Vivien's Heavenly Ice Cream Shop (17 page)

Anna smiled, and took a seat at their table. The terrace overlooked the pretty square, and just a hundred metres or so away was the distinctive silhouette of the Duomo, the cathedral that was the city’s primary landmark. She reached towards the pastry plate and took a cannoli, a rich cream horn, and as she took a bite, the flaky pastry dissolved on her lips. It was still warm, fresh from the oven.

‘Mmm,’ Anna said, in undisguised delight. ‘These are incredible.’

‘Pretty good, eh?’ Matteo said, pouring her a coffee.
‘I think everyone in Italy knows about Giovanna’s pastries.’

‘How do you know her?’ Sian asked.

‘She was our neighbour, before we moved to Siena. My mother and father decided they wanted a change and they set up a gelateria there instead. They said it was getting too competitive here, too political.’

‘And you?’ Anna asked, taking a tentative sip of her drink, which was still hot. She flinched a little – it was stronger than she was used to.

‘Siena was fine for when I was studying,’ Matteo said, pushing a dark curl out of his eyes. ‘My parents wanted me to do something different, so I started training to be an accountant. But it wasn’t for me. Not at all,’ he laughed. ‘I wake up and I think about food, I go to sleep and I think about food. I even dream about ice cream! How could I possibly do anything else?’

Anna smiled in recognition. She wondered for a moment how she’d stayed in her marketing job as long as she did.

‘When I realised that,’ Matteo continued, ‘Bianca’s school was the obvious place to train. I hope that when I’ve finished I can go back to Siena and start up on my own.’ He smiled kindly, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners. ‘But, listen, I didn’t mean to tell you my whole life story.’

Sian was listening to Matteo with rapt attention, and Anna noticed she’d barely touched the pastry on her plate.

‘What do you make of Florence so far?’ he asked them both.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Sian said.

‘Yes, even more so than I expected,’ Anna added. She couldn’t stop marvelling at the elegance in every fountain, each feature of the tall townhouses. It was as if even the most unimportant of structures had been crafted as a work of art, not a functional object.

‘Did you know there’s another reason Florence is the perfect place to study ice cream making?’

‘There is?’ Anna asked.

‘Yes, the famous Ice Cream Festival.’

Anna thought back to her guidebook, wondered if she’d overlooked something. There was going to be a festival of ice cream going on right here in Florence? How had she missed hearing about it?

‘Next week,’ Matteo said. ‘It starts the day after we finish the course. You’re going to see the city transformed.’ His eyes lit up as he talked. ‘Sorbets, ice creams, granitas – you name it, you’ll be able to taste it here.’

Anna grinned with excitement. ‘What an unexpected treat,’ she said. She’d have a day to enjoy it before getting her flight home.

‘Sounds like the perfect way to celebrate after our hard work on the course,’ Sian said, tying her blonde hair back with a hairband. ‘But I’ll be back on a plane to Dublin by then.’

‘Plans,’ Matteo said, with a cheeky glint in his eye. ‘The best thing about plans,’ he went on, ‘is that you can always change them.’

Sian smiled. Anna suddenly felt awkward, as if she shouldn’t be there. Was there something going on between Matteo and Sian that she hadn’t spotted?

‘Right,’ she said, checking her watch. ‘Half past eight. I’m going to walk in a bit early, go the long way by the river. I’ll see you in class.’

‘Today,’ Bianca announced, ‘we’ll be learning to make a fig and almond ice cream.’ From her expression Anna could tell that this was one of her favourites, and as soon as she caught sight of the figs on her table – plump and ripe, almost bursting with juice – she could understand why.

‘This one looks good,’ Sian whispered to Anna. After the terrible ice cream she’d made the day before, Anna had been relieved to be paired with her, and could already see Georgios and Hiro struggling with the ingredients list at the adjacent bench.

‘Today we get serious,’ Bianca said. ‘We don’t have much time, only a week, so I’ll be working you hard on this course, and I expect to see results. Only those who have produced three ice creams of the highest standard will receive the certificate on Friday.’

Anna thought of yesterday’s mess, and how far that ice cream was from being a contender. But today, she vowed, tightening the strings on her apron, was a whole new day.

‘Right. Now, we only have thirty minutes for this,’ Bianca said, ‘so let’s get started.’

Anna glanced over at Matteo and Ria enviously: they
seemed so organised, and in just a couple of minutes, they had their workspace set up and ready to go. Matteo was peeling the figs and chopping them into small pieces.

Anna and Sian got to work, and had soon prepared plenty of fruit for their ice cream, along with some sliced almonds. They chatted as they worked, and Anna found it all came more naturally than the day before. After fifteen minutes they had a mixture ready to freeze in the ice cream machine.

‘Looking pretty good,’ Bianca said, as she passed their table. ‘I think I may have underestimated you, Signora McAvoy.’

It was supposed to be their afternoon treat, but as Anna huffed and puffed her way up the steep steps of the Duomo – Florence’s grand cathedral – later that day she was beginning to wonder if she wouldn’t rather be back in the classroom.

‘Keep up!’ Bianca said, as her class trailed behind her up the stone staircase. ‘We’re almost halfway there.’

After a successful morning of ice cream making, Bianca had suggested that they finish an hour early and take advantage of the beautiful summer’s day by going on a class trip. ‘I’ll be the first to say that ice cream making is important,’ she had told the class after their brief lunch break, ‘but I can’t have you here in Florence for a week without seeing one of the most beautiful sights in the world.’

‘And what happens at halfway?’ Hiro asked.

‘You’re about to find out. Just step through this doorway.’

Bianca motioned to a gap in the stone to her left, and then led the way through.

Anna kept focused on Matteo in front of her, trying not to think about how high up they had climbed. As she followed him through the opening, she found they were on a circular platform leading around the inside of the dome. Beyond the low wall that kept them from falling, she could make out people on the cathedral floor below, tiny dots. She felt a wave of nausea, and gripped the edge.

‘Are you OK?’ Matteo asked, looking back at her.

‘Sort of.’ Anna smiled. ‘I’m terrified of heights.’

‘Try not to look down,’ he said, putting his hand on her arm reassuringly. She allowed it to linger there. It felt good, his touch, and physical closeness meant something different over here, she reasoned.

‘And why would you? Look up, Anna.’ He pointed to the frescoes on the cathedral’s ceiling, in vibrant blues and gold leaf, a depiction of heaven.

‘Wow,’ she said, forgetting all about her previous fear.

‘Do you like it?’

‘Beautiful enough to make you forget how high up we are,’ she smiled.

They went halfway around and then back through another doorway, to more stairs. Anna stopped at a small window on the way up the next flight, and pointed at a collection of metal padlocks attached to the grate. ‘What are these?’

‘They’re to, how do you say … to remember,’ Matteo said.
‘Look,’ he pointed at where people had inscribed or painted their initials onto the metal. ‘You come here with someone who matters to you, and leave a lock as a reminder. So it will always be there.’

Anna thought of Jon. He wasn’t the keenest traveller – he’d only been out of Britain once before, on a stag outing to Amsterdam. But perhaps she could persuade him to come here. Maybe they could retrace her steps and put their own padlock up here. She warmed at the thought.

‘Nice, aren’t they?’ Matteo said, with a smile. He glanced up at the empty staircase ahead of them. ‘They’ve gone ahead. Let’s catch up.’

Anna picked up her pace, and in a couple of minutes they reached the top. She stepped out onto the outdoor platform at the top of the Duomo, and emerged to a view that took her breath away. It was a clear, sunny day and she could see for miles, across the city, past the sparkling river and out into the Tuscan countryside.

‘So what do you think?’ Bianca said, pointing at the view. ‘Worth the walk, isn’t it?’

Anna made her way over to the edge, where her classmates were standing and taking photos. She distanced herself from them slightly so that she could look out at the view.

‘Yes,’ Anna said. ‘It’s stunning.’ Matteo came and stood beside her.

‘It looks to me,’ he said, ‘like your vertigo might be cured.’

Jon opened the door in a pair of boxer shorts. ‘Imogen,’ he said, surprised.

‘Sorry, Jon.’ Imogen was still holding Anna’s borrowed key to the flat in her hand. ‘I didn’t think anyone would be here.’

‘Come in,’ he said, still looking embarrassed. ‘I know, normally I’d be out, but I’m working from home today.’ His hair stood up in tufts and spikes, as if he’d just woken up.

‘I won’t be a minute,’ Imogen said, walking past him. ‘I just need to pick something up.’ She went through into the bathroom, found her washbag right away and slung it into her satchel. She could hear the TV on quietly in the background. Doesn’t sound much like work, she thought to herself with a smile.

She put her head around the doorway to the living room, where Jon was sitting on the sofa.

‘If you’re at a loose end, I’d love a hand at the shop today,’ she said, adopting her most winning expression.

‘Hectic day ahead, sorry. How’s it been going down there?’

‘Good,’ Imogen said. ‘Better. It’s all change at Vivien’s.’

‘What, with Anna’s course?’

‘More than that,’ Imogen said. ‘Come and take a look.’ She nodded towards the window.

Jon followed her cue and got to his feet. She cleared the steam from the window and they both looked out.

‘Imogen, what on earth’s parked in front of our house?’ he said, pointing down at the van in horror.

‘It’s less a case of what it is,’ Imogen said proudly, ‘more what it’s going to be.’

At the café later that day, the list Imogen was writing was getting longer:

Once they had quality ice creams to sell, the more people they could take them to, the better. When she arrived at the shop after visiting Anna’s flat, she’d scrubbed and cleaned the new van so that it was ready to paint. Now she had the more pleasurable task of dreaming about all the places she could visit in it. She checked out the prices for pitches online and noted them down.

Imogen went to the shop’s own website and uploaded some photos of the van for the blog post she was writing. Visitors to the site would be able to see the van being decorated at
various stages, then find out where they could come and buy from it. The screen loaded as the photos went up.

She should put a link through to TripAdvisor too – everyone used that nowadays. She opened a new window and tapped in the URL for the review site and searched for Vivien’s.

A one-star review dominated the page.
Oh Christ
, she thought.
Someone give us a break, please
. Shocked, she forced herself to read it:

Imogen braced herself as she read the final sentence.

The words stared out at Imogen –
Appalling
.
Terrible
 … There was a tiny flicker of relief that the poisoning incident hadn’t been mentioned – but it was still a damning review, the first that many potential customers would see. She flicked to another restaurant review site and saw the same comment posted – then another, and another – all under the same name, with not one positive review to balance them out.

Were they written by the same person who had spoken to the press, or was someone else now trying to break them? All Imogen knew was that if they were to stand a chance of bouncing back from this disastrous week, she had to find out.

‘Ta-da!’ Jess said, putting her iPad down on the counter at Vivien’s. ‘I think I’ve got it. What do you think?’

Imogen looked at the logo that Jess had designed. ‘Vivien’s’ was written in a swirl, in a sweeping vintage script. It was simple but stylish – and would look a treat painted on the outside of the van.

‘It’s perfect,’ Imogen said.

‘Why, thank you,’ Jess replied. ‘Didn’t even have to burn any midnight oil. It came to me right away.’

Imogen fell quiet.

‘Why the long face?’ Jess asked.

‘Oh, it’s nothing. I just read a crappy review for the shop online. It’s nothing worth worrying about.’

‘There are some nasty people out there, but try and forget
about it,’ Jess said. ‘And if you ask me, painting my fabulous logo onto the van is the best possible way to do that.’

‘Tell me you’ve got time to help me?’ Imogen said. ‘I’ve prepped the van, cleaned and scrubbed it. But I’m not an artist.’

‘I’m all yours,’ Jess said. ‘For a limited time only. I wore my best clothes especially.’ Jess’s curly hair was tied up in a topknot and she was in worn jeans and a faded T-shirt.