‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said to me.
‘I hope Daddy bought you something nice?’ said Nick, winking at Peter.
Daddy, now?
‘All will be revealed, my boy, all will be revealed,’ said Peter, clumsily tapping the side of his nose.
‘Waiter!’ squawked Rosamund to a man who was carrying three very heavy-looking plates and was clearly on his way to another table. ‘Can we get a bottle of your most expensive champagne?’
I wanted to go on the walk even less now, because I really wanted to try this ‘most expensive champagne’, which probably cost about a grand a bottle. It was that kind of place. What would such a drink even taste like? Then again, I didn’t want to get roped into having to split the bill.
‘Our suitcases will be in the room by now, sweetie,’ said Nick casually. ‘You can pop up and get changed if you like. Daisy, wait for Maddie in the lobby, will you?’
Say no, I thought to myself.Say no, that you will not be going for a walk right at this moment. That you fancy a drink first and then maybe you might. Do not let these people boss you around as though you are a member of their household staff. Stand your ground, Maddie!
‘Um, sure. OK,’ I said, pathetic people-pleaser that I was.
Chapter Two
I consulted the map the hotel had given me, wondering which of the city’s attractions was generating the slow-moving queue Daisy and I were deciding whether or not to join.
‘I think it’s the Galleria dell’Accademia,’ I said, squinting up at the white building in front of us and then back at the map. ‘And if it is, it’s got Michelangelo’sDavidinside, which explains the crowds.’
Daisy pushed her sunglasses onto her head, looking up at it, too. ‘What, that’s what they’re all waiting for? To look at some ancient piece of marble?’
I laughed, softly. ‘Aren’t you into sculpture?’
Daisy shrugged. ‘Not really.’
The queue moved forward. I wondered whether seeingDavidwas worth the hype.
‘I thought your dad said you were doing GCSE art?’ I said.
He’d said she was really in to it. A ‘total creative’ was how he’d described her. I’d thought that maybe it could be something for us to bond over. I’d loved art at school, too, although I’d never been good enough to take it any further. The reality of the work I produced had never been as good as it had seemed in my head, which was something I’d noticed about my life in general.
Daisy nodded. ‘I am. But I prefer painting.’
‘Me too, I think,’ I said, looking up at the perfect, bright blue sky and slipping off my cardigan so that I could feel the late-afternoon sun on my arms. Somewhere in the distance, a street performer was playing something rousing and romantic on the violin. When I breathed in, I could smell burnt sugar.
‘He’s gutted that I’m not into something more useful,’ Daisy remarked. ‘Like maths or chemistry, or something.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ I replied. Nick had never given me the impression he cared what Daisy was or wasn’t studying. Sophia seemed to be the one in charge of all the school-related stuff. Daisy was at one of the North London private schools, of course. I was pretty sure she’d do well whatever she chose to study for GCSE. ‘He said he’s going to book us both a guided tour of the Uffizi Gallery. He thinks you’d be really into it.’
‘Do we have to?’ complained Daisy. ‘I like painting myself, not looking at other people’s in a stuffy old gallery.’
I sighed inwardly. ‘You’d better talk to him about it.’
I gave up on the idea of going into the Galleria, not prepared to queue for hours to see the statue if Daisy wasn’t that enthusiastic about it. Perhaps we’d find something else to do and I’d come back on my own.
‘Fancy a gelato?’ I asked, determined to find some common ground. I’d have to use a different tactic, and food seemed as good a place as any to start. I was going to be her stepmother after all (a mortifying thought, if I was honest). And everyone loved ice cream, didn’t they?
‘I suppose,’ huffed Daisy. ‘How many calories does it have, though?’
I looked at Daisy with her long, slim limbs and her minute waist and felt quite sad about the fact she clearly wasn’t confident about the way she looked. She reminded me ofmy half-sisters, who were just as obsessed with their weight. Nick reckoned Daisy’s constant worrying about food was just a phase, and that her hormones were ‘going haywire’, as he’d put it. Mind you, I didn’t think Nick could deal with emotional outbursts of any kind. On the odd occasion I’d lost it and had had a meltdown in front of him, I’d caught him looking at me with a mixture of utter contempt and blind panic.
‘You’re on holiday, Daisy. Treat yourself. Plus you look great – you don’t need to worry about putting on weight.’
I bought us both a gelato – Daisy had spent absolutely ages looking at the menu and I’d watched her mind ticking over, as if she was trying to work out which flavour was the least calorific. She went for black cherry in the end and I had pistachio, a decision that for me had taken, oh, about five seconds to make.
