As if we hadn’t had enough already, Peter insisted on buying us all a glass of Chianti Classico in the hotel bar. I desperately wanted to go up to my room, take a shower, give myself space to think. I imagined Aidan, standing on the bridge. What was it he was planning to say? Might it be better to know, so that I could finally get some kind of closure on the whole thing?
‘Are you all right, darling?’ asked Nick, patting my knee.
‘Fine,’ I said, smiling at him. ‘I think I might just have a glass of water, actually.’ I poured myself some from a jug.
Luckily, Peter was dominating the conversation with a running commentary of the wine-tasting tour involving him discussing the merits (or not) of every single wine we’d tried. He even had his tasting notes sheet out. It made me think of Aidan and I suddenly wanted to ask him whether he’d helped me on purpose. Perhaps he’d just been doodlingbananas. Either way, I thought that maybe he was right: we needed to talk. Very briefly. It might feel better once we’d had it out, so to speak.
‘The weather’s lovely this afternoon,’ I said, not quite believing what was coming out of my mouth. ‘I’m just going to grab a little bit more footage and then I’ll have enough to send over to Tim and I can forget about work for the rest of the trip.’
Nick was the only one to acknowledge me. Daisy was glowering at her phone in the corner, and Rosamund and Sophia were seemingly enraptured by Peter’s self-indulgent monologue on Tuscan wines.
‘Again?’ said Nick.
‘I won’t be long,’ I assured him.
That part was true, at least. If I did – and it was a big if – swing past the Ponte Santa Trinita, then it would be for a matter of minutes. Aidan could tell me why he’d disappeared off the face of the earth two years ago and I could tell him he could go to hell with his poor excuses and I’d walk away from him cleansed and free of the memories of the time we’d spent together that popped into my mind sometimes at the most inopportune moments. Like when I was lying in bed next to Nick. Or sitting at my computer at work. Or squished on the tube at rush hour. Actually, myriad places, if I thought about it.
I stood up, looping my camera around my neck to make a point. I was actually going to shoot some footage, because otherwise it would make me a liar, which I’d always prided myself on not being.
‘See you in a bit, everyone,’ I said. ‘Just popping out for a sec. Work stuff, you know.’
Rosamund and Sophia mumbled a goodbye, but Peter was not to be interrupted.
I headed for the door, glancing over my shoulder and noticing that Sophia had moved into my seat as quick as lightning.
‘Everything all right?’ I heard her coo to Nick.
As I headed in the direction of the Ponte Santa Trinita with the scorching sun still high in the sky, I rubbed the back of my neck, realising I’d forgotten to put sunscreen on that morning. Sometimes it was difficult to remember unless I was physically sitting on a beach ‘sunbathing’ for hours on end. I’d always felt slightly removed from my friends when we’d been on those sorts of beach holidays, to Majorca or Corfu or Ayia Napa – when we were in our early twenties. Sunbathe, swim, get drunk, dance and repeat. I’d wanted to be like them, mithering about getting a tan and whether or not they’d burned. Moving down from a factor 15 to a 5 as the holiday went on. One of them using carrot oil and wondering why she’d come up in blisters a few hours later. I hadn’t wanted sunburn, of course. I’d just wanted to be worried about it like everybody else.
As I crossed the road and walked onto the bridge, I saw him, right in the middle, leaning with his back against the wall. He had sunglasses on and was looking in my direction. It didn’t feel real that we were about to have an actual conversation, given the amount of times I’d imagined it. Was it too late to bolt? I wondered. To turn around and go right back to the safety of the bar and Peter’s wine-obsessed drone? Part of me had hoped Aidan wouldn’t be here because, let’s face it, he was liable to not turn up places when he said he would.
I found myself walking towards him, anyway, coming to a stop with my hands on my hips. I was not going to let him overpower me with his confidence and his charm and his general good-looking-ness.
‘Let’s get this over with, then,’ I said. ‘What did you want to talk to me about?’
Irritatingly, Aidan flipped his sunglasses onto his head and looked at me.Reallylooked at me. So intensely that every part of me began to tingle. I was horrified that he was still having this effect on me and I fought to make myself stop.
I whipped my eyes away, looking out at the Ponte Vecchio. In desperation, I turned on my camera and haphazardly shot some footage, starting with the pale lemon apartment buildings on my left which had Florence’s trademark shutters and balconies. Then I twisted at the waist, panning the shot out across the Ponte Vecchio, with its three arches and the jewellery shops lining each side of the central street. I’d always thought people lived in those quaint little buildings with the windows that lit up cosily at night, but apparently nobody did. They were the back offices of the shops, then, I supposed. Gino had told us not to bother buying jewellery there, that it was sold at a premium, but I thought there might be something romantic about choosing a special piece there. Not that I could afford gold jewellery, obviously. But if I could.
‘Can you see the corridor on top of the bridge?’ said Aidan.
‘What corridor?’
He pointed to the three arches in the centre of the bridge, and then the three windows above them. ‘It’s called the Vasari corridor. Built by Giorgio Vasari for Cosimo the first of Medici in the fifteen hundreds. He found it difficult to walk from the Palazzo Vecchio, where he lived, to the Palazzo Pitti, where he worked. He wasn’t that popular and he’d be hassled by irate locals on the way. So he arranged for this custom-built elevated passageway to be created, whichstretches from one palace to the other, across the top of the Uffizi Gallery and right over the Ponte Vecchio.’
I nodded. ‘Thank you for the running commentary. You should use that for your article.’
Aidan laughed softly.
We were silent for a while. I finally put my camera down.
‘You look great, Maddie. How have you been?’
No. I wasn’t going to let him do this. I hated him and I wasn’t about to let him forget it.
‘If you’re planning to go on a charm offensive, Aidan, please don’t bother. I’ve learned a lot these past two years, and one of them is to not believe a word you say.’
Aidan had the audacity to look shocked. ‘I’ve never said anything to you I didn’t mean.’
