Chapter 40

When I woke up the next morning, thoughts of Jim were running through my mind. Should I have stayed? Although I'd wanted to more than anything, it had seemed like the right decision at the time. I wasn't going to compete with Samantha for Jim's attention. Perhaps he might change his mind about starting a relationship with me once he'd had a chance to mull it over. That was the best I could hope for, but, in the meantime, we'd have to go back to being friends. All the Chianti from the night before had given me a headache and I needed caffeine. Getting out of bed, I pulled back the curtains. Before me was a blue sky, wispy clouds tinged with pink, and it was the most incredible sunrise I'd ever seen. Grabbing my phone, I took a few photos, planning on painting the scene when returning home. Selecting a pod for the coffee machine, I made an espresso and slid open the door leading to the balcony. Pulling up a chair, I sat down to appreciate the view with my coffee. The way the rising sun reflected in the river was truly magical, and in that moment, I thought again of Margaret's saying: ‘Dolce far niente'.

Unable to wait until after breakfast to explore, I showered and dressed and went down to the lobby. It was only seven o'clock and there was no one around. I went outside and walked along the pavement bordering the river with the Ponte Vecchio ahead of me. It reminded me of Venice, with the little buildings running along it in lemon yellow. I approached the bridge and a man poured a bucket of water onto the pavement outside a jewellery shop and swept. The swishing sound of his broom was soporific. When I reached a gap between the buildings, I studied the river and a long narrow boat glided along as its crew pushed oars through the water. All was quiet and still, the calm before the storm, when tourists would overrun the city for the day.

It was easy to get lost in the beauty of Florence, but I mustn't forget my reason for visiting. That morning, I needed to ask about Luca at the bakery. Perhaps Tabitha had been in touch since Margaret's visit, and he'd know what surname she was using. Margaret had mentioned Luca telling her about a boyfriend in La Spezia in 1986. Perhaps they were now married.

The walk had made me hungry, but it was still too early to wake Jim to have breakfast with me. Perhaps it would be better to have some space from each other anyway. When I returned to the hotel, I found the dining room. Only a couple of tables were taken and I sat in a corner. The buffet was impressive, and I selected slices of orange melon, a bowl of muesli and a croissant. The waiter brought me coffee and I sat there and ate without feeling the need to scroll through my phone. Instead, I got A Room with a View out of my bag and read.

When I'd finished eating, I texted Jim to say we should meet later, after I'd visited the bakery. Using Google Maps, I went to find Pasticceria Mancini. It was only a ten-minute walk from the hotel, down a side street. Florence was starting to wake up and a few locals looked as though they were making their way to work. The doors to the bakery were open and the room bustled with customers, standing at the bar, drinking espressos and cappuccinos, and eating sandwiches and delicious-looking pastries. The smell of coffee fused with bread and cakes baking in the oven was wonderful. Customers queued right up to the door, and I could see why. Behind the counter there was a variety of delicious-looking bread, with loaves in all shapes and sizes, and then there were pastries and cakes arranged neatly under a sheet of glass. The woman behind the counter served quickly, pushing goods into paper bags before moving swiftly on to the next customer. I wanted to eat just about everything. Not knowing how to go about asking for Luca, I joined the queue, thinking I should buy something in order to start a conversation with the woman serving.

When it was my turn, I said, ‘Do you speak English?'

‘What you want?' the woman said.

‘A pastry,' I said, pointing at what looked like a giant croissant dusted with icing sugar.

‘Questo?' she said.

I nodded, and she used tongs to put the pastry into a bag before handing it to me. I tapped my card on the machine.

‘And I'm looking for Luca – Luca Mancini.'

‘You want to see Luca? Who are you?'

‘I'm…' I didn't know what to say.

She pointed to the ice cream counter. ‘You wait there,' she said.

Nodding, I said, ‘Okay, thank you,' and did as she'd asked. While waiting, I studied the ice cream flavours, wanting to try all of them.

A few minutes later the woman came over, wiping her hands on the apron tied round her waist. She lifted a phone to her ear and spoke in Italian before hanging up.

‘We wait some more,' she said.

I nodded. ‘Thank you,' I said.

Before long, a door opened and a younger woman appeared, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. She seemed familiar, but I had no idea why. They spoke in Italian before she turned to me.

‘My mother's English is not good, so I translate,' she said.

‘Ah okay,' I said.

‘I am Gina and Luca is my grandfather. This is my mother, Maria.'

‘Hello, I'm Claire.'

‘Why you want to see Luca?' she said.

‘Is he here? Can I talk to him?' I said, excited at the prospect of this.

‘Yes, but he is old and gets tired. Who are you?'

I explained that I worked at Gatley Hall in England and that Luca had lived on its Home Farm during the war.

‘I wanted to ask him some questions for an exhibition we're having.'

‘He talks about his time in England fondly and we met Mags when she came here.'

‘Can I see him?' I said.

‘Come with me,' Gina said.

She spoke to her mother in Italian. Their conversation seemed a little heated, but I wasn't sure if this was how they spoke or whether there was a problem. Gina gestured for me to follow her through a door and up a few flights of stairs. We reached a flat on the top floor and she unlocked the door. Inside, she took me into a kitchen. It was a bright and airy room and through the tall windows was a view of terracotta rooftops. A light breeze lifted the curtains. In the corner a frail-looking elderly man sat in a chair, his eyes fixed on the television in front of him.

‘He is watching his favourite programme, La Donna in Giallo,' Gina said with a smile.

Looking at the screen, I saw the programme was Murder She Wrote, dubbed into Italian.

Luca didn't seem to have noticed us enter the room. Gina said, ‘You want coffee?'

Nodding, I said, ‘Yes, please.'

She approached a machine and prepared an espresso in a tiny cup and handed it to me.

Gina spoke to Luca in Italian and he looked up, but didn't smile. He studied me with suspicion.

‘Could you ask if Tabitha has visited recently?' I said.

‘Don't you mean Lucia?' Gina said.

Of course, Margaret had said Tabitha might be using her middle name.

‘Yes, has Lucia been here?'

Luca picked up the remote control and paused the television, clearly understanding. And then he spoke to Gina, slowly, his voice raspy, and she nodded along before turning to me.

‘A few years after Mags visited, Lucia sent a letter and they corresponded for a while. My grandfather is illiterate, but his friend from the bookshop across the road read the letters to him and wrote the replies. They met a few times in secret as my grandmother would not have liked it.'

‘When did your grandfather last hear from Lucia?'

‘They had an argument around ten years ago. He said she shouldn't have abandoned her son in England, but she said he'd done the same to her. His situation was very different, and he told her this.'

So, Luca knew about the grandson Margaret had mentioned.

‘Does he know where she is now?'

Gina spoke to him again and he replied.

‘Somewhere in Liguria, a small town but he cannot remember the name. She came to Florence to study art and to see him, then she fell in love and married an Italian man, and they moved to the Italian Riviera, somewhere near La Spezia.'

‘Do you know her married surname so I can try and find her?' I said.

She said something to Luca, and he shook his head.

‘No, he cannot remember.'

But then he raised a hand, and said, ‘Aspetta.'

‘Wait, he says,' Gina said.

He pointed to a vase on the table filled with tulips, and then he said something else: ‘Was a flower,' he said, in English; then he spoke in Italian.

‘He says he can't remember which one,' Gina said.

Nodding, I said, ‘That's helpful, thank you.' How many surnames with flowers could there be? I'd do a Google search. ‘Can I give you my phone number in case he remembers?'

‘Sure,' she said, unlocking her phone and handing it to me. I keyed in my number and gave the phone back to her.

‘Thank you, Gina,' I said.

‘You are welcome. Good luck.'

‘Would Luca mind if I took a photo of him? You see, there is a portrait of him that we want to display, and it would be wonderful to include a photograph of him taken now to go next to it.'

They had a brief exchange, and Gina said, ‘Certainly. My grandfather remembers sitting for that portrait in the small house in the woods.'

‘Yes, we only discovered it recently.' I pulled up the portrait on my phone and showed it to her.

‘That is amazing,' she said. ‘Can I have a copy?'

‘Of course.' I sent it to her phone, then went ahead and took a photo of Luca, who raised a smile especially.

‘My grandfather is tired now, I'm afraid,' she said.

‘You've both been very helpful, thank you.' I said goodbye to Luca, who gave me a nod.

Gina showed me out, and I went downstairs and through the bakery and made my way back to the hotel. I sat by the fountain in the square to think everything over. The water cascading from the cherubs was soothing and I ran through my conversation with Gina and Luca. I needed to find out Lucia's surname and go to Liguria to find her.