The Florentine Quilt

22. Theodora

22

THEODORA

FLORENCE

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R osie’s call the following week is a breath of fresh air. ‘ I’m due for a week off and could use a little Italian sunshine. It’s been two months since I saw you. Can you get away? Is there anywhere you’d like to go?’

The cheer in her greeting brings a smile to my face. My heart beats excitedly at the thought of seeing my friend again. ‘ I only have the weekend, but I’d love to see Taormina . I’ve heard it’s beautiful.’

‘ Great minds! Tristan’s always going on about how special it is.’

At the mention of his name, I bite my lip. I haven’t heard from him for a few weeks.

‘ Poor thing’s been under the pump but he’s back in Italy ,’ Rosie barely takes a breath. ‘ He’s working in Cortona . You don’t mind if he comes too, do you? He was so good to me in London , taking me out and shielding me from that beastly Janson and all his spying.’

I swallow. It’s been hard to miss given Rosie’s many Instagram reels. I should feel happy she’s had Tristan to support her—they look pretty cosy. I never told her about our kiss and wonder if he has. Perhaps he’s forgotten it—neither of us have mentioned it again.

‘ It sounds great, Rose . Do you want me to look for somewhere to stay?’

‘ Actually , I know of a place. It was the artist’s abode of choice in its day.’

‘ And will Tristan be staying with us too?’ I hold my breath and wait for her answer.

Stop it, Theodora ! I blame the quilt and its make-believe world for messing with my emotions; I’m constantly surrounded by the romance of the past. And as delightful as they are, the combination of intoxicating Tuscan hills and Arthurian ideology are blurring my better judgement.

‘ No , he has a place outside the village wall, near the Porta Messina . But we’ll definitely catch up with him. Leave it with me. I’ll make the arrangements and call you later.’

As Rosie’s words sink in, I breathe out a sigh. Maybe it’s the thought of seeing her with Tristan that makes me uncomfortable. My stomach flips. It’s my life, as Star told me, but I certainly don’t have the energy or headspace to waste time thinking about a man who obviously isn’t interested.

Men . Yesterday I broached a difficult discussion with Luke . When we remained partners in the boutique freehold after our divorce, apart from guilt, I thought it was his way of watching out for me. I’m beginning to think otherwise.

‘ What’s this all about, Theo ?’ His voice was clipped when I called him. He cleared it with a cough—was he smoking again? It’s no surprise he’s feeling the pressure with the baby due in a matter of days.

‘ I love my boutique, but I have a business idea that’s an extension of the work we do there. It’s never going to make me rich but it’s not about the money?—’

‘ Well , it might be fine for you to play shops, but some of us have overheads…’

‘ What do you mean?’ I couldn’t get a grip on him. The conversation was like a jumble of crossed wires and my chest began to feel tight. What was he not saying?

‘ The thing is, it’s the best time to sell. There’s a consortium from Asia pretty keen on snapping up inner-city investments. Given the state of the economy, it might be too good an opportunity to pass up.’

With Luke as my partner, I’m still hamstrung by his decisions. It was a problem that had always nagged in the back of my thoughts, but I never expected he’d sell the building from under me.

As a woman alone, Gran had always been concerned for her financial security. ‘ A woman needs a leaving-home fund, Theodora ,’ she used to say. When Luke and I divorced, she suggested I make some prudent investments of my own.

Then , when she was diagnosed, she transferred the contents of her share portfolio to me. ‘ It will be yours anyway. You handle it now.’ I hadn’t checked the balance until recently.

‘ What about if you sell your half to me?’

‘ You ? You can’t be serious?’ His voice wavered.

‘ Why not? I have money set aside.’

‘ I had no idea you were cashed up.’ I heard him moving about and imagined him writing something down.

I took a breath when he gave me the figures. I suspected the property valuers had inflated the appraisal. Luke wanted to reach for the stars.

‘ Look , let’s talk later. Maybe I can re-do the figures and see what adds up—okay?’ He quickly rang off.

I didn’t get the chance to ask him to give Star some space. But as I hung up, I had the strangest sense I might’ve said too much.

Right now, it can wait. A weekend dose of Rosie is exactly what I need. I hope it won’t be too awkward with me playing third wheel.

The night before I leave for Sicily , I dream of the sea. But instead of danger, I hear singing. The soft and soulful voice floats about me and the sweet notes dance on the wind; a puff of hot air blows across my face.

I can’t see who’s singing but sense it’s Rosie . Her back is to me and she runs fingers through her hair; her golden curls hang past her waist and shine in the sunshine. She stares beyond the rocks to a point in the ocean that seems familiar—a rocky outcrop that juts off the coast. Then my body feels heavy and I’m weighted down, struck by a lethargy so debilitating, I struggle to wake.

Suddenly , I open my eyes and sharp pain twists in my stomach. I break into a sweat. I know that sound. I’ve heard it before.

But I’m not ready to face those dreams yet.

O live trees sway in the breeze, with leaves waving out to sea like feathers on a seagull’s wings. Along the magnificent mauve coastline, tiny white boats dot a panoramic aquamarine ocean that reaches to the horizon. And reigning over the scene is majestic Mount Etna , with a cloud hovering over the peak and intermittent flames licking from the mouth of the crater. Every atmospheric element—fire and water, air and earth—combines to form the paradise of Taormina .

Rosie and I climb the steep path of the winding road, dodging scooters and fast-moving traffic while dragging bags at our heels. At the top of the hill, a decorative iron gate leads us to safety and into the garden of Casa Cuseni . The historic hotel was built by artist Robert Kitson and once hosted the cream of literary and artistic royalty. Luminaries such as Ernest Hemingway and Truman Capote found sanctuary within its walls.

The sweet fragrances of oleander and magnolia settle around us like a spray of fine perfume. I have to pinch myself to ensure I’m not dreaming.

‘ Wow ! This is amazing!’ I hold my straw hat and pivot a circle to soak in the view across the pool and down to the tiny isle of Isola Bella .

There’s magic at work here—the sight of the smouldering volcano emerging from crystal blue waters arouses a wild excitement in me. Conversely , the combination of tropical fragrances and rich sulphuric soil is calming, and a subtle reminder of home. A tingle pulsates through my body, urging me to further explore.

‘ What time are we meeting the guide for the Greek Theatre ?’ Rosie puffs and bends over, resting her hands on her knees to catch her breath.

‘ Another hour. I want to stay here and soak this in. It’s like a postcard.’

‘ It sure is.’ Rosie takes a sip from her bottled water and sits on the grass, a look of rapture on her face. ‘ This is where the Baron von Gloeden’s nude photos were taken.’ She air quotes the words and winks.

‘ Those pornographic postcards?’ We’d seen them earlier.

‘ Yes . It’s no wonder people who were, say, a little left field came here. There’s a new statue of Oscar Wilde , so he must have made an impression here too.’

‘ I guess diversity was alive and thriving in those days?’ I shade my view to the water and watch the cottonwool clouds move swiftly across the azure skyline towards Etna .

‘ Taormina was well ahead in terms of inclusivity. But the baron photographed people going about their daily business too. He wanted to capture the essence of a person. Quite a change from the staid studio portraiture of the day where people were afraid to smile for fear of goodness knows what!’

Rosie mimics a pose and pulls a face like she’s sucked on one of the big juicy lemons hanging on the branches above.

‘ I guess a hundred years from now, images of people taking selfies in front of monuments or views that capture their attention will appear antiquated and unusual too.’

‘ You’re so right.’

Sipping my water, I think how much easier it might have been for Amelia if she had lived somewhere like this. ‘ So many people gave up comfortable lifestyles to live in one of the poorest parts of Italy . Why though? Lack of money? The cost of living?’

Rosie’s head tilts to the side. ‘ That might have been true in the cases of people who viewed the world differently or lived outside the accepted values of the day. Victorian and Edwardian life was prohibitive and bloody inflexible. Especially for women.’

‘ It must have been hard to start again so far from what they knew.’ Like the lady Tristan mentioned. The opportunity to say his name is tempting, but I bite my lip.

The information guide I scrolled through on the plane referenced another female benefactor. ‘ I believe an Englishwomen began an embroidery school here for the young girls of poor families, to provide them with skills and an income…’

‘ I can see the cogs turning, lovely. What’s going on…?’ Rosie’s eyebrows rise above her pink-tinted sunglasses.

‘ I haven’t worked out the exact details yet, but I’d like to find a way to encourage others too. I know what a great concept an embroidery circle is—and the benefits of community and companionship for mental health. I’m pretty sure kids these days don’t love embroidery like I did but imagine if I can provide a safe space where young people learn a creative skill and also have the opportunity to collaborate with mentors.’ Now that I’m saying it, I will make it happen.

‘ That’s a great idea. What do you have in mind?’ Rosie leans in with her face inches from mine.

‘ I plan to open a studio to help kids in need, especially those who’ve suffered trauma or abuse, using mindfulness and creativity to encourage positive healing. I’d tie it in with a mentor role, where kids are guided by the older generation using various mediums—not only embroidery, of course, but painting and sewing…’

‘ It sounds great! I love the idea of exploring creativity for positive therapy. In a way, you’ve already begun in your boutique with the re-working and upcycling—’ Rosie nods.

‘ True . We’ll continue to use upcycled products and reduce the amount of discarded clothing that ends up in landfill.’ I press my lips together. ‘ But the program will benefit the older generation too—like the oldies from my quilting class. Many don’t have family around them. They’re lonely and can go for months without contact from family members due to distance or work commitments.’

‘ Go on.’

‘ A lot of kids these days have little interaction with extended family. Encouraging the oldies to share their skills and experience and interact with them on a positive level will aid both generations. The aim is to bridge the gap and foster respect in the community. It will help the group find a way to pass on their own histories. Their stories. What do you think?’

‘ I think it’s a brilliant concept. And a great community initiative.’

‘ I ran it past Star . She’s keen to help set it up. But I need to finish the coperta first.’

‘ So —you’re not tempted to relocate here?’ Rosie winks, waving her hand across the water. ‘ Maybe open up a workshop in Taormina ?’

‘ Very tempted, but it’s probably time I went home.’ The pressure in my chest subsides now I’ve voiced the decision. ‘ We’re almost finished at the OPD . I’m looking forward to moving on to my next project.’

‘ That’s great, lovely,’ Rosie steps closer, blocking the sun from my face. ‘ And what about Luke ? I thought you were going to untangle your finances?’

I nod. ‘ Once upon a time I let him walk all over me. But I’m in a position now to make a clean break, and it’s time I did. I won’t let him take control of my life again.’

We stand silently as the words hang in the air, and I absorb their effect.

‘ Tristan should be arriving soon,’ she interrupts. ‘ Did you hear he convinced his father to make Stephanie a partner in the business? She’s ambitious—she’s chased it for years.’

‘ I didn’t realise they worked together too.’ But I had noticed Stephanie missing from Tristan and Rosie’s Instagram stories.

‘ She’s been Tristan’s partner in more ways than one. She told me he lost the love of his life years ago. He’s such a great guy. But now his old man is dying, and he’s putting pressure on Tristan to marry Stephanie and stabilise the company’s holdings.’

For a moment my breathing falters, then slowly steadies again as I focus back on Rosie . Lost love. The words in Amelia’s diary appear before my eyes. She lost the love of her life too. My skin feels strangely cool.

A woman opens the doors of the villa and beckons us inside with a smile.

‘ Stephanie’s a terrific girl and a great architect,’ Rosie signals to move, ‘more importantly, she fits the old man’s brief and he’s difficult to please. He’s had Tristan jumping through hoops all his life. He thinks they make the perfect couple…’ She laughs.

‘ Really ?’ Stephanie . I fan my face with my hat. Hers was the voice in the background at Tristan’s that day.

‘ Tristan’s father usually gets what he wants, that’s for sure. I guess he didn’t get to be the successful businessman he is without being shrewd and pig-headed. But he promised he’d only make Stephanie partner after the wedding. It’s ridiculous. Poor Tristan isn’t willing to upset him given his ill health. Some families really do demand their pound of flesh!’