Chapter 44
44
Natalie toyed with her cappuccino. Tomorrow would be the last time she would have breakfast Italian-style: standing up in a bar, coffee by her elbow, holding her paper-tissue-wrapped pastry. Cate was already on a plane home with Phil, looking forward to spending time with Ted and her dad before her boys came home for the holidays. Then, in a couple of weeks, the family would be travelling to Italy so Cate could try and make up for some of the time she and her mum had lost and Lina could meet her grandchildren at last.
Eraldo rested his elbow on the counter, his palm against his cheek. Sun streamed through the window, lighting up his dark hair. How could she let him go?
‘My family enjoyed meeting you,’ Eraldo said.
‘I’m glad. I liked them a lot. Your mother is very kind and an incredible cook – those sardines! And that polenta with shrimp! I ate far too much.’
‘That is the reason she liked you.’ The twitch of his lips told her he was only teasing.
‘Your cousin was so interesting. I knew making a gondola must be tricky but the work he described is so skilled – and I had no idea how much upkeep they need too.’
‘There has been talk of the squero closing down. It would be a tragedy; all that talent and knowledge would be gone. But he confided in me last night that they may have some good news. They are discussing working with a prestigious English furniture maker to create some bespoke pieces incorporating many of the techniques they specialise in. It will be an extra source of income for them. At the moment, it is all like this…’ He put a finger to his lips. ‘But he did tell me it was a surprise suggestion from a businessman who spent a few hours at the workshop whilst his wife was visiting Burano, so I thought of your friends.’
‘Phil and Cate! It must be them. I expect they will start travelling here regularly if Phil has business interests and Cate will want to get to know her mum.’
‘And what about you?’ It was the question they’d both been avoiding.
‘I don’t want to leave.’
‘It is hard to visit Venice without falling in love with her.’
‘Not just Venice.’ She felt herself redden.
He cupped her face in his hands, his eyes scanning hers. ‘I have been thinking about… us. I do not want you to go back to England and everything we have to fade away. I have been asking Pietro’s advice and he found this…’
He took his phone from his trouser pocket and opened up a website.
‘A studio to rent in Hatton Garden, London,’ she read.
‘The centre of the jewellery and watch trade. I could make contacts, set up shop. It is good business there.’
She bit her lip. How easy it would be to urge him to leave Italy. But she knew she couldn’t.
‘No,’ Natalie said.
He laid his phone on the marble counter. ‘You do not want me to come to England?’
‘It’s not that. You would do well in London, of course you would; you’d get customers from all over the world. We could be together and perhaps you could reconnect with old friends of yours that Floella still sees. But England isn’t right for you; something would always be missing. Venice, this place, it’s deep within your soul. And it would be wrong to wrench you away from it.’
‘I know you are right. But I do not want this to end.’
‘Neither do I.’ She did not know what else she could say.
His phone’s jolly ringtone broke the silence.
His forehead creased. ‘It is Pietro. He never calls.’
‘Answer it.’ She needed a few moments to breathe, to take everything in.
‘Excuse me.’ He walked towards the door, phone clamped to his ear. Through the window, she watched him, waving his free hand as he spoke.
She swallowed the rest of her coffee, nodded her assent to the barista as his hand moved to clear her half-eaten pastry away.
Eraldo returned just moments later. ‘We have to go to my workshop.’
‘It’s okay, you go.’ Whatever problem had arisen, she’d only get in his way.
‘No, we both have to go. Floella’s there.’
Natalie would have been less surprised if Elvis had strolled through the door.
‘Floella, in Venice? What on earth is she doing here?’
* * *
‘ Buongiorno , Natalie! This is a nice surprise. I was not expecting to see you or Eraldo today. But your friend from England, she appeared.’ Pietro inclined his head to the foot of the stairs. ‘She is upstairs; you cannot miss her,’ he added, chuckling.
‘We are here, Floella!’ Eraldo called. Natalie followed him up the stairs.
Floella had her shoeless feet up on the coffee table, looking as though it were her own sitting room. She got up and walked towards them, the bat-wing sleeves of her extraordinary butterfly-print dress stretched wide.
‘Eraldo, Natalie, so wonderful to see you!’
Natalie was pulled into a hug, almost bouncing straight back off the sort of shoulder pad last seen in the eighties.
Floella released her and gave a little twirl, holding the hem of her purple frock. ‘I picked this up in a fabulous little place in Cannaregio specialising in seventies’ and eighties’ designer vintage. Shame it was far too small to film in or we could have sent Cate there.’
Natalie tried and failed to imagine Cate in orange flares or a ra-ra skirt.
‘You’re both looking fantastic yourselves,’ Floella continued. ‘Your shoes are nice, Natalie.’
‘Floella!’ Eraldo’s voice was stern. ‘Stop all this talking about clothes. What are you doing here? Why did you not tell us you were coming today?’
‘Who said anything about today? I got here yesterday morning. But coffee first: I can’t talk when I’m gasping.’
‘I have never known anything to stop you talking,’ Eraldo said. ‘But I will make you a coffee. Sit down, both of you.’
Floella sat back down. She tucked her legs up behind her; Natalie perched on the couch. She knew her employer well enough not to bombard her with questions; she had to wait for Flo to spill the beans.
‘So, how’s it going?’ Floella jerked her head in Eraldo’s direction.
Natalie felt a surge of irritation. This wasn’t a game. ‘As good as can be expected when I’m flying home tomorrow night. You were right to think Eraldo and I would be good together. But now what?’
A huge smile split Floella’s face. ‘“Now what” is exactly the reason I’m here. But first, you can tell me all the things you’ve been up to, with and without that new man of yours.’