Who were they for? Where did he take them? Is this an ‘every Thursday’ pattern?
That Thursday morning, after their exchange at thecomunethe previous day, Lucia decided she wanted some answers. So, she took both the forces of the universeandthe school’s timetable into her own hands.
‘Ah,Grazie, Stefano.Buongiorno!’ Lucia caught Stefano as he entered the school and embraced him quickly. Her eyes practically never left La Commedia’s front door. ‘Here are your notes for today’s lessons. Today it’smenùvocabulary and formal exchanges, followed by a listening task on the history of Carnevale.’
He nodded, flipping through the materials Lucia had prepared for him. ‘Ottimo. As usual.’ His eyes scanned the ground floor, searching for Francesco.
Noting this, Lucia stifled a smile. ‘Mariella and Checco are upstairs arranging the space for you.’
He nodded. ‘How are you healing after the collapse?’ He placed a gentle reassuring hand on hers.
‘Apart from what’s left of the bruise, I’m fine.’ Lucia watched as his gaze moved to her forehead.
They were interrupted by Mariella and Francesco’s arrival down the spiral staircase, Mariella carrying a few books and Francesco holding Foscari and a pitcher of water for the drink station at the welcome desk.
‘Buongiorno, Stefano!’ Mariella trilled. ‘Che bello vederti stamattina.’
‘Yes. Stefano has agreed to take my lessons this morning as I have plans.’ Lucia craned her neck to see past a group of students that had gathered at the front of the school. ‘I think.’
Francesco’s eyebrow rose suspiciously. ‘And what plans—?’
Lucia’s entire body suddenly became rigid and she froze to the spot.
Movement across the street caught their attention. Dressed in a long tan trench coat, with matching brown shoes and flat cap, Alex stepped out onto Calle del Leone. Locking the door to La Commedia behind him, he rattled the wrought-iron latch to ensure it was secure. He took a cursory look over his right shoulder as he dropped the large decorative key into his coat pocket. In his other hand he held a bunch of white flowers with long, full petals.
You’re a man of habit, aren’t you, Alex? Every Thursday with the flowers.
Lucia took a step closer to the window, and this caught Alex’s attention. Their eyes locked for a moment through the glass and his all-encompassing gaze swallowed her whole. But his stare was lifeless and empty. Nothing flickered in his eyes, yet it was intoxicating.
It seemed to Lucia as though time stood still – then Alex looked away, and without further acknowledgement of Lucia or her colleagues, he turned on his heel and set off up thecalle. Weaving seamlessly between the other pedestrians, he disappeared into the sea of people ahead.
‘I’m going to follow him,’ Lucia announced.
Francesco piped up. ‘SCUSAMI?!’
‘Because I have to face him next Wednesday at thecomune. I know nothing about him. This way I might get a better sense of who he is and what I’m up against!’ She bolted to the small office space behind the welcome desk and reappeared a moment later, fumbling with the ornate black buttons on her coat. ‘Grazie, Stefano!’ she said again, now wrapping a jade-green scarf around her neck. With that she ran from the school, bag over her good shoulder, as quickly as she could.
‘This won’t end well, will it?’ Francesco said, sighing.
‘We’re beyond that now. The past month has finally hit her,’ Mariella said, staring blankly through the front window. ‘Lucia’s come undone.’
Alex was nowhere to be seen as Lucia started down Calle del Leone. She darted between passers-by, ducking and weaving with increasing frustration as she looked for his flat cap over the heads of the crowd.
Just as she neared the intersection where threecallimerged into a smallcamposhe stopped and sighed loudly. This earned the attention of an elderly gentleman and his dog, so Lucia plucked her sunglasses and beret from her bag and put them on. She most certainly didn’t want or need an audience for this.
She flicked her head to the side to help gather her ponytail over her shoulder, and that’s when she spotted it – the head of a white-petaled flower.
She bent down to pick it up and was surprised to find it was made of paper: the finest, most delicate tissue. She held it aloft and watched as the petals danced in the breeze.
Her eyes suddenly focused on thecallethat lay ahead.
To the water . . .
She had nothing to lose, so with renewed pace she set off once more. But between the narrowing path and bars either side, both filled to the brim with locals seeking their morningcappuccini, there was no sign of Alex.
There was, however, the Grand Canal.
It spread before her like a tormenting expanse of blue-green. The ultimate place to escape. Alex could literally have been anywhere.
