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.’
45
Cate scrambled out of the taxi, leaving the driver a far too large tip. Her feet crunched on the gravel path leading to the doors of The Evergreens. An elderly lady in a wheelchair, a plaid shawl wrapped around her shoulders, was examining one of the rose bushes. The glorious blooms, old-fashioned and blousy, were as heavily scented as the Duty-Free shop where Cate had hastily purchased some of her dad’s favourite shortbread.
She pushed the button that swung open the double doors, pulling her hair from her ponytail clip with the other hand. Dad had always loved her with long hair. To think, as a teenager, she’d once chopped it off to spite him.
Sally looked up from behind the reception desk.
‘Oh, Cate! How are you, love? You didn’t rush here straight from the airport, did you? Your dad’s going to be just fine now, so I hope you haven’t been fretting.’
‘I know how well you look after him.’ The home was the best of the best: clean, well-appointed rooms, a comfortable lounge like something out of a gentlemen’s club and a tasty, ever-changing menu. But she knew her dad would trade it all in a heartbeat for a daughter who loved him like she should. Tears welled in her eyes.
‘I should have flown home yesterday; Phil would have been fine without me for a day.’
Sally reached under the counter for a box of tissues, concern written all over her round face. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself; there’s those that bring their mums and dads in here and we never see them from one month to the next. You’re in here at least twice a week by my reckoning. You’re a good daughter.’
