Chapter Thirteen
I felt a shadow over my face and opened my eyes, to find Tony blocking my sun. I’d already done fifty lengths of the pool and was taking a moment to enjoy some morning tanning time, before the heat got too intense.
‘You are going to be SO impressed with me,’ he announced, confidently.
‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ I said, sitting up, my head now level with Tony’s crown jewels. He sat on my sunbed and bounced around excitedly, clearly very pleased with himself.
‘I’ve got us in,’ he said.
‘Who in where?’ I frowned, confused.
‘Us into the Uffizi.’ He held his hand up for a high five. ‘Can you believe it?’
I couldn’t and I didn’t. He must be winding me up. The website said it was closed, and social media had been in a frenzy as tourists rocked up day after day and were turned away.
‘Yeah, right,’ I said, rolling my eyes and lying back down.
‘I have!’ he insisted. ‘An old pal from uni works there and said he can get us in for a few hours. We’ll have to use a secret underground entrance, but he’ll open it for us.’
‘Is your friend the security guard?’ I scoffed. ‘Or the bin man? Do we have to throw ourselves headfirst down the rubbish chute?’
Tony looked hurt. ‘No,’ he said, tightly, ‘but if you don’t want to go, that’s fine.’
‘Are you serious? You’re not having me on?’
‘Of course not. I wouldn’t joke about something like that – I know how much you want to go.’ He shrugged and stood up. ‘But it’s cool, I’ll just call him back and cancel.’
‘No, no, no. Sorry, don’t cancel,’ I said, panicked and excited all at once. I jumped up and fumbled into my flip-flops. ‘You mean today?’
Tony softened at my sudden change in energy. ‘Yep. This afternoon. And if we’re going, we sort of need to go, like – now,’ he said. ‘Can you be ready in ten minutes?’
‘I can be ready in five! Ready and waiting downstairs,’ I said, with a salute. I couldn’t believe it. How had he managed this miracle? There wasn’t time to find out now; I had to get myself together. I threw my arms around him, forgetting I was only wearing a bikini, and he held me in his big arms and squeezed me tight. Skin to skin.
‘This is so cool,’ I said, as I grabbed my Kindle and sarong, and flew up to my room for a shower. I decided on my spotty dress and wide-brimmed hat, then had a fleeting moment of panic as I ran downstairs, imagining Tony waiting for me astride his Vespa. But it was short-lived, as I opened the front door to find him sat smiling behind the wheel of Paolo’s car.
‘Ciao, bella,’ he called through the window, jumping out to open the passenger door. ‘No Vespas,’ he whispered as I got in and pulled my skirt into my lap.
‘No Vespas,’ I repeated, touched by his thoughtfulness. I hadn’t had to tell him twice, and he hadn’t asked for an explanation – he just knew it was important to me and that was enough.
We drove off with the windows down, the wind whipping through my wet hair and working hard as nature’s hair dryer.
‘It’s about an hour’s drive, but I’ve brought some friends along to keep us company,’ Tony said, grabbing a bag of CDs from the back seat. ‘The Uno isn’t Spotify friendly, I’m afraid, so we’ll have to go old-school.’
‘As long as it gets us there, that’s all that matters,’ I said, sliding Kylie into the slot. ‘I’ll be DJ, if you have any requests.’
‘I’ve also been packed up with snacks and drinks,’ he said, pointing to the back seat. ‘Mia insisted.’
‘I’m glad she did – sounds like we’re all set for the perfect road trip,’ I said, happily as we padam-ed our way through the winding Tuscan roads towards Florence.
*
I couldn’t believe I’d never been before. Work had been getting in the way of too many things for too long. Josh and I had always planned to go to Florence together, then after the accident it felt wrong to go ahead with our joint plans on my own. But he’d have wanted me to come here. Josh knew more than anyone how much art was a part of my life – part of my soul. We drove into the city and along the River Arno, the views of the old town spectacular as I took several bad photos from the car. It was impossible to get a good shot through the window. Everywhere I looked was picture-perfect, decrepit buildings lined the streets, in yellow and brown with terracotta lids, the sunbeams adding a soft light as they bounced off the water. The Ponte Vecchio stood beautifully elegant, as tourists poured over it, stopping to admire the view from the top of the bridge on both sides and take selfies.
Tony drove us through the shiny streets and down some terrifyingly narrow cobbled pathways that couldn’t possibly have been designed for cars. Thank God we were in the Toytown Fiat Uno. I had visions of us getting wedged inside a tunnel and needing a fleet of firemen and a can opener to get us back out. The Kylie tunes had got progressively raunchier and the atmosphere in the car had switched from fun to heated, so I was glad when Tony finally pulled into the car park underneath the Uffizi and cut the engine. We both took a breath.
‘Are you allowed to park here?’ I asked, surprised, as we unfolded ourselves from the car and got out. We were right in the centre of Florence. The equivalent of parking in Piccadilly Circus, or Times Square.
‘Yes, all good, don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Marco has sorted us out a permit.’
‘And Marco is your uni friend who works here as a…?’
‘Tonnnnyyyy!’ A man with a well-groomed handlebar moustache appeared out of nowhere and launched himself on Tony, wrapping him in a big bear hug. He was wearing a sharply cut crimson suit and beautiful leather shoes.
‘Ciao, Marco, come stai?’ Tony said, smiling from ear to ear. ‘This is my friend, Abi.’
Marco held out a welcoming hand. ‘My pleasure to meet you,’ he said. ‘I am Marco Colombo, director and curator here at the Uffizi Gallery.’ I stared at him, completely gobsmacked. The curator? Of the whole museum? Tony gave me a cheeky wink. He’d deliberately kept that one quiet.
‘The pleasure is all mine. Thank you so much for letting us visit when the gallery is closed,’ I said, stumbling over my words.
‘Not at all, anything for my old friend, Almagno.’ He laughed, slapping Tony on the back as he swiped his pass and ushered us into the museum.
A shiver went down my spine as we crossed the threshold, onto the marble floors of a place I’d dreamt about my entire life. The home of so many paintings Mum and Dad had meticulously talked me through as a child. I cursed myself for having never been before. It had almost felt too special. I’d been frightened of ruining the illusion, but there was no chance of that – I could see that now. Even the car park was a work of art. Marco ran us up a set of steps and onto the ground floor of the museum. I couldn’t believe we were being walked in by the actual curator.
‘Excuse the noise,’ Marco said, a persistent drill buzzing in the background. ‘They are working around the clock to get us back open as soon as possible.’
‘What happened?’ Tony asked.
‘One of the walls crumbled and we’ve had to rebuild it completely,’ he said, talking as fast as he walked. ‘It has been a PR disaster but can’t be helped.’
Tony was striding alongside him, and I was almost running to keep up.
‘You can go up to the second floor and walk around freely, but the first floor is out of bounds for safety reasons,’ Marco said, pressing the button to call the lift and handing us both a map.
‘Where do we go to see The Birth of Venus?’ I asked, having visions of myself crawling through the air-conditioning unit to get to it, if it was on the first floor.
‘The Botticelli Room is on the second floor.’
The lift arrived with a loud ting and Tony waved me in ahead of him.
‘Enjoy yourselves,’ Marco said, with a smile.
‘Grazie, Marco,’ Tony said, patting him on the back again.
‘Grazie mille,’ I added, sick with excitement as the lift doors closed and we were catapulted upstairs.
‘You didn’t think to mention that Marco was the curator then?’ I asked, deadpan.
‘I don’t like to brag,’ Tony said, with a shrug. ‘I’m sure he can introduce you to the bin man if you’d feel more comfortable?’
‘Yes please, that would be great.’
‘I’ll speak to him about it.’
‘You do that.’
The lift stopped, the doors slid open, and we stepped out into the most beautiful place I’d ever seen. It was supposed to be a hallway, but it looked and felt like an old Italian palace, smooth marble floors, alabaster walls, and intricate frescos on each section of the ceiling. Paintings adorned every wall, but I couldn’t get distracted by Michelangelo, Raphael, or any of the other Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles; I wanted to go directly to the Botticelli Room, without passing Go or collecting ￡200.
‘Can we go straight there?’ I asked, eyes shining. Tony nodded and we walked as fast as we could down the corridor. ‘It’s a shame we’re not wearing socks,’ I said, looking at the shiny floors. ‘We could have had a good skidding race along here.’
‘Maybe later,’ Tony murmured, as we reached the room. A huge space with several pieces of Botticelli’s work on the wall. Where was it? Where was it?
‘There.’ Tony nodded to the left. And there she was. The Birth of Venus in all her painted glory, sitting happily behind a thick layer of glass. No tomato-soup protesters getting to that one. The two of us stood in reverent silence, looking over every inch of it, drinking it in. She was smaller than I’d imagined. This angelic face had watched over me my whole life. Quietly observing me growing up; brushing my teeth in the shower before school, shaving my legs for the very first time, Sunday bathtime with oils and candles, my disgraceful, teenage drinking years and every single one of my hair colour disasters. No comment, no judgement. And the original painting had been hanging out in here the whole time.
‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ I said, taking a step closer.
‘It sure is,’ Tony replied. ‘Over five hundred years old and thousands of people still queue up to see it every single day.’
‘Art does funny things to people,’ I said, gazing at the details. It was incomparable to the photos I’d seen in books. I’d even done the virtual Uffizi tour online, so I thought I knew what to expect, but to see the real thing, up close and personal, was a totally different experience. The intricate etching on the thick gold frame, the way she hung there, so unassuming. Modest. Ethereal. Don’t mind me. Venus had been Botticelli’s muse, but she’d also been mine. Opening my mind up to the idea of art as a way of communicating with the world, and the next generation. The idea that artists, centuries before I’d ever existed, had got their paints and easels out, just as I had, and imagined what a goddess might look and feel like. That paintings were puzzles to be deciphered, with each different element a symbol for something else. Flowers for birth and love, shells for fertility. Every ingredient carrying its own unique message. I felt a sense of calm at finally meeting her in person.
‘Has she lived up to your expectations?’ Tony asked.
‘I think so.’ I nodded, still staring. ‘She’s an absolute beauty.’
‘Signor Botticelli at his best,’ he said.
‘It was a nickname, you know… Botticelli. His real name was Alessandro di Mariano di Vanni Filipepi.’
‘Not quite as punchy. Especially when you have to sign all your paintings by hand.’
‘Botticelli was his brother’s nickname… he passed it down.’
‘Small barrel,’ Tony said, frowning in thought. ‘That’s the translation.’
‘Yep. He had a bit of a belly apparently. Presumably his brother did too.’
‘I might adopt it myself,’ Tony said, slapping his washboard stomach.
I laughed. ‘I’m not sure it would work as well for you.’
I moved around the room, taking in all the different pieces. It was a feast for the eyes – and even better that we didn’t have to compete with a roomful of tourists to stand and stare. It was like running free in a dream. I watched Tony as he took a video of the ornate ceilings. He’d gone to so much trouble to arrange everything, I was genuinely touched.
‘I’ll never forget this moment, you know,’ I called over to him. ‘Thank you for bringing me here. I was convinced it wasn’t going to happen this time.’
‘No worries,’ Tony said, with a nonchalant air. ‘Access-all-areas-Almagno – that’s what they call me.’ This guy was unbelievable. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Josh had hand-picked him and sent him to me.