Chapter 41

On the way back to the hotel, I messaged Jim to ask when he wanted to meet. After our last conversation, I was worried about it being awkward, but also couldn't wait to tell him about my visit to the bakery. We agreed to have lunch in the hotel bar, and I waited there for him. I ordered a bottle of water and read.

‘Hi, Claire,' he said, and I looked up.

He had bags under his eyes and his voice was weary. Had he been lying awake thinking too?

‘Hi,' I said.

We ordered sandwiches, and I told Jim about what Luca had said.

‘Well, it sounds like you're not far off finding her,' he said.

‘It's very exciting,' I said. ‘I'll google surnames with flowers later. And I'll look on Facebook and Instagram too. Surely it won't be that difficult?'

‘That's true,' he said, nodding.

‘Thank goodness Mags told me she might be using her middle name. To think, I could have been looking for Tabitha all along and that would have led me nowhere.'

‘Did she?' Jim said, studying the bill, and signing it.

‘Yes, apparently when Mr and Mrs Willis adopted her, they preferred to call her by the English version of her middle name, Lucia instead.'

‘Which is…'

‘Lucy.'

He frowned. ‘Lucy? And what was her surname?'

‘Dobson but, as I said, it's probably one of those flower surnames now. Why?'

‘Her name is Lucy Dobson?' He sat up in his chair.

‘Well, when she came to Italy she starting calling herself Lucia.'

Jim swallowed. ‘I don't believe this,' he said.

‘What?'

‘Tabitha, Lucy, Lucia – whatever you want to call her – has to be my mother.'

How was this possible?

‘What? Jim, what do you mean?'

‘How did I not put two and two together before? Remember, I told you my dad used to take me to Rose Cottage to see an old family friend called Hilda – she worked at the house during the war and adopted my mother when she was a baby.'

This was a shock. Hilda must have been Mrs Willis. What must Jim be feeling? Then I remembered Mags talking about Tabitha having a son during our first visit to Hyacinth Place, when she'd started going off at a tangent. She'd said Tabitha left him with his father so she could go to Italy and follow her dream of studying art. Could Jim really be that baby?

‘Oh Jim, I don't know what to say.'

He picked up his glass and sipped the water, his eyes glazing over.

‘Dad always said my mum had gone to live in Australia.'

‘He must have thought it was kinder for you to believe there was no chance you'd see her again, to manage your expectations?'

‘The last thing I want to do is see her now.'

‘I can understand that, of course.'

He stood up. ‘I need to call my dad.'

‘That's probably a good idea.'

This was a huge crisis for Jim, and I needed to give him space.

He left the bar, and I took out my phone to check the photo of Luca's portrait. Finally, I knew why he'd seemed familiar. Luca and Jim's faces were the same square shape with a strong jawline. Jim's eyes were blue rather than brown and his hair was a lighter brown colour, but otherwise they looked unmistakably alike. And Gina had looked a little like Jim too, and that was because they were also related.

Luca and Jim should meet; but it didn't seem the right time to make such a suggestion.

When I got back to my hotel room, I sat in bed with the French doors open, a breeze lifting the lace curtains, and searched for Italian surnames with flowers on my phone. There was the word flower itself, Fiore, and della Rosa, and I searched for Lucia Fiore and then della Rosa on Facebook. Then, trying Instagram, I found an account with the name Lucia della Rosa. She owned an art gallery on the seafront in a fishing village on the Italian Riviera near Portofino, called Camona. This had to be Tabitha. There was a photograph of her sitting outside painting at an easel. She looked as though she'd be in her seventies, and her hair was bleached blond. Her Instagram account showed coastal scenes, still lifes and portraits and it was clear she was really talented. I needed to find her before returning to England. The rooms in Florence were booked for another night, but we ought to leave a day early and call in at Camona, especially as it was only a slight detour from the route back to Milan. Searching for hotels online, I saw there were plenty of rooms available and they were much cheaper than in Florence. But how would Jim feel about it?

Still tired from the early start the previous day, I decided to have an afternoon nap. When I woke up, it was too late to go to the Uffizi, but it hardly mattered in the circumstances. I checked my phone and there was a text from Jim.

I'm sorry about leaving the bar like that. The news was a bit of a shock as you can probably imagine. I've spoken to my dad who confirmed that Tabitha/Lucia is indeed my mother and he apologised for making me think she was in Australia all this time. I never thought she'd come back into my life and am a little confused. I don't feel like company at the moment so see you tomorrow?

Jim didn't even know about my plan to go to Camona and was probably thinking we'd have another day and evening before returning home.

I replied.

I'm really sorry about how you found out and hope you are okay. I'm here if you decide you want to talk. I've done some research and Lucia della Rosa is in a fishing village on the Italian Riviera called Camona. She owns a small art gallery on the seafront. I feel bad asking this of you but I promised Margaret I would try to find her. Would you mind very much if we cut our stay in Florence short and went to Camona tomorrow morning? I can book us a hotel for the night and we can go to Milan from there the following day for our flight home. Please say yes. You don't have to go anywhere near her, of course

The three dots danced while I waited for Jim's answer.

No problem.

Torn between being pleased that he'd agreed to go to Camona and deeply upset for him, I tried to imagine how confused and devastated he must be. I felt as though it was my fault. What if I hadn't found Margaret's letter? Jim could have spent the rest of his life thinking his mother was in Australia and that he'd never see her again. And then he wouldn't have to deal with the possibility of a reunion and all the emotions it would bring. But was this what he needed? Had her abandoning him as a baby wounded him in some way, making him feel rejected? I'd read enough self-help books to know it made sense for him to have the opportunity to speak to this woman, while he still could.