Chapter 18
On Monday the builders all returned as promised and Amy queried if they could spare her if she took a day off to go to London, but she didn’t specify what it was that was drawing her back to the UK. They told her that seeing as the electricity and water would be reconnected on Wednesday evening, the most sensible thing would be for her to fly over the next day or Wednesday and come back on Thursday so that by then she should be able to move straight into the house. They warned her they would still be finishing off, but they all agreed that she should be reasonably comfortable. The idea of moving in was very appealing so she took their advice and booked a flight to London on Wednesday afternoon, with a return flight the next day. She told the people at the Corona Grossa that she would be leaving them and she resolved to bring over some ‘nice’ – that word again – clothes, as Adam would be returning at the weekend.
She had been doing a lot of thinking about him since talking to his brother and Pierpaolo. It now seemed pretty clear that he liked her and that he didn’t share his brother’s sexual orientation. The trouble was that by her reckoning she should have just two weeks’ holiday left when he got back this weekend, and that wasn’t going to give them much time to get to know each other.
The big unknown, of course, was what would happen after that. There was no way she would be able to keep seeing him once she returned to her job – if she actually did return to her job. This was something else that had been occupying her mind for some time now. Should she take the massive decision to give up her job and settle here in Italy? On the one hand, this would resolve the whole taking it easy question and, at the same time, it would keep her closer to Adam. However, considering that he was a man she had only just met and that she had spent no more than a couple of hours in his company altogether, there were an awful lot of unanswered questions. So all she could do for now was to relegate that to the back burner while she sorted out the next most important thing on her agenda: Gavin.
On Wednesday afternoon she drove to Pisa airport and left her hire car there. The flight was only ten minutes late and she arrived back at her flat just after seven. Gavin wasn’t there but it came as no surprise to find the laundry basket overflowing with his shirts that he had brought round and dumped, and she felt her hackles rise. Taking a few deep breaths, she picked up her phone and called him, but it just went to voicemail. Unsure exactly what to say, she didn’t leave a message and sat down for a think. It would have been nice to make herself a cup of tea, but of course there was no fresh milk, so she settled for a double espresso, and as she sipped it she decided on her plan of action. The fact that he wasn’t answering his phone was probably because he was either playing squash, in the gym, or in a meeting, although the only meetings he tended to have after five o’clock in the afternoon normally involved cocktails and expense account meals. She knew she needed to speak to him face-to-face so as she had a key to his flat, she decided she would go round there and wait for him.
Finishing her coffee, she dug out a big black rubbish sack and filled it with all his dirty washing. There was no way she was going to spend her one night back in London doing his chores. Hitching this over her shoulder, she took the short fifteen-minute walk to his place. As she had expected, he wasn’t in, so she went to the bathroom to dump his washing.
It was here that she made her first discovery.
She told herself afterwards that she hadn’t been deliberately studying the contents of his waste bin but there, lying on top of the other rubbish, were a couple of crumpled tissues bearing the unmistakable marks of where somebody had used them to wipe away make-up. There were traces of a ruby red lipstick as well as mascara and, unless this was a whole new side to him that she hadn’t come across, the finger of suspicion pointed only in one direction. He had had female company.
She went through to the bedroom and continued her tour of inspection. She didn’t need to look too closely. As she walked into the room, the scent of an unfamiliar perfume was unmissable. When she flicked back the sheets, the scent became even stronger and she dropped the sheet in disgust and turned on her heel. Her instincts were telling her to get out and just forget about him although, having come all this way, she felt she needed to have it out with him once and for all, just so that she could get some kind of closure. She sat down on the sofa and turned on the TV, resisting the temptation to help herself to a glass of his vodka. She was halfway through a documentary about the shrinking ice caps when she heard his key in the lock, and she stood up to face him as the door opened.
‘Amy, hi, I didn’t know you were coming back. You should have said.’ Even without the evidence she had already accumulated, she would have known that the expression on his face was one of guilt.
‘Hello, Gavin.’ For a moment it looked as though he was about to come over to kiss her but something on her face must have registered, and she saw him falter and then stop halfway. She pointed towards the bathroom. ‘I brought you your dirty shirts. I’m going back to Italy tomorrow so there’s no way I can do them. Why don’t you ask your new lady friend or, here’s a radical thought, why don’t you wash them yourself?’
‘New lady friend?’ She could see he was doing his best to feign ignorance, but she knew him well enough by now to see through it.
‘Whoever the woman is whose perfume is making your bedroom reek.’ She caught his eye and held it. ‘And don’t try telling me your mum’s been to visit.’
‘No…but… look, Amy, you must understand…’ He stuttered to a halt. Even he must have realised that the evidence against him was overwhelming.
She had told Lucy that she wanted to look him in the eye when she accused him, and there could be no question now that his face had given him away. She headed for the door, deliberately skirting around him. When she got there, she turned back, doing her best to keep her voice level.
‘Your dirty washing’s in the bathroom. I’m going back to Italy tomorrow and I want you to go round to my place tomorrow night and remove anything else of yours that’s in there. When you’ve finished, just post the key through the letterbox. I don’t want to see you or hear from you again. Is that understood?’
‘Amy, look, it doesn’t have to be like this…’
He was interrupted by a soft tap at the door and she saw him blanch. Her hand was already on the handle so she turned it. As the door opened, she was confronted by what had to be the owner of the lipstick and the perfume: an attractive blonde with ruby red lips and a penchant for short skirts and high heels. Amy produced a smile as she brushed past her.
‘Hi, I’m Amy, and you’re welcome to him.’
Once she was back outside in the open air again she stopped and took a few deep breaths. Although she had come here expecting to have it out with him and to end things, his obvious indifference to the years they had known each other hit her hard and she could have found it very easy to burst into tears. But, instead, she just stood there and collected herself, determined not to let his behaviour make her cry. She’d done what she’d set out to do, and he was out of her life.
That immediately brought up the question of what sort of life it was going to be, and where? Was she really capable of turning her back on what had had the makings of a very successful and lucrative career, or would that be crazy? What was waiting for her if she went back to Italy to live? Yes, there was maybe Adam, but she could hardly plan her whole life around a chance encounter with a man she barely knew. So many questions but her head was still buzzing from the Gavin incident that she felt incapable of making sense of them all. Once her pulse had returned to something approaching normal, she pulled out her phone and called Lucy. The sound of her friend’s voice was welcome and they agreed to meet up in a nearby restaurant.
When they met up a few minutes later Lucy took one look at the expression on her face and enveloped her in a bear hug. ‘You’ve done it?’
Amy nodded into her friend’s shoulder and for a moment almost gave way to the tears again but just about managed to hold it together. ‘Yes, and I even had the pleasure of meeting his lady friend.’
Lucy stepped back and stared at her in horror. ‘You didn’t catch them at it like rabbits?’
Amy couldn’t help smiling at her choice of words. ‘No, no rabbits, thankfully. She arrived just as I was leaving.’
They went inside and Amy gave her a blow-by-blow account of the events of this evening but Lucy wasn’t going to let her wallow in a sea of regret. She caught the waiter’s eye and ordered a bottle of Prosecco and then gave Amy her advice.
‘You knew what you had to do and you did it. That chapter of your life has now ended and you’re far better off without him. You know that, don’t you?’
‘You’re right, Luce. Much better.’
‘Good, right, I’m glad we’ve got that sorted. Now tell me what your plans are – short term and long term.’
Amy was saved from having to give an immediate answer by the arrival of the waiter with the wine. She waited until he had opened it and filled two glasses before attempting a reply to Lucy’s question. ‘I’m flying back to Italy tomorrow and I’ve got another couple of weeks’ holiday in which to make up my mind. I like my job and I reckon I could go a long way in the company – assuming I can squeeze that leech Christian out of my office first. If I sell the house in Italy for a good amount, that plus the money from my father and my savings mean I could buy myself a really nice place here in London. On the other hand, I can see the attraction of the more relaxed lifestyle of living in Tuscany and I’m sure the specialist at the hospital would approve. The house is beautiful, the little town’s lovely and I’ve met some nice people. I must admit, there’s a part of me that’s tempted to give up on London and move over there.’
‘When you say you’ve met some nice people, is there one in particular?’ Lucy already knew the answer to this and she gave Amy a lurid wink. ‘Have you managed to work out the dynamics of your friend Adam’s relationship with the potter?’
Amy related what she had learnt at Danny and Pierpaolo’s house on Sunday and saw Lucy beam.
‘Excellent. And when’s he coming back from South America?’
‘This weekend, I believe.’
‘Well, if you want my advice, you need to find out once and for all just how much this guy means to you, and how much you mean to him. You don’t have much time. Invite him round to your place for a meal, take him on a tour of the house ending up in your new bedroom and then let nature take its course. I’m sure you’ll find that’ll help crystallise your thinking’.
Amy grinned back at her. ‘Are you talking about rabbits again?’
‘What else?’
‘I’m not that kind of girl, Luce, you know that.’
‘Well, get him drunk and get him to tell you the story of his life. How old did you say he was?’
‘Thirty-five.’
‘You need to find out how come a good-looking thirty-five-year-old man hasn’t got a significant other. Maybe he’s got webbed feet or something.’
Amy found herself giggling in spite of everything. ‘I can hardly ask him to take his shoes off on a first date.’
‘If you’d followed my original plan he’d have had to take his own shoes off.’