You Had Me at Merlot: Part 2 (5 page)

‘Well that’s just totally insane.’ I turned a little pink thinking of my bath that morning.

‘I know. She’d asked him to come and meet her out there, but he was so drunk he’d passed out in the kitchen long before she’d
even removed her bra. And she was pretty sloshy too. After waiting a while she fell into a deep snooze. It was Enzo who found
her, because he always goes to investigate a noise and she was snoring pretty loudly. By the time I arrived he’d eaten half
of the grapes right off her.’

‘Maybe she thought it was her man, and he’d come after all.’

‘Maybe.’

It felt strangely intimate, curled up together on this seat, talking about midnight nudes and eating grapes off bodies. My
mouth was a little dry. ‘What did you do?’

‘I gave her a blanket and walked her back to her room, and that’s where I left her. But – I’m not sure how – the following
morning both her and her man were in there together.’

‘A happy ending, then.’

‘Indeed. It was a waste of grapes, but Enzo had never been happier.’

We chattered for the rest of the journey, and it was as easy as talking with someone I’d known for years, if you ignored the
butterflies that fluttered up every single time we made eye contact. By the time the bus rolled into Florence I was ready
for a little fresh air.

‘Here we are,’ Jamie said to everyone. ‘Florence is beautiful, and there’s a lot to see and do, so make sure you pack in as
much as you can. I suggest you start just there at the tourist information office.’ He held his hand out to me and helped
me off the bus.

‘Where are you two going first?’ asked Donna.

‘We’re going to see the Duomo di Firenze, the cathedral of Florence,’ said Jamie, though I knew he was wishing he didn’t have
to tell them.

‘Is that the bloody great one with the whopping orange roof?’ asked Laurie.

‘That’s the one.’

‘Maybe we should all start there, then I can keep an eye on you with my girl,’ George joked without joking.

So off we trundled, all of us, until we reached the Piazza del Duomo, a wide and bustling space in which the cathedral stood
prominently in the centre, towering above everything, its pale stone walls high and the vast, bright dome dominating.

‘Here we are,’ exclaimed Jamie. ‘You guys have an amazing day, okay? Get lots of stories to tell us all on the way home.’

‘Jamie, can we go in there?’ purred Annette.

‘Yes, go in, look around, go up the dome if you dare.’

Jane stepped forward. ‘Is there a lift?’

‘There’s not going to be a bloody lift, you bloody idiot!’ shrieked Vicky.

‘
Shut your bloody face. Who bloody asked you?
’

‘Jane, shut up, have you seen that guy over there with the greasy hair? Urgh, he’s totally looking at your arse.’

‘Urgh, bloody pervert.’

‘Urgh, look at all them muscles.’

‘Urgh, shall I go and talk to him?’

And with that the Bristolians left us. Jamie subtly placed a hand on my back and, on the pretext of showing me the carvings
on the wall of the basilica, tried to lose us from the group.

‘Hello.’

We turned around and Pierre was behind us. ‘
Ciao
Pierre, what can I do for you?’

‘I am wondering if going up the dome is suitable for a lady. I would like to take Laurie, but she is a delicate flower.’

‘No she’s not,’ I said. ‘She’ll be fine.’ Behind Pierre’s shoulder Laurie was being anything but a delicate flower, ordering
a round of limoncello shots from a street-side café.

‘I think you should go for it, Pierre, just go in the front entrance and they’ll tell you all about it.’

With a nod, Pierre strolled away, finally leaving Jamie and me alone. We circled the entire building as he told me little
facts about Florence’s history, some of them blatantly made up.

‘I find it very hard to believe that Sofia Loren was born here in the Santa Maria del Fiore.’

‘Why?’

‘Because about five minutes ago you said the same about Frank Sinatra.’

‘Ah, busted.’

‘There you are,’ said Annette, appearing in front of us, hands on hips, trying to give Jamie sexy-eyes but refusing to look
at me. ‘I seem to be man-less right now; one of the other girls, whose name I can’t even recall, is all over mine.’ She threw
me a deliberate glance and I ruffled my feathers on behalf of Laurie.

‘I guess some people just aren’t that interested in being around certain other people.’

Annette rolled her eyes and put a hand on Jamie’s arm. ‘If you want to spend some time with me, I’m right here.’

How dare she? He was my date, and even if she doesn’t realise that’s what this is, it’s pretty obvious we’re into each other.
Yes, I was admitting it. Yes, I was having my first jealous patch in years, and it was kind of interesting.

Jamie extracted himself and put his arm around me. ‘Thank you Annette. Although I think I saw Marco going into the Duomo alone
just a few minutes ago.’

‘You did?’

‘
Sì
.’

She cracked a coy smile as a goodbye, and raced off.

‘You did?’ I asked.

‘No. He’s over at that café with Laurie, Jon and Bridget.’

I laughed. ‘Well, this is beautiful. Good first stop, even if the others have dragged themselves along too.’

‘Florence is small, but with all the little streets and secret walkways, I think we can lose them.’

I liked the sound of that. We explored the cathedral inside and out, often veering off to one side, into an alcove or to carefully
study a mural when another member of the group neared us. And besides, from the hand-holding and eye contact I saw going on,
it definitely seemed this lot wouldn’t have welcomed us as chaperones.

The next stop was the Ponte Vecchio, which looked rather a lot like the Pulteney Bridge in Bath, lined on both sides with
boutiques that were crammed together and spilling over the sides, like stubborn old ladies using each other’s bodies to stop
themselves falling down.

We strolled down the centre peering into the jewellery stores, over the wonky paving slabs of the arched walkway to the middle
of the bridge where the shops gave way to views out across the river. We stood for a while, tourist-watching.

‘Is that Laurie?’

Jamie shaded his eyes from the sun and looked in the direction I was pointing, where a woman was loosely draping herself over
a man in an embrace that rivalled any Jack Vettriano painting. They were kissing, tenderly, and when they broke for air she
rested her head on his chest and looked out over the river.

‘And Jon! Lucky man. I thought he was going to be ousted by Marco for sure,’ said Jamie.

‘Me too, but see how content she looks. I don’t mean this to sound like my friend’s a man-eater, but usually when she kisses
she’s all hair-pulling, legs wrapped around, sucking the life out of them like she was the last vampiress on Earth.’

‘
You Had Me at Merlot
: one, us cynics: nil.’

‘I’m beginning to feel a little less cynical, to be honest.’ I wondered if he knew that was my embarrassingly lame attempt
to tell him I desperately wanted him to kiss the hell out of me on this bridge.

‘Me too. They seem to be having a nice time.’

‘Happy.’

‘Happy,’ he agreed.

‘There must be something about this bridge – look at all these couples,’ God, I was disgusting, practically begging for a
snog.

‘Hard to think about anything other than love.’

‘And kissing.’ URGH, where was my filter? I had to remember to punch myself in the face when I got back.

Jamie turned to face me straight on; I mirrored him. His eyes searched mine and he raised his eyebrows playfully. I mirrored
him again, because apparently I’d forgotten how to speak English now. He stepped closer, inviting me to do the same, until
we were inches apart, and there was no question that this was going to happen. Our heads drew closer.

‘
Jamiiiieeee
,’ shrilled a high-pitched West Country accent. We pulled apart just as Vicky and Jane screeched to halt by our sides and
grabbed Jamie’s arms, swinging him around.

‘Jamie, we need you to translate for us,’ giggled Jane, pointing out two pumped-up Italian men with slicked hair who can’t
have been older that eighteen.

I wanted to throw every one of them off the bridge.

‘So this is, um, Franco or something, and I need you to tell him I’m just here for the day but I totally want to go drinking
with him.’

‘And this is my one,’ said Vicky, pulling forward her nameless teenager. ‘And I need you to tell him I’m a model back in England.’

‘And tell mine that I’m a model too.’

‘And tell mine that English girls are the best kissers.’

‘That is true,’ I said through gritted teeth, catching Jamie’s amused eye.

Jamie, ever the gracious host, dutifully translated a stream of embellishments about the girls for the poor boys, and by the
time they left there was much hand-holding, neck-kissing and bottom-slapping.

I was hoping we could start again right where we’d left off, but as the mood had been ruined somewhat Jamie took my hand in
his big, rough one and announced that we were off to look at another man’s penis.

Jamie must have some kind of tour-group deal with the Galleria dell’Accademia, because we managed to skirt the long queue
and head straight inside.

‘We only have one day in Florence, so I’m just going to show you the must-see.’

We wove through halls and galleries festooned with Renaissance artwork until, standing seventeen feet high, was Michelangelo’s
David.

‘He’s ginormous!’ I cried, not especially talking about his not-so-private parts that were dangling about for all of Italy
to see. The sculpture was perfectly carved, from his lifelike toes to his straight Roman nose. There was something humbling
about standing in front of an iconic work of art, whose image is seen the world over. I’d never before been taken on a date
where I’d been shown something so paramount and prominent that I felt my life had changed, just a little bit, for the better.

There were signs everywhere saying no photos, but how could I not capture this? What would happen if I was old, and Alzheimer’s
had set in, and someone was trying to tell me about the day an amazing Italian man showed me this masterpiece and I just couldn’t
picture it, couldn’t remember him?

‘Jamie, shall I try and take a photo?’

‘That’s a million times illegal, you criminal.’

‘But I really want one, and you have to be in it. I need to remember this.’

‘Okay, but if you go to prison it’s nothing to do with me.’

‘I’ll take it really subtly. You just stand next to him and pose in the same way.’

‘In the same way as David?’

‘Yes. Left hand up, jutting hip, look to the distance like you’re thinking,
I wonder if anyone’s noticed I’ve got my man-bits out
.’

‘Okay. Should I take my pants off?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay.’

Jamie strolled over to the statue, uber-casual, taking his time to look up at the penis, circle to the back and study the
butt cheeks. All the while I pretended to text on my phone, keeping an eye on him. Suddenly, he appeared to the side of David
and fell into his pose, and I tilted the phone up and –
CLICK
.

Shit, how could I have forgotten to turn the volume off? The security guard’s head snapped to attention and she began marching
directly for me. I panicked and stuffed my phone in my bag, and Jamie reached me in record time, slinging his arm around my
shoulders and whirling me to face the door, where we speed-walked to the exit.

‘
Mi scusi. Signora. MI SCUSI
.’ The security guard was right behind us but we ignored her, only steps away from the exit. Jamie pushed open the door, shoving
me in front of him, and we both fell out into the sunshine.

And straight into two Polizia who were leaning against their motorbikes.

‘
Signora
,’ said the security guard in a stern voice, catching the attention of police officers. Jamie turned to the three of them
and they all started speaking at once in rapid Italian. The security guard seemed very angry, and the Polizia looked annoyed
at having their break interrupted. Jamie was charming and apologetic, and though my heart was racing there was also something
adrenalin-pumpingly delicious about watching this man defend me in beautiful foreign tongue.

Just look at him go …

I caught the Italian words for ‘wife’ and ‘doesn’t speak Italian’. The two male police officers nodded but the security guard
shook her head and turned on her heel, going back inside the gallery.

Jamie strode back over with a grin and put his arm around me, and then just to make my knees turn completely to jelly after
his Italian-language lesson, he did something deliberately intended to make me melt like gelato. He made a show of giving
me a husbandly kiss on the lips, taking me by surprise though I knew I had to act like it didn’t. So I kissed him back, Florence
spinning around me, my mind muddled with thoughts of how long it had been since someone had their lips on mine and how I could
feel his soft stubble and hot forehead.

As quickly as it started he broke away, slung an arm around me and strode us off across the piazza.

Once we were a safe distance, and I was quite sure I wasn’t going to spontaneously combust, I pulled a grinning Jamie to a
stop.

‘Sorry about that, but I had to tell them you were my wife, and I had to make it convincing.’

‘Were they going to deport me for taking a photo?’

‘No, but I just felt like it. Sometimes the little embellishments can make a story more fun.’

‘And what story did you tell them, exactly?’

‘That you were my new wife from a foreign land, and you didn’t understand Italian very well but are absolutely entranced by
our culture anyway. And that you are very vain and like to take a lot of photos of yourself wherever you go.’

‘You told them I was taking a selfie?’

‘Yes. I was like, look how beautiful she is, why wouldn’t she take a lot of photos of herself?’