Ginny blinked at it, as if it was a mirage. Her stomach swooned with relief as Nico placed the wedding ring on her palm. She regretted suspecting the singer and apologized profusely to the driver.
“This could be an omen,” Heather said, looking over her shoulder. “Perhaps your marriage isn’t over after all.”
Ginny pushed the ring back on her finger and hoped this was true.
“I have more good news,” Nico said. “Your suitcase arrived at the airport and Gianfranco has brought it to my hotel.”
Ginny felt light-headed with gratitude. She spontaneously threw her arms around Nico and hugged him close. “Thank you,” she said.
His body was initially tense until he relaxed into her embrace. “No problem. I am pleased you are happy.”
Ginny thought how nice it was to have some human contact again.
When they arrived back at Splendido, one of the wheels off Ginny’s suitcase was missing. Strips of brown tape held the ripped fabric together and the clothes she’d packed so neatly were a jumble inside. Even so, she felt overjoyed to see it.
Nico carried the suitcase up to her room, returning to deliver a few items that had become separated, her jowl exerciser and some teeth whitening strips. Ginny’s cheeks burned as she thanked him. After the emotion and beauty of the art in Florence, she no longer felt the need to use either of the items.
As she completed a heartache form that evening, she noted that her mood was lifting and changing. And Ginny felt that she might be changing, too.
12
Sunrise
Eric
At six o’clock the next morning, the Italian sky was pale yellow, the color of stripped timber. Dew shone on the grass as Eric strode up the hill. This was his favorite time of day, before the relentless chatter of the world took hold, adding to the noise already in his head. He wanted to keep it at bay for as long as possible.
A song on the radio, an argument in a café or a raised voice in the street could sometimes feel like a flare going off in his brain, an unwanted personal soundtrack to everything he did. He wanted to clamp his hands to his ears to muffle it out.
The trip to Florence and mingling with the others had left him feeling weary. Focusing on the strain in his calf muscles, birdsong and his own breathing helped to quiet his mind.
Eric was still getting used to walking alone, without Bess. It had been three months since he’d lost his faithful companion.
His dog used to go everywhere with him, rarely grumbling about his habit of waking early in the morning because it meant more time to play for her. If Bess was here now, she’d probably fix him with a stare and urge him to cheer up. She used to spring around in the long grass like a lamb, which always made him smile.
He’d found her as a puppy, unwanted and left to fend for herself under a bush in the park. She was so tiny that he could cradle her in both hands. When Eric had gently held the whimpering tan and black dog to his chest, they’d formed an unbreakable bond. He’d carried her home and named her Bess. His friends teased him about preferring a walk in the countryside with his new pet rather than a night in the pub, and Eric couldn’t disagree. She went into work with him each day, to the Sanderson Fine Furniture showroom.
Eric lovingly crafted chairs, tables and bookshelves using traditional tools and techniques passed down through generations of the Sanderson family. His father and grandfather had shown him how to use a chisel before he could write his own name. Eric’s dad had the hands of a craftsperson, scored and ragged from years of working with wood, and Eric’s own hands were similar, looking much older than his twenty-eight years.
His parents had retired from the business a few years ago, but still helped him out occasionally. Eric’s mother looked after all the invoicing and proved a dab hand at setting up a website with the help of a local marketing company. Whenever she tried to show spreadsheets to Eric and teach him how to update the company website, it was like she was speaking a foreign language to him.
Eric wasn’t a talkative sort and he often felt awkward in company, so Bess wagging her tail to greet customers helped him to start conversations about his work. Sanderson Fine Furniture cost almost double the amount of the mass-produced wares sold on the high street or online, so it was useful to be able to share its story. Eric even made a mini four-poster bed for Bess and added a red velvet blanket. When customers saw her reclining and modeling it in the showroom, they said, “Aww,” and bought one for their own pet.
At first, Eric hadn’t been too worried about the virus that was being talked about everywhere. Customers started to wear masks to visit his showroom but they could still see and feel the superiority of his craftsmanship compared to other furniture. They could picture it in their houses.
Things got worse when greater restrictions came in. Sales died down as people cut back on their nonessentials, but Eric kept on making his furniture even though fewer customers were buying it. In the evenings and on weekends, he sat in his small one-bedroom flat sketching out new ideas and was glad he had Bess for company. They went out for walks together before anyone got up in the morning and when everyone was in bed at night.
Talking to his parents and friends on the phone didn’t help Eric’s plummeting mood. As he watched his meagre savings dwindling in his bank account, he hugged Bess close and told himself he was lucky to have her. She didn’t need much money to be happy and he tried to follow her lead.
But soon things went from bad to worse with the business. Eric had to sell some of his machinery and furniture to an auction house dirt cheap so he could pay his household and business bills. Watching the equipment his father and grandfather had used for generations get loaded into the back of a van was the worst day of his life.
Or so he’d thought at the time.
When Eric stumbled home, Bess had been waiting for him and seemed to detect something was wrong. She wagged her tail warily and Eric reached out to envelop her in his arms. He cried into her fur, feeling like she was all he had left in the world. She helped to chase away the blues that were closing in and tightening a grip on him.
Over the months that followed, he reopened his workshop and showroom, but customers didn’t flock back. Eric no longer had adequate machinery to make his furniture and his feelings of melancholy dragged on. He also noticed that Bess was slowing down. She was reluctant to get out of her bed in the morning and her chest rose and fell quickly when they walked. He wondered if she was picking up on his low mood.
Eric took her to the vet who said she had a bacterial infection and prescribed anti-inflammatories and antibiotics. Bess improved a little, but still walked more slowly than usual.
