by Daisy James
As the light faded, an even more extraordinary realisation dawned. For the first time since she and Alex had separated she could actually envisage herself standing in that gazebo, too. She couldn’t prevent a splutter of surprise from escaping her lips, followed by a sharp nip of emotion as tears pricked at her eyes.
Was it really possible that she was contemplating a point in the not too distant future when she would fall in love again and live the life she’d dreamed of before her heart had been blown to smithereens?
Chapter Fourteen
Firenze, Tuscany
Colour: Toasted Terracotta
‘Hey, Izzie!’
She shot to her bedroom window, remembering to grab a hoodie before throwing back the shutters and leaning out to see who’d delivered her early wake-up call – at five a.m.!
‘What time do you call this?’ She laughed, her spirits rising a whole octave when she saw Luca and Gianni’s smiling faces staring up at her, holding aloft giant paintbrushes and a menagerie of paint pots.
‘Are you going to let us in or what?’
‘Down in a minute!’
She pulled on a pair of jeans, her tiredness vanishing as she hurtled down the stairs to open the front door.
‘Buongiorno!’ they chorused.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? We’re rent-a-decorator! You said you needed the bathroom painted and so here we are, at your service.’
With two extra pairs of hands, the bathroom, the pergola, and even the wishing well, were sparkling in the early morning sunlight in no time and the fresh smell of paint – as well as the additional ticks on her list – calmed Izzie’s worries about the state of the villa and its ability to feature as the backdrop for a sophisticated Tuscan wedding. As long as everyone stayed outside and avoided the house, then she was confident she could pull it off. The gazebo and the courtyard were staged, the food had been ordered and taste tested, the wedding cakes were sorted, and all that was left on her list was to visit the florist, Francesca, that afternoon to check the table decorations, the bride and bridesmaids’ bouquets, the buttonholes and the silver urns that would be dotted around the venue to provide additional colour.
‘Okay, that’s it! I’m done!’ announced Gianni, downing his paintbrush and striding towards the kitchen with purpose. ‘I deserve a coffee and a slice of that delicious torte di nonna I spotted earlier. God knows, I need it – lost another two vines to the dreaded leaf rot yesterday, that’s five this month alone.’
‘Any idea what’s causing it?’ asked Luca, his eyes filled with concern.
‘None. I’ve tried everything. I think it might be time to call in the experts. Anyway, I’ll catch you two later.’
‘What do you mean you’ll catch us later?’ Izzie smiled, wondering what new weird and wonderful plan he had brewing in his brain – until she saw Luca staring at her, hesitating. ‘What?’
‘I have something planned.’
‘What sort of thing?’
‘A trip.’
‘Where to?’
A coil of unease began to wind its way from deep in her stomach towards her chest.
‘To the most beautiful city in the world.’
As soon as the words floated from Luca’s lips, Izzie’s anxiety tightened into a helix of alarm, squeezing the air from her lungs and making her feel lightheaded.
‘Oh, well… thanks, Luca. That’s really kind of you, but I can’t leave the villa today. I’ve still got so much to sort out before tomorrow.’
She tried to smile to indicate her apology at having to turn down such a fabulous offer, but the strangled pitch of her voice gave her away.
‘I’ve taken the liberty of sneaking a peek at that clipboard of yours, and it looks like, apart from the flowers, everything else is in hand. And Carlotta agrees with me, too. You need a break from all the organising. It’ll help you see the bigger picture instead of focusing in on the insignificant details like what colour the loo rolls are. It’s a couple of hours, that’s all.’
‘Yes, but my appointment with Francesca is at…’
‘At four o’clock, I’ve checked, and I give you my solemn word to deliver you back in plenty of time.’ Luca placed his hand over his heart and repeated, ‘Promise!’
Izzie swallowed down on the rampaging emotions that had escaped their tethers, trying to formulate the right response to show her gratitude for his kind offer, but also her regret that she couldn’t take him up on it. However, eloquence had hung up its shoes and deserted her so she went with a simple, clear refusal.
‘Sorry, Luca, I can’t go to Florence with you. I just can’t.’
She saw the disappointment float across his face, but thoughts and images of ‘what should have been’ ricocheted around her brain, and her demons circled their prey so vehemently that she struggled to focus on Luca’s response.
‘I understand. You have memories? I can see them in your face.’
But Luca didn’t understand. How could he? He had obviously misinterpreted her reluctance to join him as an unwillingness to spoil a previous ‘special’ visit and that wasn’t the case at all. In fact, it was the complete opposite.
‘I’m sorry, Luca.’
‘No problem.’
Yet, ever since she had stepped from the aircraft steps onto Italian soil, somewhere deep inside she had known she would have to face her fears about visiting the city she and her sister had spent months preparing to visit. They had even started a scrapbook containing photographs, recipes, timetables, skip-the-line tips, menus; all snipped from various holiday brochures, magazines and cookery books. The scrapbook had been Anna’s idea of course; it was the schoolteacher in her – always thinking of ways she could share her special experiences with her pupils. They had intended to add little things like bus tickets, serviettes, postcards and more photographs and recipes, but of course that had never happened and the unfinished album had been wrapped in tissue paper and stored in a trunk alongside other trunks that held similarly painful memories, none more heart-breaking than the one Izzie had upholstered in ivory satin containing Anna’s unworn wedding dress, veil and tiara.
With difficulty she managed to drag herself back to the present and saw that Luca was watching her closely, as if he could see her reminiscences reflected in her eyes, a question on the tip of his tongue but melting away on a reluctance to pry. His expression of complete dejection caused something deep inside her to shift, allowing a shaft of sunlight to penetrate the hard block of dread that had festered in her chest since Meghan had suggested the trip to Florence. Then a question burst into her head.
What would Anna do if she were standing in her shoes?
Izzie didn’t have to wait for the answer. Her sister had greeted every day with a smile in her heart and a spring in her step. Her motto had always been yesterday was gone and tomorrow would never come so why not enjoy today!
Why not enjoy today!
She felt as though Anna was standing in front of her, her hands on her hips, her flowery skirt ballooning in the breeze, cajoling her on like she would one of her pupils, telling her to grab her courage and take a leap of faith, because until you tried something how did you know whether you liked it or not?
Go on, Izzie! Say yes!
She could hear those words, spoken in her sister’s musical voice, and tears pricked at her eyes. So, as instructed, she inhaled a deep breath, plastered a smile on her face, met Luca’s dark eyes, and said, ‘I’d love to visit Florence with you. Thanks, Luca.’
Her spirits edged up a notch when genuine delight spread across his face, right up until they walked round the side of the house and she saw his Spider parked in the driveway. She rolled her eyes at him and he smiled.
‘Izzie, I’m sorry about running you off the road. I can assure you that under normal circumstances I’m a very safe and responsible driver.’ This time it was Luca’s turn to engage in an inner squirm. ‘It’s just that I didn’t expect to see… well, I’d
had a bit of a shock, but that’s no excuse. I apologise unreservedly and promise to make it up to you by driving like a Sunday afternoon gentleman.’
Izzie giggled. ‘It’s okay. Actually, it’s the donkey you should be apologising to.’
‘The donkey? What donkey?’
She laughed and jumped into the passenger seat, enjoying the exhilaration that whipped through her body when Luca fired up the engine and they roared away down the driveway and through the gate posts. Zipping through the Tuscan countryside in an open-topped Spider, along the winding lanes, bordered by olive groves and fields filled with ripening vines, with her hair flying high into the slipstream, instilled a sense of lightness in her that she hadn’t experienced for a long time. She relaxed as Luca kept up a stream of conversation, telling her about his favourite places; some she and Anna had included on their list of Must See’s, others that were new to her.
When they arrived in Florence, or Firenze as Luca called it, they scooted straight into a parking space and entered the city on foot through a soaring Etruscan archway into a cobbled piazza surrounded by four-storey villas with façades the colour of pale caramel, paint-blistered shutters and Juliette balconies. At ground level, every building boasted either a trattoria or a cafe, their tables and chairs spilling out onto the pavements and occupied by a mixture of tourists and local residents, the latter clutching their pet poodles whilst partaking in a tiny cup of rich, fragrant espresso to kick-start the morning.
Beyond the square, Izzie found herself in a labyrinth of narrow streets and shady alleyways bordered by independent family-run stores selling lingerie, handbags, shoes, confectionery, pizza slices, postcards, original artwork – there was not a multinational behemoth in sight and she loved it! Every corner revealed something new – shops selling beautifully carved wooden toys and hand-painted ceramics, market stalls crammed with a kaleidoscope of leather goods, a violinist entertaining the crowds – until she came to an abrupt standstill, her jaw dangling loose as she contemplated the awesome sight before her that no picture or photograph could have prepared her for.
‘Wow!’
It was the only word that came to mind but was completely inadequate to describe the exquisite artistry of the famous Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore and its adjacent bell tower. Its façade, dressed in an intricate mosaic of white, pink and green marble, sparkled in the mid-morning sun, and the engineering masterpiece that was Filippo Brunelleschi’s terracotta copula stood out like a crown on a particularly ornate wedding cake.
‘It’s fabulous, isn’t it? Il Duomo is my second favourite place in the whole city!’
Awed by its elegance, a cauldron of emotions churned through Izzie; appreciation of the creative genius towering above her, fellowship with the myriad groups of tourists who, like herself, stood speechless with their heads tipped backwards in amazement, and searing pain as she was reminded that she was gaping at the city’s most famous architectural wonder without her beloved Anna by her side. Tears gathered along her lower lashes, but she brushed them away with her thumb.
‘Hey, are you okay?’
She felt Luca’s hand on her arm, his breath on her cheek, and she tried to smile, but knew her lips had twisted in something more akin to a grimace.
‘Sorry.’
‘No apology necessary.’
Luca produced a huge white handkerchief and waited for her to dry her eyes.
‘Come.’
She allowed Luca to lead her to a quiet café where he ordered two iced lemonades in rapid Italian. To the backing track of Italian opera, her turmoil eased and her spirits brightened, as if she had broken the seal on her carefully controlled memories and the resultant fizz had dissipated the bottled-up emotions leaving a more serene sensation. As the sugar-fix seeped into her veins, her mood improved further. Now that she had faced the worst – that first sight of the iconic Duomo, the place that screamed Florence – from here on in things could only get better.
‘Florence’s beauty inspires a variety of reactions in its visitors, but I suspect that the city means much more to you, Izzie, than a first-class example of Renaissance Italian architecture. Am I right?’
She nodded, fiddling with her glass, wondering if she had the courage to talk to Luca about Anna and what they had planned.
‘Then it is I who should be apologising. If I had any idea that the trip would cause you such sorrow, I would never have insisted on bringing you here. I assumed, wrongly, that you were employing your workaholic tendencies and I wanted to show you that life is about more than just work. It’s about love, passion, creativity, art, culture, and delicious lemonade!’
She smiled, and Luca smiled back.
‘Okay, so shall we terminate the tour and head back to the villa?’
Izzie took another sip of the freshly squeezed lemonade, taking her time to savour the acidic tang of lemon juice as it glided across her taste buds whilst she considered his offer. Meghan had told her that her trip to Italy would be good for her because no one knew her story there and she could avoid having difficult conversations about her past. Conversely, far from allowing her to hide from her trauma, Italy had stirred up an avalanche of emotions and introduced her to people who could read her sadness easily, despite her attempts to disguise it. Luca might know nothing about what had happened to cause her to morph from the happy, contented owner of her own colour-filled interior design studio into a dull shadow of her former self where magnolia and vanilla were her go-to preferences, but he knew something was wrong and his empathy introduced a blast of faith in the future.
‘No.’
‘No, what?’
‘No, I don’t want to go back to the villa. We’re here now and I want to make the most of it.’
‘Really?’
She loved the way Luca’s eyes lit up at her response.
‘Great! Come! There’s something you have to see!’
Chapter Fifteen
The Boboli Gardens, Pitti Palace, Firenze
Colour: Enchanted Emerald
Izzie laughed as Luca dragged her out of her chair, slotting his palm into hers and adding yet another emotion to the mix – excitement. As the sun beat down from directly overhead, scorching the roofs and the pavements and casting a veil of sparkling diamonds over the River Arno, Luca slipped into his tour guide role, pointing out details, favourite sights, little nooks and crannies that only a local would know.
They meandered through the maze of cobbled streets, past the emporiums of high-end fashion, soaking up the pantomime of daily life. They giggled at a group of Americans dutifully taking selfies on the Ponte Vecchio before following a striped umbrella to photograph the next magical sight on their itinerary. After drooling over the expensive jewellery shops on the bridge, they grabbed a gelato – Izzie’s strawberry, Luca’s saffron – and climbed the hill to the gardens at the rear of the Palazzo Pitti where they settled on a vacant wooden bench to gaze at the magnificent view spread out in front of them.
‘Now this is my favourite place in Firenze.’
Izzie had to agree with him. Every attraction the city of Florence had to offer was displayed before her and she feasted her eyes, fixing the panorama in her memory so that, at a later date, she could take it out and examine it at her leisure. It was so beautiful; the ancient honey-hued stonework, the higgledy-piggledy terracotta roofs, the battalions of marble statues, the way the dappled sunlight danced in the branches overhead, and once again her sorrow poked its head above the parapet causing a tear to trickle down her cheek.
How Anna would have loved to be there, sitting on that bench, jotting her thoughts down in her journal, snapping photographs and selfies, maybe collecting one of the fallen leaves as a memento or as part of a presentation for her class.
‘If you want to talk…’ began Luca, his voice a mere murmur as he reached out to lace his fingers between hers in a gesture of support. ‘If you don’t, then that’s good, too.’
Could she?
Could she really c
ontemplate baring her soul to someone she’d just met when she hadn’t been able to talk to those she loved the most? Could she tell Luca about the soaring peaks of pain that punctuated every day since Anna had disappeared from her life? Okay, Meghan and Jonti knew the facts about what had happened. Meghan had listened, offered sympathy and a shoulder to cry on more times than she could remember, but Izzie had never been able to truly express the deep-seated feeling of guilt that inhabited her heart. Or to explain about the immovable burden she carried with her every day, like a turtle carries its shell, the weight dulling her senses, creating the lethargy in her bones that stole her creativity and stifled her life – all because she was still alive, still functioning, when her sister, her mirror-half, wasn’t.
She snuck a quick glance at Luca from beneath her lashes. He wasn’t sitting there looking expectantly at her, waiting for her to launch into an explanation. He was gazing at his most cherished view, lost in his own thoughts, maybe wrestling with a few demons of his own; the loss of his fiancée or the fact that her love had turned out to be only as deep as his bank balance.
‘I lost my sister, Anna, two years ago.’
There, she’d said it and the world hadn’t come tumbling down on her; the sun was still shining, the leaves were still rattling in the breeze, and the birds continued with their infinite concerto of joy.
‘She wasn’t just my sister, though, she was my twin sister, and my best friend.’
She stopped, inhaled a strengthening breath, desperate to get her narrative in order so she could make Luca understand what had happened as succinctly as possible in order to cut down on the possibility of being faced with a barrage of questions she would struggle to answer.
But Luca simply nodded and remained silent.
It suddenly occurred to her that everyone had a story to tell, whether it be happy, sad or indifferent. If she looked around the pretty manicured gardens of the Pitti Palace, there were lots of people enjoying the view just like they were. What sacrifices had they made to get there? What sorrows did they carry in their hearts? Maybe they were making this special trip in a loved one’s honour?
