trentacinque
Francesco let Lucia know when the coast was eventually clear for her to return to La Scuola Rosa, and she did so with heavy legs and a thumping head.
Grammar lessons had finished for the day, and the crew gathered in Lucia’s apartment where Francesco filled them all in about ‘Nicolò’, the date, and the mask. Lucia explained what she had found on her early-morning Sunday walk in Dorsoduro.
Lucia was sitting in the window seat overlooking the calle , where she snapped off an entire line of cubes from a block of chocolate she’d collected from the pantry, then proffered the rest to her company but was waved away.
Then movement on the calle drew her attention, and she caught sight of Alex at his front door. He turned and looked up at La Scuola Rosa’s third-storey window. There was no way he could have seen her behind the sheer voile curtain, and she was thankful.
But then Alex did something strange. Something she hadn’t seen him do before. He stepped off his stoop and looked to make his way to the school’s entrance. But after a few steps he froze to the spot. He fiddled with his collar and straightened the front of his knit. Taking another step, he seemed to be talking to himself. His hands gathered in a steeple, then opened welcomingly. It was as if he were rehearsing a part in a play.
What is he doing?
Running a frustrated hand through his hair, Alex shook his head then returned to his door, unlocking it and disappearing within La Commedia.
Lucia snapped off another row of chocolate, and Foscari tottered across the apartment, up his grammar-book staircase to join her. The conversation among the others had faded to white noise in the background.
‘Not for you,’ she said as the dachshund sniffed at the confectionary. ‘This will do more harm than good.’ It was at that precise moment that Lucia caught the reflection of someone in the store windows opposite further along the calle . It was a man, that much she could tell. She craned her neck and finally he came into view.
With a sigh she tossed the packet of chocolate to Francesco and said, ‘I have company. No matter what happens, don’t come down. I can handle this.’
Lucia’s friends shared worried looks, then rushed to the window as she descended the stairs.
‘What do you want?’ she asked, catching Vittorio Gatti before he could lay a hand on the door to knock.
‘Ah, Lucia.’ She saw straight through Gatti’s thinly disguised expression of concern. She narrowed her eyes.
‘If it’s possible, I have even less tolerance for you today than normal. Go away.’
‘I just came to inform you that I am aware of the story that ran this morning.’ He held up his phone and refreshed his browser. That godforsaken headline flashed on the screen. ‘Lucia, Lucia,’ he tutted disapprovingly, like a parent scolding a petulant child. ‘Surely you can’t be proud of this?’
‘Go. Away.’ She stepped forward to usher him from the entrance.
‘This kind of publicity is terrible for the school. And when I assume control of Jacopo’s share in fifty-two days, understand that I won’t tolerate such unprofessional conduct from a colleague.’ He tutted again, this time with a smile playing on his lips. ‘There are other ways to garner community support, Lucia. This is simply beneath you.’
Her chest tightened with rage but Lucia pointed a strong, resolute arm out the door. ‘ Vai !’
Reluctantly, Vittorio stepped off the entrance step and she pulled the door closed with its usual tug into the tight jamb. She turned, her back now to the door, and allowed her shoulders to droop under the weight of the morning’s events.
How dare Gatti come to rub salt in the wound. That callous, heinous, vile creatu—
A knock on the door broke her train of thought, and she turned with fury-spiked speed to serve him another piece of her mind.
But it wasn’t Vittorio waiting for her.
It was Alex.
Lucia was taken aback. And for a moment she hesitated, unsure what to do. What did he want? Had he heard her exchange with Vittorio? Did she really have the emotional bandwidth to deal with him too?
Alex knocked again, this time more softly, and it was his gentle smile that eventually decided for her.
‘ Sì ?’ she said from the inside, standing as tall and strong as her flagging spirits would allow.
‘Must we speak through the glass?’ he asked, his words muffled. ‘Lucia?’
Reluctantly Lucia opened the door, then leaned against the frame. ‘ Scusami ,’ she apologised.
His eyes assessed her for a moment, taking in the now staunch and stiff woman in front of him, so different from the broken, sad soul he had witnessed just hours before at the cimitero . ‘I don’t know what happened this morning. And you don’t need to tell me. But I heard your colleague’s screams and I am just checking to make sure you are ok. All of you.’ He smiled uncertainly. ‘ Are you ok?’
Lucia’s lagoon-green eyes traced his face, and all she could read there was genuine concern. It was so far from the sarcastic, taunting front of Vittorio Gatti. Something about Alex showing up for her like this brought her great relief. He was being kind, clearly keeping up his end of their agreement to move forward respectfully. She allowed some of her armour to fall metaphorically to her feet, and replied, ‘We are ok. We will be fine.’
He looked her up and down with his rich warm eyes before turning to leave, but caught himself after a few steps. He pivoted, and with Lucia still watching from the doorframe, he added, ‘I’m glad, Lucia. I’m just here, across . . . but you . . . you know that.’
Is he nervous? He suddenly can’t form a sentence to save himself.
‘If you ever need me . . . need help , I mean.’
She nodded. ‘ Grazie .’
He held her gaze a few more beats, and Lucia felt something in her stomach flip. That deep, intoxicating gaze – it was delicious and unsettling at the same time.
Giving her a meek wave, he tucked his hands into his pockets and retreated.
Alessandro Scarpa . . . this new you is a very handsome change.