She quickly selected the essentials: lipstick, mirror, purse and tucked them into her clutch bag. She’d keep the leaflets from various landmarks, but the expired vaporetto ticket, the sachet of sugar – why on earth had she picked that up? – and receipts for coffees she’d never bother to claim and other tat that was now scattered over the bed could be safely chucked away. Her hand hesitated over a scrap of brown paper, the piece of torn envelope that Cate had discarded. There was no reason for Natalie to hang onto Cate’s mother’s address but she could not bring herself to throw it away. She opened her purse and slipped it behind her stash of euros.
35
Eraldo put down his coffee cup. ‘What a perfect morning! I had forgotten how beautiful Burano is. I have not been here for many years.’
‘I probably know it better than you now,’ Natalie joked. The stretch of eating places along the canal was now almost as familiar to her as the walk from her small hotel to the vaporetto stop but the vivid colours of the shops and houses still took her breath away.
‘You chose a good place for coffee.’
They were back at the café she and Cate had visited, the espresso as rich as Natalie’s mum’s Sunday lunch gravy, the sun warming her face, the sky a chocolate-box blue. And the company… well, there was no one she’d rather be with than Eraldo.
She studied him surreptitiously as he turned to look over the canal. Sunglasses had taken the place of his tortoiseshell frames, his usual jeans swapped for cargo shorts. She was rather glad he wasn’t wearing something more figure-hugging; his muscular, brown arms and perfectly formed legs were more than enough to get her heart racing.
‘What are you thinking?’ Eraldo asked.
‘Just wondering what made me decide to paint my flat in shades of beige.’
‘Beige? No! I think that is not you. But perhaps back in England, these bright colours might seem odd. Even here, I do not understand. How can blue and orange look so good together?’
Natalie laughed. ‘It’s a mystery but I like it here. It’s wonderful to come back again and not be in a rush. No Lucia in charge, checking her clipboard, no Cate deciding where to go.’
‘Just the two of us.’
‘Yes, just us.’ She sipped the last of her coffee, glad she too was wearing dark glasses. She was already self-conscious enough about her growing feelings for him without having them written all over her face.
‘Allora, so where shall we go now? The Lace Museum or shall we walk around?’
‘Let’s just stroll about for a bit first.’
Everyone else seemed to share the same idea. The canal side was busy and the little bridges were nearly buckling under the weight of the crush of phone-wielding day trippers.
‘If you cannot beat them, join them. That is what you say?’ Eraldo took out his phone. ‘We could take a selfie and send it to Floella. She said she would like one. Here, lean that way… Yes, this is good… What do you think?’
She took the phone. ‘It’s nice. I managed not to blink.’
‘I will send it to you and to Flo.’
Her phone pinged. ‘I’ve got it.’ She already knew she’d be sneaking peeks at it tomorrow whilst she was out with Cate and Phil. But she couldn’t imagine why the ever-busy Floella would want a photograph of her and Eraldo together.
They squeezed their way off the bridge, resuming their walk along the path. A young woman in five-inch heels and a dress that just covered her underwear was marching towards them giving a running commentary in French, phone held aloft. Behind her, a flustered young man was clutching what looked like an armful of outfit changes.
Eraldo pulled Natalie to one side. ‘Watch out!’
‘Thanks, I almost ended up in the canal!’ Natalie joked. ‘This island is too photogenic; those influencers are a menace.’
‘Let us go under this archway. It will be quieter. I remember we can walk to the main piazza that way.’
The small bricksottopassaggioled them into a square of houses, deserted except for a serious-looking child riding his mini scooter. Washing hung across balconies, the sound of someone practising the piano drifting from a ground-floor room.
‘This is nice, so peaceful,’ Eraldo said.
The square led through into another. Natalie recognised it at once. A striped curtain was pulled across the door of the orange house where Cate’s mother lived. The flowerpots around the doorstep had been freshly watered, dark patches in the soil. The marmalade cat was back lolling in the sun. Natalie realised Eraldo was talking. She hadn’t taken in a word.
‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
‘Looking at the plants? Whoever lives there takes a lot of care of them.’
‘Mmm,’ Natalie murmured. How she longed to knock on the door of the orange house, run up the stairs and tell Cate’s mum what a kind, loving person Cate was. She’d beg her not to throw away this one chance to spend time with her own daughter. No matter what had happened in the past, couldn’t she spare Cate just one hour? Wasn’t she curious to see the woman who’d taken the place of the little baby she’d left behind?
