‘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.’
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 would 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!’
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.
So she’d decided to try out two flavours now, keeping things simple – chocolate and a fresh strawberry, with some fruit she’d found discounted at the end of the day at the local greengrocer’s. Imogen licked the spoon and let the mixture dissolve on her tongue: the strawberry was absolutely delicious. The chocolate wasn’t bad either – but you couldn’t really go far wrong with chocolate, could you? She hadn’t used all the bits and pieces that Anna had shown her but she’d got the job done with what was in Vivien’s kitchen. Imogen smiled with satisfaction – it felt good to do something
creative rather than simply feeling sad about what could have been.
She put the tubs in the freezer so that they’d be ready for her to take to the shop bright and early the next day. Tired but satisfied, she climbed into bed, pulled the feather duvet up around her and fell into a deep, relaxed sleep.
On Sunday morning, Imogen took out the standing chalkboard sign she’d found in the shop storage cupboard, and chalked up a message, using the shop’s trademark pistachio and pastel pink shades:
She smiled as she placed it outside, excited about the day ahead.
The morning sun was quickly drying the rain-drenched concrete in front of their shop, and it looked like for once the weather might actually be cooperating with her plan. Rollerbladers skated up and down, swirling in loops around cones, and even the gulls seemed to be singing out a happy song as they dived down into the seafront bins to find breakfast.
From his regular spot at the front of the shop, Hepburn barked at the birds. Imogen pulled her cardigan around her and looked out for any likely customers. She was startled by a blur of fur as a golden retriever dashed past her, heading straight for Hepburn.