The silence on the other end of the line was deafening.
‘I don’t need you anymore,’ she continued, having by now practised the words a hundred times over. ‘I don’t want you using me to impress your Park Avenue friends or persuade Dad’s condescending business associates. I don’t want you pulling my strings.’
‘What are you talking about, Kimberley? You’re making no sense. Are you drunk?’
‘A little bit,’ she admitted, staring at the glass of wine she was holding. ‘But it’s not that, it’s time and space that’s given me the courage to say what I’ve been afraid to. I’m not a child. I’m a grown woman who knows what she wants and doesn’t, and I don’t want what you guys want for me. I don’t want to have to pay my dues so you can have your heart’s desire. I wantmyheart’s desire. I’m not the same as you and Daddy, always making deals and manipulating relationships for your own gain.’
The silence on the other end of the line spurred her on and soon Kim was saying things she never dreamed she would.
She unleashed it all, thirty years of misery in just a few minutes. Her heart was on a speedway but it didn’t matter. It felt good to say it, to let it all out for the first time in her life.
‘So that’s it. I’m in Italy now and, to be honest, I’m not sure where I’m going next, but I’m going to take some time to find out who I am. I’m going to live my own life on my own terms. Not yours. I would truly love it if you could understand but I don’t expect you will. However, I would like you to respect my choice.’
‘Are you finished?’
‘Yes.’
‘Fine. If this is what you feel and this is the choice that you’ve made, then I have no choice but to say this. Don’t come home, Kim. After what you’ve done to me and your father – embarrassed this family and shown such disrespect for everything we’ve done for you – there is nothing here for you anyway.’
Gloria disconnected then without another word, not even a goodbye.
Kim was hurt but not surprised. She was a little surprised, though, at the relief she felt.
The only impossible journey is the one you’ve never begun.
And she knew then that she’d be OK.
Chapter 36
Kim took the bus from Positano down to Amalfi, in the hope that the journey might afford some great coastal views, but the bus was so packed the only view she got was that of a fellow passenger’s armpit.
She’d researched a couple of the more popular tourist sights beforehand and began now at the Cloister del Dolce Vita – which she thought was fitting given the name of the villa and her now increasingly popular social media account.
Choosing photographs for it had become an enjoyable pastime, and while Annie seemed to think Kim spent a lot of her time just lazing around, she was actually out and about in the town exploring some of Positano’s hidden-most corners and trying to compose interesting shots.
She wondered if maybe she should think about becoming a photographer as her next step. It was something to consider, but in any case, it was the first time in a long time that Kim felt she was doing something she truly enjoyed.
According to what she’d read about this place, the thirteenth-century Moorish-style cloister was known for its magnificent gardens and religious artefacts.
Outside, a statue of Jesus surrounded by angelic hosts and the twelve disciples stood ready to greet would-be visitors.
Inside, the floors of the cloister were tiled in black-and-white marble and the walls painted white with various motifs chiselled into the stone. Large brown marble columns and smaller ones dotted the interior, with gold being the predominant decorative feature.
The entire structure boasted vaulted ceilings supported by what must have been hundreds of slender double and single columns, and the ceiling frescoes reminded her of the work of Michelangelo.
Kim was so taken by their beauty as she snapped photo after photo that she didn’t realise anyone was near until she unceremoniously stepped on someone’s foot.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she said quickly as she turned to the other person – a woman of about her mother’s age, who stood an inch or two taller. She was impeccably poised and beautifully dressed in what Kim immediately recognised as head-to-toe Armani.
‘No trouble at all,’ the woman replied in a thick French accent.
‘What’s that?’ a tall, stately man asked distractedly from beside her. He too had been so busy studying the frescoes to notice Kim’s gaffe.
‘I wasn’t talking to you, Antonio,’ the woman said, rolling her eyes conspiratorially at Kim, who smiled.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she apologised again. ‘I was just a bit mesmerised. Stupid tourist.’
‘Oh, please, no.’ The man chuckled easily now, and Kim deduced from his accent that while his companion might be French, he was very definitely Italian. ‘It is good that you are enjoying the sites.’
