Chapter 38

Helen and I arranged to go to Florence a couple of weeks later, allowing time for my ankle to improve so I could enjoy walking around and exploring the birthplace of the Renaissance, an art history student's dream. During that time, spring came. The trees lining the path leading to the Stables bloomed with pink and white blossom; daffodils and snowdrops popped up all over the place; crocuses grew in circles at the base of trees; and tulips grew in the flowerbeds at the back of Gatley Hall. This spring display was inspiring, and I began to carry a small sketchbook around with me. It wasn't long before I'd filled it with pencil drawings of flowers and views of the rolling hills. Back at the cottage, I got out my watercolours and brushes and began to paint again. I ordered some plants and compost from the garden centre and filled the terracotta pots in the patio garden with geraniums, lavender and pansies. When it was warm enough, I'd be able to sit outside after work with a glass of wine.

As my ankle recovered and the mornings got lighter, I'd get up earlier to walk down to the lake and sit on a bench with my morning coffee – in the reusable cup Jim had given me – before work. I continued to prepare for the Below Stairs exhibition, working out what furniture and objects were needed from storage, and I gathered information for the display about Margaret's story. Photographs needed to be blown up and I arranged for Luca's portrait to be brought over from the gamekeeper's cottage. To make the exhibition extra special, though, Helen and I needed to find Tabitha and persuade her to come back to England to collect the brooch.

Having the Florence trip in my diary was exciting and I bought a guidebook and studied it. Apart from looking for Tabitha, I wanted to go to the Uffizi art gallery and see Botticelli's Birth of Venus. And I wanted to see the real statue of Michelangelo's David at the Galleria dell'Accademia rather than just the replica in the Piazza della Signoria. There was the Duomo, the cathedral, with its pink, green and white marble stripes, and of course the Ponte Vecchio, a beautiful bridge crossing the River Arno. I started to read A Room with a View, and watched the film, as advised by Margaret, and this made me want to go to Florence more than ever.

Helen reserved rooms in a boutique hotel called Ostello Dolceand booked flights to and from Gatwick online. She had air miles to use and asked me if I minded flying to Milan. This meant we'd need to hire a car. Helen offered to drive, as I couldn't until my ankle was completely better. I googled restaurants, made dinner reservations, booked tickets for the Galleria dell'Accademia and the Uffizi, and put together a two-day itinerary. And I went through my summer clothes, putting aside favourite dresses for dinners out. It was all so exciting.

The night before our flight, I packed and left my suitcase by the front door. We'd be leaving early the next morning, and I wanted to get a good night's sleep. I checked my phone in the kitchen and saw a message from Helen.

Really sorry, Claire. I have a stomach bug, would you believe it? There's no way I can go on a plane in my current state. You could change the name on my ticket to someone else. Maybe Jim can go with you?

My excitement turned to disappointment. I doubted Jim would want to go, and at such short notice too. But how would I drive the hire car?

A knock came at the door, and I went to open it. Jim stood there.

‘Now my shower is fixed, I feel the need to knock,' he said, clocking my suitcase on the floor. ‘Do you have any milk?'

‘Of course, come on in.'

‘You're off to Florence tomorrow?' he said.

‘Well, I was supposed to be, but Helen just cancelled.'

‘That's not good. Why at such short notice?'

‘She has a stomach bug.'

‘She was fine when I saw her only an hour or so ago.'

‘Was she? Perhaps she deteriorated when she got home.'

‘Who knows? I saw her chatting away with Wendy in the office. She didn't seem to have anything wrong with her.'

I shrugged.

‘You can still go on your own though, right?' he said.

‘Helen was supposed to be driving us to Florence from the airport because of my ankle.'

‘Oh,' Jim said.

We went into the kitchen, and I filled a small jug with milk from the fridge and handed it to him. Selfishly, I hoped he might feel some responsibility for the sledging incident and offer to drive.

Seizing the moment, I said, ‘Do you feel like driving instead?'

Jim laughed. ‘I don't think so. Can't you get a taxi or something?'

‘It's quite a long way from Milan to Florence, around three hours.'

‘Can't you take the train?'

‘I guess, although I have no idea how to get a train in Italy. But also it might be fun if you came along?'

‘I'm sure you could work out the trains, Claire, although that suitcase does look cumbersome.'

‘You can probably change Helen's flight and room into your name?' I said.

‘It's a possibility, I guess.'

‘Please, Jim? I can't cancel, there's too much depending on this trip. I've mapped out the Below Stairs exhibition and going to Florence will hopefully give me the key to the centrepiece, about Lady Violet's brooch and the story linked to it.'

‘All right. Why don't you send me Helen's number.'

Spending one-on-one time with Jim in Florence would no doubt be the best experience.

‘You're going to come with me?'

‘I'm not promising anything but will see if I can get the time off.'

‘Oh Jim, thank you!' I picked up my phone.

‘Okay, I'll keep you posted,' he said as he left, closing the door behind him.