now in search of both ice cream and a loo (the Prosecco had taken its toll). The road they took into the city led them to the huge Gothic church of Santa Croce with a large piazza in front of it, surrounded on all sides with three-, four-, five-, six-storey buildings, all with a distinctly medieval feel. It was quieter than the area around the Duomo, and they wandered into the church, a great echoing cavern, and walked around the vast space inside, stepping into the various chapels lining the walls. They passed Dante’s monument and Michelangelo’s tomb, a rather ugly structure they all agreed, given the man was one of the greatest artists to have ever lived. However, Giotto’s frescoes made up for it, delighting them with their calming colours and compositions.
As they walked back across the piazza, their thoughts turned from statues to ice cream, Lucy checked her map on her phone and led them off the piazza and along a narrow street, until there, opposite a small church, they found what they’d been looking for: the ice cream shop of Lucy’s childhood dreams.
They entered the tiny space, most of which was taken up by a curved wooden counter topped with stainless-steel tubs holding ice creams of every colour behind glass. Stella went straight in with her order – one scoop of chocolate and one of pistachio – and took her tub outside while she waited for the others. Sitting on a stone bench, just in front of a small church, she stuck the small wooden spoon into the soft ice cream, taking only the fresh, fragrant pistachio first, and let the flavours fill her mouth. Then came a small mouthful of chocolate, sweet and unctuous.
Sarah joined her (vanilla and hazelnut), then Bridget (chocolate and Stracciatella) and finally Lucy with what looked like a cup of coffee.
She took a seat at the end and showed them the cup. ‘Affogato,’ she said, nodding at it. ‘Ice cream with a shot of coffee on it. Two birds, one stone.’ Lucy took a noisy slurp, followed by a sigh as the combination of sweet ice cream and strong, bitter coffee worked its magic on her taste buds.
They sat eating their ice creams, dipping their spoons in each other’s tubs to get a taste of everything. Then, once every last drip had been scraped from the sides, they dropped their tubs into the bin, while Lucy returned her cup to the counter.
‘What’s that?’ Stella pointed at the small stone window in the wall just about a foot above the floor in between the two doors of the shop as Lucy came back out.
‘It’s a wine window,’ said Sarah, looking pleased with herself. ‘I read about them once. Apparently, when the plague swept through Florence in sixteen hundred and whatever, these popped up all over the city so wine merchants could still serve wine to customers by handing the glass through the wall.’
‘What a brilliant idea, I think we should have them reinstated. Minus the plague, obviously,’ said Stella. ‘Actually, what are we going to do this evening? I mean, thinking of drinks.’ She drained her cup. ‘And food, obviously.’
‘How about back to the hotel to put our feet up for a bit and we can head to that lovely square we walked through last night, find one of the restaurants there,’ said Sarah.
‘Does that mean you’re not going to make me climb that bloody bell tower?’ Bridget looked at Sarah, her eyes hopeful.
‘Not today, but honestly, I think we really must do it tomorrow before we leave. We can’t come all this way and not see the city from above. We can either do the Duomo or the bell tower, your choice, but we’ve got to do one of them.’ Sarah’s eyes fixed on Bridget until she got a nod of agreement back.
‘OK, fine. We’ll climb stairs first thing in the morning.’ Bridget shrugged.
They wandered slowly back across the river, their surroundings now feeling pleasingly familiar. Plans were made as they parted outside their rooms to meet back at six, ready to head out to watch the sunset from Piazzale Michelangelo, about a half an hour walk from the hotel.
Once back in their rooms, Lucy headed straight to the bathroom for a shower and Stella flopped onto her bad and picked up her book. She managed barely a chapter before falling asleep, her early start that morning catching up with her. She woke to the sound of Lucy’s voice, gently asking if she would like her to run her a bath. Stella nodded sleepily, thanking Lucy.
As she lay in the huge roll-top tub, her feet up on the taps at the other end, Stella tried to remember the last time she’d had an uninterrupted bath. Looking out of the small window across the garden, she counted her blessings that she had her friends around her. She thought of her children, wondered how deep the wounds were, how long they’d take to heal. There was so much to think about, but at the same time, Stella remembered her father’s words. One day at a time.
She heard her phone ping in the bedroom.
‘Do you want me to see who that is?’ asked Lucy.
‘It’s OK, I’ll be there in a minute.’ Stella stepped out of the bath and dried herself before wrapping the thick white hotel-fluffy towel around her. She came back into the bedroom to find Lucy tapping away on her phone. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Yes, just watching one of my authors on Instagram. She’s a wellness author, but the irony is she’s barely been off social media for the last five years. Honestly, you’d think people would have worked out it’s all smoke and mirrors by now.’
