Chapter 39

The next morning at five o'clock, I added a few last-minute things to my suitcase and sat on it while doing up the zip. When would I learn to travel light? I wanted to dress the part in Florence though. A knock came at the front door and, when I opened it, Jim stood there, a holdall resting on his shoulder.

‘Is that all you're taking?' I said.

‘It's only three nights,' he said, looking at my suitcase. ‘You seem to be travelling as expected.' He rolled his eyes and I smiled.

He'd arranged everything with Helen the night before. Whether he was coming because he felt responsible for my ankle or not, the gesture of support was touching.

Jim drove us to Gatwick airport, and the flight didn't take long. Soon we were in a white Fiat Uno en route to Florence. Despite getting up so early, I felt hugely energised, unable to wait for what lay ahead. Immediately we were thrust onto a busy motorway and we headed south. At a services stop, we bought rolls filled with mozzarella and tomato along with bottles of chilled water and coffees. The temperature was much warmer than at home, and we sat outside at a picnic table in t-shirts. It was so good to feel the sun on my face.

‘Are you glad you came?' I said.

‘I'm glad to be able to make up for your injury in some small way,' he said.

I thought about how I'd let him down that Saturday night and how forgiving he'd been. And now he felt responsible for my sprained ankle, and that meant a great deal. It wasn't his fault. Sledging with him had been the most exhilarating activity I'd done in years.

We reached Florence mid-afternoon and checked into our rooms. They were next to each other and facing the River Arno, with a view of the Ponte Vecchio. We walked out onto our adjacent balconies with window boxes of hot-pink geraniums clipped onto the railings. It was such a romantic setting and I felt like Lucy Honeychurch out of A Room with a View. The warm breeze brushed my face, and at that moment life couldn't be more perfect. Here I was in a place I'd always wanted to visit, staying in a room with the best view – Helen had chosen well – and next door to Jim. We were neighbours, like in Gatley.

He leant on the railings and looked ahead. ‘Well, Helen seems to have done me a favour,' he said.

‘It's worked out well for you, hasn't it?'

Part of the itinerary I'd put together was a plan to go to Luca's bakery and ask about Tabitha the following morning. But for now, my urge was to explore this magical place and use the tickets I'd bought online.

‘Shall we go out for a wander?' I said.

‘Why not?'

The hotel was located in a small square with a gurgling fountain, complete with smiling cherubs set in a circle. From there we headed for the centre along a quiet, narrow street with cobblestones and tall old buildings in yellow and terracotta, some of them with shutters. We reached the main drag with its shops and cafés. The street bustled with tourists in shorts and t-shirts and hats, some wielding cameras with big lenses, and most of them moving at a snail's pace. We made our way around a group of Americans, a tour guide leading the way with a flag attached to a stick.

We reached the big square, the Piazza della Signoria. It was dominated by the replica of Michelangelo's statue of David, a man with a very fine physique, sculpted in white marble. He was surrounded by tourists taking photos.

‘I have tickets to see the real David at the Galleria dell'Accademia,' I said.

‘I hadn't realised you'd booked me in for a cultural tour. Is there any point when we have the replica right here?' Jim said.

‘Well, I'm going, and you can choose to come with me or not,' I said. ‘Tomorrow, we're going to the Uffizi to see Botticelli's Birth of Venus.'

‘Can't wait. Why don't we get an ice cream first?' Jim said.

‘Good idea.'

It didn't take long to find a gelateria and I chose pistachio flavour in a cone, and Jim selected chocolate. We ate our ice creams on a bench near the Duomo with its beautiful terracotta dome and marble facade in white, green and pink.

‘Margaret told me about an Italian saying that fits this moment,' I said.

‘What's that?'

‘Dolce far niente.'

‘Meaning?'

‘The sweetness of doing nothing.'

‘That's my kind of saying,' Jim said.

Although tourists were bustling around us, I still felt a sense of calm. There was no pressure to do anything apart from enjoy ourselves.

We walked to the Galleria dell'Accademia and saw the real statue of David. Although we'd seen the replica, it was so good to see the original, sculpted by Michelangelo himself, and tick it off my list.

When we went back outside, I said, ‘There's one more thing on the itinerary for today before dinner, I'm afraid. You don't have to come with me, but I think you might like it.'

‘What's that?' Jim said.

‘You'll see,' I said.

I took him to the Duomo and we climbed the narrow, spiral staircase with many steps, 463 of them according to the guidebook, which led to the Brunelleschi dome. The climb made my ankle ache, and I wondered if it was such a good idea. But when we reached the top, I'd timed it perfectly; the sun was setting, the sky purple and orange and pink and blue. We were rewarded with a view of the terracotta rooftops and domes of Florence, the gentle Tuscan hills as a backdrop. We found a quiet corner and there were no words as we studied the spectacular view together. As we stood beside each other, it struck me that I wouldn't have wanted to experience that moment with anyone else. Jim meant more to me than I'd been admitting to myself.

‘You know I prefer the countryside to cities, but this is very impressive,' Jim said. ‘You were right to bring me up here.'

‘It wouldn't have been the same without you,' I found myself saying.

He looked at me, his eyes meeting mine, those blue eyes like the Med on a hot day, and my gut lurched as I registered he was about to kiss me. He hesitated, as if waiting for me to give him the nod, to lean forward a little and show that any move would be welcomed. How I wanted him to kiss me right then – but was it such a good idea? Was I totally over my relationship with Miles? The last thing I wanted was for Jim to be a rebound guy – he was too good for that. Was being colleagues and neighbours such an issue? And what about Samantha? As I debated the pros and cons in my head, taking far too long about it, Jim's phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and checked the screen and sighed.

‘Who is it?' I said.

‘Samantha,' he said.

Of course it was.

‘Aren't you going to answer it?'

‘I'll call her later,' he said, putting the phone away.

The moment was ruined. We weren't going to kiss now, were we?

‘Does she know you're here, with me?' I said.

‘I haven't had a chance to tell her yet,' he said.

‘You should,' I said.

‘I know, and I will,' he said, curtly.

As we walked back to the hotel, I thought about how much the tickets for the Duomo had cost me: a small fortune. What a waste of money and an opportunity. If only I'd made it obvious that I wanted him to kiss me. That was what I wanted, wasn't it? But Samantha would still have interrupted us, so perhaps it was for the best. Would I get another chance? Her call would have reminded Jim of her existence. Even though they weren't in a relationship, he might feel guilty for starting something with me before ending their arrangement.

We returned to the hotel, exchanging few words en route, the mood a little tense. In my room, I showered and changed for dinner. Feeling a need to look my best, I selected what I believed to be my most flattering dress, made from lemon-yellow linen. I slipped on a pair of kitten heels before checking myself in the mirror many times. If any dress was going to encourage Jim to try to kiss me again, this was the one. I knocked on his door, and he opened it wearing a pair of boxer shorts. I went inside and sat on the bed while he dressed. Being present while he put on his clothes felt rather intimate and I scrolled through my phone, watching him out of the corner of my eye. He put on a crisp white shirt and jeans, sliding his phone into a back pocket.

It was dark when we left the hotel and we walked along the pavement by the river with old-fashioned streetlamps lighting our way. We crossed the Ponte Vecchio to the restaurant I'd booked, and ordered Florentine steaks with chips and salad, and shared a bottle of Chianti. The walls were crammed with old black-and-white photographs of the city and the ambience was romantic with white tablecloths and tea light candles and soft music played. While taking a photo of our surroundings to post on Instagram, my phone rang. It was Miles. What did he want?

I declined the call, but Jim said, ‘Who is it?'

‘Miles.'

‘Why would he be calling you?' Jim said.

Shaking my head, I said, ‘I don't know.'

A message flashed up, followed by several others.

Are you there?

Can you pick up?

Natasha lost the baby.

I need to talk to you x

Oh no. I took a glug of my wine and looked across the table at Jim. ‘I think I need to call him.'

Jim sighed. ‘Okay.'

I went outside and called Miles.

‘Claire.'

‘Are you all right?'

‘No.'

‘When did it happen?'

‘A couple of weeks ago, but she's just moved out, gone to live with her mother. She doesn't want to be with me any more.'

The loss of a baby was a terrible thing and, despite my feelings towards him and Natasha, I felt bad for them both. But he'd almost destroyed me with his selfish behaviour and now he expected me to be there for him. His call couldn't have come at a worse time.

‘I'm sorry,' I said.

‘Will you come over?'

‘I'm actually in Florence.'

‘You're in Florence. Who with?'

‘Jim.'

‘The man in the towel. I knew he fancied you.'

‘No, that's not why he's here. He replaced my colleague when she dropped out last minute. We're here for work.'

‘Yeah, sure.'

A moment of silence passed between us.

‘So, why are you calling, Miles?'

‘I just felt this need to hear your voice.'

‘How would I help?'

‘I miss you, Claire Bear. When Natasha got pregnant, I came round to the idea of having another child. I wonder if we ought to talk about giving it a go.'

He must be joking. I'd spent the past few months getting over him and now this, especially after the way I'd found out about Natasha's pregnancy.

‘I'm sorry about your situation, but that's not going to happen.'

‘What, you won't even consider it?'

‘We're done, Miles. You can't expect to come crawling back after the way you treated me.'

‘Fair enough.'

‘Can I go now?'

‘Yes, whatever, you go and enjoy yourself.'

‘Thanks, I will.'

Back inside the restaurant, Jim was scrolling his phone. He looked up when I sat down.

‘What was all that about?'

I relayed the conversation to him.

‘Obviously I wouldn't wish that on anyone, but at the same time, what a cheek, expecting you to be there for him,' he said.

‘I know.'

‘Well, you can forget about him now and move on.'

Jim looked across the table at me. Did he still want to kiss me? I wondered if he'd called Samantha back, and how the conversation might have gone. For some reason I couldn't bring myself to ask.

After dinner, we walked back to the hotel and the temperature had dropped. Jim gave me his grey jumper and I pulled it over my head, inhaling his oaky, musky scent. The streets were filled with the murmur of people ambling to and from bars and restaurants, all dressed up. The moon was full and shone brightly like a giant lamp lighting our way. I took it as a sign that something significant was about to happen and I hoped Jim might try to kiss me again.

Back at the hotel, we took the lift, just us, and the tension as we studied each other in the mirror was off the scale.

‘You look very pretty in that dress,' Jim said.

‘Thanks,' I said, smiling to myself.

The lift reached our floor with a bump and, as we got out, Jim said, ‘I feel we wasted an opportunity at the top of the Duomo earlier.'

‘It was a beautiful setting,' I said, rooting around in my bag for the room key. What did he want me to say? Yes, you should have kissed me before Samantha called. You should have had your phone on Do Not Disturb so it wouldn't happen. You shouldn't have answered. You shouldn't be seeing someone like Samantha in the first place as she's all wrong for you.

‘Can I have my jumper back?' he said.

‘Oh yes, of course.'

I peeled his jumper over my head and handed it to him, still inside out, and we laughed as he said, ‘Thanks.'

We stood there looking at each other. ‘How about we raid my minibar and have a drink on the balcony?' he said.

‘Okay.'

He scanned his key and we entered his room. My feet were sore from the walk, and I slipped off my shoes. Squatting down to open the fridge, he produced a few miniatures of vodka, whisky, brandy, gin, and lined them up in a row on the desk.

‘What do you fancy?'

‘What are you having?'

‘Claire, I must admit, I don't need anything else to drink. I just wanted an excuse to carry on where we left off earlier.'

‘Oh.'

‘If that's what you want, of course?'

I nodded, and he leant forwards and kissed me on the lips, and then gently pushed his tongue into my mouth. He was such a good kisser and I just wanted to get completely lost in him. We fell onto the bed, and he reached for the zip on the back of my dress, and said, ‘Is this okay?'

I'd never wanted to be with anyone so much, and perhaps that was because we'd got to know each other slowly over the course of a few months. And I really fancied him. But then it struck me – what was I doing? He was still seeing Samantha, and I didn't want to be competing with her for his attention when we got home. If he wanted to start anything with me, he needed to end it with her first.

‘I think we should stop,' I said.

He rolled off me and stood up.

‘You're right. What was I thinking? It's too much, too soon.'

‘Obviously, I want nothing more than to carry on, but if anything is going to happen between us you need to end it with Samantha first.'

‘Samantha and I aren't exclusive.'

‘Yeah, but that's not really my thing.'

‘Claire, I can't launch straight into a relationship with you. After what happened with my fiancée, I'm not ready for any of that. I'm not sure I will be for a while, if at all.'

‘Well, there you go. I just made the right decision then.' I sat on the side of the bed and put my shoes back on.

‘So, you'd want the real deal?'

He seemed surprised by this.

I got up and walked to the door. ‘Jim, I'm not looking for something casual, I'm afraid. I'm sorry if I led you to believe otherwise.'

‘We seem to have got our wires crossed,' he said.

‘Well, no harm done. See you in the morning?'

‘Okay. Goodnight, Claire. I hope this doesn't change anything, and we can still be friends?' He ran a hand through his hair, in that way he did.

‘Sure, of course. Goodnight.'

I went to my room and got in the shower and let the water run over me, attempting to process what had happened in Jim's room. Had I done the right thing, turning him down like that? I'd wanted him so much but didn't want him to end up breaking my heart.