‘Poor Alfie,’ Anna said. ‘Of course. I’ll get Jon to call you back right away.’
Chapter Nine
Perched up on a vintage stool at the ice cream bar, Imogen opened her netbook. She resisted the urge to check Facebook – with the weather still grey and drizzly, seeing her friends on Thai beaches was the last thing she needed. She still couldn’t help wondering what Luca was up to. Over a month now, and not one word.
She refused to dwell on it, though. Today, her search was for inspiration. It was time for her and Anna to up their game. It was clear enough from the account books that what they were offering at the shop wasn’t enough to draw the locals away from their regular stops, let alone attract Londoners or other south-coast tourists. It was time to move Vivien’s to the next stage.
She opened Ben and Jerry’s site, and read the story of how they went from small business to global ice cream empire – setting up their first store in a disused petrol station, serving free ice creams to friends and employing a piano player to entertain customers in the long queue for scoops. Now, that was more like it, she thought with a smile. She glanced around, wondering where they might fit in a baby grand. Perhaps not.
She clicked on a new site – a man who’d set up the world’s first mobile liquid-nitrogen truck, creating flavours from port to Stilton, and experimenting with jellyfish to make glow-in-the-dark ices. It looked like he had customers flocking to him. But instinct told her that quirky innovations and piano-players weren’t going to work for Vivien’s. If the busiest cafés in the Lanes were anything to go by, it was quality food and seasonal ingredients that local people really cared about.
Imogen saw it now – with the right approach, they could make the arches, this remote part of the seafront – a destination venue for gourmet ices. But an afternoon or two in Anna’s kitchen with recipes printed out from the internet definitely wasn’t going to do the trick. Vivien’s needed to offer something special – something that would give it the edge that would put it firmly on the south-coast foodie map. It was time for them to train up.
She browsed through high-end gelateria workshops and courses online and then saw the accompanying price tags. OK, this was going to cost serious money – but they could still afford for one of them to attend. Anna had always been a natural foodie, and her passion could end up being their biggest asset. With some investment, a few days learning the craft, surely Anna would be able to produce quality ice cream with the best of them? Then she could teach Imogen, and they’d both be trained. How hard could it be?
Imogen’s excitement started to build as she scanned details of a London cookery school – ‘We’ll teach you how to make sorbets, custard-based ices … ’ But where were the creamy, delicious-looking ice creams, the real gelato?
Of course, Imogen thought, tapping her head and laughing out loud at her own ignorance. Italy!
As she typed in the new search terms, a message popped up on her instant messenger. From: Santiana.
She brightened instantly. It had been over a fortnight since she’d heard from her best friend on the island and just seeing her name was a ray of sunshine.
Imogen, hi.
Hello! Imogen typed back quickly. How are things? Miss me?
Yes, of course. Different here without you.
Different? Imogen thought, furrowing her brow. Strange way of putting it. She typed back a reply.
Different how? Boring? she tapped out. Lost without your drinking partner and dive buddy?
She stared at the blank screen.
Imo, came Santiana’s response after a moment, there’s something I need to explain.
The serious tone of Santiana’s message came as a surprise. Their friendship was simple: they ate together, they swam together, they laughed together. They didn’t have heavy conversations. New lines of text appeared with a ping.
Before you see anything on Facebook
really sorry
Luca and me
Imogen felt like she’d been punched in the stomach.
She opened Facebook in a separate window and clicked through to Luca’s page. She saw the photo on his wall immediately – him and Santiana with their arms round each other, kissing – in the Komodo bar where Luca had once planned to welcome her home.
Luca had said that he’d need time to think – but how did getting off with her supposed best friend come into it?
A new message from Santiana:
Sorry.
Hope we can still be friends when you come back.
Imogen’s hands froze on the keyboard, as she struggled to take in what was happening. This wasn’t how things were supposed to turn out.
She heard the shop door swing open and a male voice cut into her thoughts. ‘You on your own today?’
She looked up, and clocked Finn standing in the doorway. ‘Yes, hi, Finn.’
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. What could she possibly say to Santiana? How could she put the way she was feeling right now into words?
‘I just wondered if you wanted help with anything,’ Finn offered. ‘We’ve had no one sign up for classes today, so I have a bit of time on my hands for once.’
‘We’re fine,’ Imogen said, turning back to her netbook, where Are you OK? had just popped up on the screen. ‘But thanks. It’s quiet today, but that won’t last,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘I’m working on some business development ideas.’
‘Sounds interesting.’
‘Yes, yes, it is,’ Imogen said, impatient to end the conversation and get back to the computer.
He smiled apologetically. ‘I get the sense I’m interrupting something.’
‘You’re not,’ Imogen said, but her eyes drifted away from his and back to the screen.
‘OK. Well, in any case, I’ll leave you to it,’ Finn said, turning away and walking back out of the door.
‘You’re back early,’ Imogen said, staring at Anna, who was standing on the doorstep of their grandmother’s house, sheltering under an umbrella.
‘I know,’ Anna said, a downcast expression on her face.
‘It’s just … I wasn’t expecting you back so soon. I thought you two were away all weekend?’
‘So did I,’ Anna said, stepping inside and putting her umbrella down.
‘I’ll get some tea on.’
Anna followed Imogen through to the kitchen, Hepburn trotting closely behind them. Imogen put the kettle on to boil. ‘We’ve had some bonding time while you’ve been away,’ Imogen said, nodding in the dog’s direction. ‘I’m kind of getting used to him. Anyway, what happened?’
‘Alfie’s sick,’ Anna said. ‘Poor little mite. Jon and I were at this lovely hotel – spa, incredible food, total bliss – but then we got the phone call and came back up here. I dropped Jon off at Mia’s house and now here I am.’
‘It is serious?’ Imogen asked, concerned.
‘I don’t think so, thankfully,’ Anna said. ‘Jon texted me to let me know he was reading Alfie a story and that he seemed calm and happy. His temperature had dropped by the time we arrived.’
‘Shame you couldn’t even stay the night, but sounds like you did the right thing,’ Imogen said. ‘Better to be sure.’
‘Oh, of course,’ Anna agreed. ‘And we wouldn’t have been able to relax and enjoy ourselves, knowing that Alfie was unwell. It’s just … ’
‘Yes?’
‘This is going to sound stupid. But we were in this romantic setting and at one point Jon went downstairs to get something. I thought, for a moment, that he might be going to get a ring.’
‘Ohhh,’ Imogen replied. ‘Understandable. Although of course it ignores the more likely scenario.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘Condoms,’ Imogen said, with a shrug.
‘Oh,’ Anna replied, flushing. ‘God, you’re right. That must have been it. I feel like a right idiot.’
‘Don’t. It was a pretty fair assessment, given the spontaneous break and posh hotel. And who knows, you
may have been right. Here,’ Imogen said, passing her a mug of tea. ‘Let’s go and sit in the front room.’
‘How’s it been at the shop?’ Anna said, a little dazed, settling down on the Chesterfield sofa. ‘Still quiet?’
‘Yes, no change there. Nothing to report, apart from Luca and I have now officially broken up.’
‘Really?’ Anna said.
‘Yep. Santiana told me earlier today that the two of them are now together. With photos to prove it, as it turns out. She said she hoped we could still be friends.’
‘What a cheek,’ Anna said, annoyed on her sister’s behalf. ‘Mind you, I suppose when you look at it from Luca’s point of view … ’
‘I know,’ Imogen said. ‘I realise I didn’t give him much of an alternative. It would be easier if he’d chosen someone else to move on with, but ultimately I can’t really blame him.’
‘I’m really sorry to hear it, anyway.’
‘I feel a bit rubbish, but I guess I made my choice, and perhaps this means that we just weren’t meant to be together.’
‘Maybe,’ Anna said. ‘So you’re not regretting staying here?’
‘No,’ Imogen said, ‘of course not.’
Anna raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘OK, hardly at all. But listen. Things are going to get better, I know it. And I know how we’re going to make that happen.’
‘You do?’ Anna said. ‘I should go away more often.’
‘Funny you should say that. How would you feel about a trip to Italy? Because something tells me it might be just the thing to turn our business around.’
PART TWO
Don’t Give Up, Train Up
Chapter Ten
Anna waited for her luggage to appear on the carousel in Pisa’s tiny, bustling airport. Stepping out onto the runway a few minutes earlier she’d felt the heat immediately, and inside the arrivals hall she was beginning to feel decidedly sticky.
A succession of black and grey bags went past for the third time, followed by a hard-shelled pink suitcase adorned with One Direction and heart stickers. Anna looked out for her familiar red suitcase. What if it never arrived? She bit her lip, thinking of the various outfits she’d packed, and beginning to feel nervous about the whole trip. Had Jon been right when he said the trip seemed like a rush decision?
Here she was in Italy – at the start of June, two weeks after Imogen had first suggested it. Did it really make any sense, going to another country, hundreds of miles away from the man she loved?
Aha! Anna spotted her suitcase and politely wove her way through a young Italian family to swoop on it.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t excited about being in Italy. As she wheeled her suitcase over in the direction of the train station, she thought about what lay ahead. While she’d never been the boldest of travellers, she knew she was lucky to be going to Florence, one of the world’s most beautiful cities, known for its delicious gelato. And on Monday she’d be learning how to make it with Bianca Romeo, a living culinary legend and one of Italy’s top ice cream chefs, at the internationally renowned Accademia di Gelateria. The opportunity of a lifetime. So of course she was excited, but she was well and truly outside her comfort zone.
It did seem that Imogen might be on to something, though. For all her hare-brained schemes, Imogen remained an expert at dreaming big – and with their empty, loss-making ice cream shop staring back at them each day, Anna knew they needed that vision more than ever. If they could offer customers something special – and high quality – then people would go the extra mile to visit. Everyone loved a culinary adventure, didn’t they? And they were prepared to travel for it, too. For Rick Stein’s fish and chips they’d go to isolated fishing villages, and for the mouth-watering, authentically Italian gelato on offer at Vivien’s they’d stroll down the beach, or drive to the Granville Arches.
Now, my job, Anna thought as she strolled towards platform 3, is to make sure that when they arrive, they get something dazzling enough to justify their journey. She checked the destination on the front of the train – Firenze – and got on board.
The train pulled out of Pisa Station, and in just a few minutes Anna was immersed in the landscape outside her window: sun-drenched vineyards, hillsides scattered with golden-yellow houses with terracotta roofs, and cypress trees punctuating the Tuscan landscape, upright and elegant. Anna sat back in her seat and took in her new surroundings. She hadn’t been abroad for years: with Alfie visiting most weekends her and Jon’s priorities were different from those of other new couples. But the colours of the fields and the striking blue of the sky overhead lifted her spirits and her nerves about travelling drifted away.
She found the brown envelope in her handbag and opened it, reading over the details of where she’d be staying in Florence. The penzione, the boarding house she’d booked into, looked like it was only a short walk from the school, the Accademia di Gelateria, where she’d be starting her course on Monday.
Imogen and Anna had looked into every ice cream school and university from Sicily to Venice, checking food blogs and reviews, until they settled on the Accademia – a practical course in gelato-making, with additional evening classes in sorbets and granitas. As she flicked through the course material, her mouth watered at the thought of the creations to come. And as the train neared the city of Florence, vineyards making way for green-shuttered buildings, with balconies where washing was hung up – she couldn’t wait to get started.
Anna took a cab from the taxi rank outside the station and showed the moustached driver the address of where she was going. He nodded and took her bag from her, slinging it into the back of the cab. She was aware of his eyes devouring the cleavage that was visible in her black vest. Flushing, she pulled her top up and got inside. Without air conditioning and on a warm summer’s day, Anna was sweltering hot and sweat trickled down the back of her neck, gluing strands of her hair to it. She wound down the taxi window, hoping for a cool breeze – but the air was as still and warm outside as in.
They careered down narrow streets, horns beeping and tooting from every side, and the driver let loose a tirade of what must have been swear words. Anna kept one hand on the door handle next to her – with the cab driver’s temper rising, she considered whether walking would be preferable to being trapped inside the cab with a lunatic. If Jon were here he’d be horrified – the car’s brakes screeched as they avoided an old lady with a shopping trolley. She looked up – and in just a couple of minutes, the scenery had changed completely. As the traffic cleared, Anna saw that they were in the midst of the most breathtaking architecture – a church with an ornate façade, pretty townhouses with frescoes on the outside and a bustling piazza.
‘Via Fortiori, eh,’ said the driver. ‘Penzione Giovanna.’
‘Si,’ she said.
He pointed at a tall apartment building, indicating that they had arrived. It was a four-storey townhouse with decorative wrought-iron balconies that looked as if they might crumble at a touch.
Anna looked up, and then around the square. Restaurant tables spilled out onto the cobblestones, late afternoon crowds filling the tables, and shops and boutiques offered sparkling high heels, wedding dresses and fresh vegetables. Anna was consumed by the smells, the sights, the sounds. The piazza was intoxicatingly alive.
‘OK,’ the driver announced, jumping out and taking her luggage out of the car boot. Not understanding the figure he asked for, Anna handed him a twenty-euro note and hoped that would be enough.
With one parting, lustful glance at her breasts, the driver got back in his cab and stepped on the gas, heading off into the chaos of Florence’s city streets. With a little shudder of distaste, Anna made her way over to the building he’d pointed out. One letter on the neon penzione sign was still aglow; the others looked like they’d been dark for some time.
Anna checked the number on the door, then rapped the lion’s-head knocker sharply. The sound was lost in the bustle of the square and she wondered if it woul
d be heard at all. A moment later, a stout, grey-haired woman in her fifties opened the door.
‘Signora McAvoy!’ she said warmly.
Anna smiled in response and said, ‘Anna, please.’
The woman pointed to her own generous chest, with a smile. ‘Giovanna. Welcome,’ she said, in heavily accented English. ‘Come in.’
A wave of relief passed over Anna at the sight of a friendly face. Giovanna led her up narrow stone steps until they reached a small room. The modest lodgings, with a single, iron-framed bed next to the window, also contained a chest of drawers, wardrobe and small basin. ‘E piccolo,’ Giovanna said with a shrug. ‘And you are alta,’ she laughed, pointing to Anna.
Anna put her suitcase down and smiled politely, used to the comments on her height. The room was a little smaller than it had looked on the website, but it had character – and there was a lovely shuttered window looking out onto the square. With a smile, Giovanna took her by the hand to show her the bathroom, bright and sunny with antique gold mirrors and a large freestanding, claw-footed tub. Anna could already imagine soothing her weary feet in a bubble bath there later that evening. ‘Bello,’ she said appreciatively, grateful that she’d scanned her phrase book on the plane.
Next door was an even smaller, empty room with the bed made up, as if Giovanna was expecting another guest to arrive.
She gave a little stretch to loosen up her shoulders after the travelling.
‘Stanca?’ Giovanna asked, giving a yawning gesture. Anna thought of all the sights in her city guide, and wished she wasn’t so tired.
‘Tonight, rest.’ Giovanna smiled. ‘Then tomorrow, Sunday – godere! Enjoy!’
Chapter Eleven
Imogen poured strawberries into the blender and switched it on. She was up at midnight, in the kitchen of her grandmother’s house, preparing home-made ice cream.
Yes, she and Anna had said they’d wait another month, when Anna was fully trained up and could run Imogen through the basics, ready for the launch of the new homemade range – but Imogen needed something. If she didn’t keep busy, her mind would drift back to Luca, and the pangs of regret would start to take hold.
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