‘What the hell has got into you?’ Stella was hiding under her pillow, trying to shelter her vision from the distorting morning light. ‘If it’s not the bells, it’s you! Why can’t I just sleep in peace?’
‘Because,’ she paused for effect, propping herself on the edge of Stella’s bed, ‘I have these.’
That piqued Stella’s curiosity, and she slowly emerged from under her pillow. Squinting through one eye, she saw the two train tickets in Marcella’s hand. ‘Firenze? Today!?’ She bolted upright. ‘Are you joking?’
‘I never joke,tesoro. Now, get yourculoout of bed and into the shower. These are non-refundable. If we miss the train, you owe me a kidney.’
The train sped through the rolling Tuscan plains with ease. With each passing kilometre, Marcella was glad for the increasing distance between Stella and Vincent. As the countryside changed and the stretches between towns grew longer, Marcella felt as if she could finally relax. Though she dreaded what was to come, she knew deep down it was for the best.
Stella had messaged Vincent to tell him of their impromptu plans. Though she didn’t say it aloud, she was concerned that he hadn’t come home last night. She suspected he’d spent the night at Pietro’s place, finishing too late to make the trek home safely.
‘Caffé?’ asked Stella, heading in the direction of the bar carriage. She noticed Marcella was looking a little limp, having spent all her energy on her morning wake-up routine.
‘Sì,grazie cara. And acornetto, please.’ She handed her a five-euro note.
Stella tried ringing Vincent while she waited for her order to be filled. She wanted to make sure he got home ok and see how he was. The call diverted straight to his voicemail. She wondered if his phone had died, because despite his increasingly erratic comings and goings, he always returned her contact.
Well,mostcontact. The letters and notes which had littered their early weeks together had ceased, but she figured that was just a natural progression of their relationship.
A knot of worry twisted in her middle; something just didn’t feel right this morning. She didn’t want to bring it up with Marcella, as she hoped to avoid the 2.0 version of Marcella’s post-pigeon fiasco concerns.
Needing a distraction, she messaged Marco to let him know she wouldn’t be around for a few days. His immediate reply made her smile.Don’t enjoy Firenze too much. We need you in Roma.
Stella swayed and rocked with the movements of the train as she made her way back to her seat. Managing to safely deliver the order without spilling a drop, Stella slowly sipped her coffee. It warmed and soothed her. Marcella, on the other hand, inhaled hers in one gulp. She ripped open the spare sugar sachet Stella had left on her fold-down tray table and swallowed the entire contents.
Stella watched her, perplexed. ‘What the hell has got into you?’
‘I’m just tired. Coffees don’t come big enough today.’
‘I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I think you need to have sex.’
Marcella laughed at Stella’s suggestion. ‘You think sex will fix me,eh?’
‘Well, I should hope so. ’Cos if that doesn’t work, nothing will.’
Marcella checked herself, needing to remain nonchalant until they reached the safe confines of Carlotta’s apartment. ‘Yes, that must be it. I need a man. It’s been too long. A fortnight is practically a drought.’
The arrival of a ticket inspector, young and quite good-looking, quickly changed the focus of the conversation. He checked both their tickets before taking a not-so-subtle look at Marcella. Wearing a fitted navy dress, her voluptuous breasts sat proudly, full and well-defined. The delicate red lace trim of her bra was just visible as she moved to return the ticket to her handbag. The inspector noticed the flash of red, and his cheeky approval manifested in a little smile. Realising that Marcella had noticed this, he turned a warm shade of pink and continued down the aisle, attending to the other passengers.
‘Well, you’ve still got it!’ Stella said, bemused.
‘I never lost it.’ She winked cheekily, tilting her head into the aisle to get a better look at the back end of the inspector.
If Rome is an unruly seductress of Italy, Florence is a refined lady. Florence dances to a slower tune. It’s polite, well-dressed and courteous beyond comparison.
In Florence, life travels slower: the chaos and busyness of Rome’s traffic and streets are replaced by quiet alleys and pedestrian-only zones. The intoxicating grit and grime of Roman life is exchanged for Florentine artisanal charm. The ancient world gives way to the Renaissance, and markets take the place of crumbling ruins.
With the door firmly closed behind them, Stella and Marcella were finally sheltered from the December chill that followed them from Santa Maria Novella Station to Carlotta’s apartment on Via del Moro.
In a trendy, upscale corner of Florence, Carlotta occupied the one-bedroom apartment on the third floor of a palazzo situated above atrattoria. The nook on Via del Moro was quiet enough not to keep her up at night, though busy enough to ensure a safe late-night walk home.
Carlotta had turned the simple apartment into a work of art. With an endless supply of luxe textiles and her sewing machine, she had transformed her new dwelling into one fit for a queen. With drapes made from Burano lace, and Persian rugs and napery handmade in Provence, it represented her eclectic love of colour and texture. Only Carlotta could pull all those elements together so seamlessly.
After the initial hugs and kisses and the pouring of coffee, they gathered around Carlotta’s little dining table, built for two, yet cosily managing to seat the three of them.
‘You guys are so sneaky!’ Stirring sugar in her coffee, Stella helped herself to one of thebiscottiCarlotta had laid out. ‘I had no idea you were planning this little getaway!’
‘Well, that was the idea.’ Carlotta said as coolly as she could manage.
