My Summer Romance Page 4

  The majesty of the main corridor was breath-taking. The floors were tiled with mosaics, the ceilings painted with intricate designs each as impressive as any of the canvases and all down the centre lay carved marble statues. One which demanded my particular attention was entitled Hercules and the Centaur Nessus. It resembled the Greek God Hercules clubbing to death what looked like a half horse, half man creature. When Marco saw my interest in the sculpture he launched into a well-rehearsed oration as to the story behind the work, which stemmed from Greek mythology.

  Entrances to large exhibits lay at intervals as the corridor progressed. We saw masterpieces by Botticelli, Giotto, Lippi and Raphael. Then we arrived in a large room which exhibited one of the most famous works of art in the world and a star attraction of the Uffizi. The Doni Tondo by Michelangelo already had a large crowd around it, even though the museum was still almost empty. Marco told us how it was the only painting by the great artist in all of Firenze, which was still in its original frame. The painting depicted the Virgin Mary sat awkwardly handing baby Jesus to Saint Joseph over her shoulder. Though what made this work of art so interesting was that whether Joseph was actually handing Jesus to Mary was still up for debate.

  Marco didn’t go into the intricacies of many of the paintings, just the ones we were more interested in and although I didn’t consider myself an art expert, it was hard not to appreciate many of the masterpieces.

  During the journey to Firenze, I’d promised myself I was going to chill out today and not allow my emotions to run away with me as they had earlier. Marco really was a blessing in that respect, since I could merely concentrate on the things he was saying, as well as the art in order to keep my mind off other things. Those other things were in the form of a tall, lithe and athletic girl named Alessia. She wore denim shorts which I suspected she’d self-tailored from jeans which showed off almost the entire length of her legs. She also wore a red sleeveless blouse which not a great many girls would have gotten away looking good in, yet somehow it made Alessia appear incredible. I guessed it was the lush red against her skin which perfectly complimented each other and then I remembered how she was studying fashion in Milano and most probably knew about these small complexities of dressing.

  As we walked around the gallery, I tried my hardest to lead the way as much as possible. After all, if I couldn’t see Alessia, particularly those legs that taunted me so much then the day would pass by all the more smoothly. From time to time there was no avoiding them and so I had to make a more concerted effort at marvelling the art instead.

  Where the gallery curved around for its second turn of the inverted u-shape, a small crowd gathered where a perfect view over the Arno River was visible. Marco stood behind me while he contemplated the vista. It wasn’t beautiful in a natural scenic sense. The best way of describing it was that some of the world’s greatest architecture lay precariously over raging water. The Ponte Vecchio or Old Bridge was the nearest of several bridges that spanned the Arno. While the bridges beyond were modern and uninteresting, the Ponte Vecchio was ancient and appealing. Shops and houses lined both sides of the bridge and from the side that was visible to me, it looked like much of the bridge was hanging over the water, only supported by beams jutting from the bridge itself.

  To my surprise, it was not Marco, but Alessia who arrived at my side. “Do you see it?” She pressed her shoulder against mine while pointing to the bridge.

  “See what?” I scanned the entire length for anything obscure.

  “The secret passageway.” Her voice was filled with excitement, like she was giving away a secret that only she knew about.

  “No, I don’t see it. Where is it?”

  She leaned so close to me that the smell of spices went straight to my brain. She pointed to the north bank where old houses reached up beyond the bridge. Then she scanned her finger over and along the bridge itself and then I saw it. I saw the secret passageway. She continued guiding her finger until her arm moved in front of my body and now she was pointing to the south bank. Then her arm crossed over the front of me as Alessia stepped forward while the secret passageway curved round and into the Uffizi Gallery itself.

  I was awestruck. “But why?”

  Marco smiled, but let Alessia take it. “It stretches all the way from the palace on the north side, over the bridge, through the gallery and emerges in the cathedral. That’s more than a kilometre.”

  I looked again at the bridge and for the first time I saw how, what at first I thought to be the upper floor of the houses below, was in fact a passageway.

  “The Medici family and the upper classes wanted to get to mass without having to walk through all the peasants below.” Alessia laughed. “I used to dream it was my passageway to a secret beautiful garden.” She said smiling at me before laughing again. “Kids can be so silly.”

  “No, I don’t think it’s silly at all.” I thought about the special place at the vineyard, where the stream ran through the valley and how that was my secret beautiful garden. “I think it’s sweet.”

  She beamed at me, once again seeming to have no comprehension of the concept of people’s personal space. Not that I minded, but I was under control this time, thank God.

  A few seconds went by in silence, then Marco stepped closer. “The bridge has withstood wars, revolutions, floods, fires and even a mafia bomb - A symbol of Firenze.”

  As we made our way out from the Uffizi Gallery, Marco told us about the German occupation of the city during the war. About how when the Nazis retreated north away from the pursuing allied forces, the many bridges spanning the Arno had been ordered destroyed. Yet on the Fuhrer’s personal orders, the Ponte Vecchio was to be spared; a decision that would ultimately prove detrimental to the Axis powers, yet good for the city. Marco continued to elaborate about how people’s individual experiences living under German occupation was not quite how the history books have made out. That many of the art pieces in the Uffizi were in fact kept safe by the Germans and many were lost only when the allies arrived in the city. “Hitler was after all an artist.” He said. “There is a joke in Firenze that the tourist occupation is far worse than the Nazi one.” Marco laughed.

  I didn’t think of myself as a tourist. I’d happily live forever in Italy.

  “But it keeps you in work.” Alessia chided him and he threw up his hands in mock surrender.

  “The stories this place could tell.” I said to nobody in particular, realising that one day in the city was nowhere near enough time.

  “Well we should come back.” Alessia said and I wondered if she’d read my thoughts.

  “I’d love to, Alessia, but there are also other places I’d love to see in Tuscany and not enough time to see them.”

  She must have seen the regret in my face. “Well don’t worry about all of that, we’ll see them.” She said, but I guessed she was just being friendly; she certainly didn’t owe me anything. Besides, I had work to do at the vineyard.

  We went for a snack in an espresso bar. Marco ordered over a plate of brioches, the pastry contrasting with the strong taste of espresso. There was nothing in the world as capable of kicking you into action quite like a real Italian espresso, the bitter taste remaining in my mouth until after we arrived at the Accademia, again jumping the queues in the process.

  The museum exhibited hundreds of canvases, sculptures and precious artefacts. But there was only one real reason to visit the Accademia. The exhibits all lead towards one large room which was the epicentre of the entire museum. The room itself was long and narrow, which opened out into a dome at the end. The narrow portion was dominated by four unfinished sculptures by Michelangelo. The sculptures were of slaves, still half encased in their original marble blocks which gave them a look of being imprisoned within themselves. Maybe it was destiny that they were never completed.

  I turned away from the final slave and looked toward the dome.

  For a few seconds I didn’t breathe.

  There it was - Michelan
gelo’s David.

  From a distance it dominated the dome, seeming to shrink everything and everyone around it. Tourists swarmed around the statue, many in groups simply stood marvelling the minute detail. I couldn’t wait to get closer to it.

  I turned round to look for Marco and Alessia and after a few seconds I saw them standing by the first slave. Marco waved a hand about the air while the other was lost somewhere in his ample hair. Alessia stared down at the floor, only looking up to make the occasional word in a defensive posture. They both looked upset; Marco more so than Alessia. In the moment I felt bad for Marco. I’d experienced first-hand the effect Alessia had on people and I was a heterosexual woman. If Marco really did love Alessia and she didn’t feel the same way then I couldn’t imagine the anguish he must be going through. From what little I knew of Marco, he was a lovely guy and I wanted him to be happy. But I had to admit, even though it would feel a little weird for myself having to watch any romance between the two of them, it would come as a welcome relief to know for sure that Alessia was interested in men. Knowing that Alessia and Marco were a couple would serve to let me off the hook and I could go back to enjoying the rest of my stay in Italy.

  “Where’s Marco?” I asked Alessia after she found me below the David.

  “He’ll meet us in an hour at Salvo’s.” She smiled, but there was something behind the smile, like she was putting it on for me.

  “Salvo’s?”

  “A friend of Marco’s. He owns the restaurant where we’re having dinner.” A tear welled up in her eye.

  “Are you ok?”

  “Yes, of course.” She stepped in front and began walking around the perimeter of the David. “It doesn’t matter how often you come here, it always takes your breath away.” She narrowed her eyes, taking in the fine details, almost forcing herself to enjoy the art.

  For the first time ever, Alessia appeared vulnerable. I wanted to hold her, to comfort her, even to allow her to cry while she was in my arms but I knew that under the circumstances that really wouldn’t have been such a good idea. My natural curiosity gave me the desire to know what had happened, or what was still going on between them, but if I connected with this girl on a deeper level, I knew I’d end up getting too far sucked in, perhaps like had already happened to Marco. I would have to be extra careful and maintain my policy of distance with her.

  “The level of detail, particularly in the hands is incredible.” But who was I kidding. I could attempt to fool Alessia, but I had to at least be truthful to myself. The truth was that I lusted for this girl. But as long as it was just lust and nothing more than sheer lust then I’d be able to contain myself. I was the type of person who became attached to people far too easily, which was exactly why I had to keep my relationship with Alessia at a distance. Because if I ended up developing feelings for her on a deeper level…Well, it was too frightening to contemplate.

  Thank God for art.

  *

  We entered Piazza della Signoria, the historic centre of Firenze. It had once been the centre of government for the nation of Florentia and now was home to a couple dozen renaissance statues including a replica of David.

  “It stands on the spot where the original spent much of its life.” Alessia said, gesturing to the David that guarded the entrance to the Palazzo Vecchio.

  “You really are beginning to sound just like Marco.”

  “That’s because I’ve come to Firenze with him many times. Everything I know about this place is down to him.” She no longer appeared upset, even at the mention of his name.

  “He loves you doesn’t he.” I regretted asking as soon as the words left my mouth. I really didn’t want to approach this subject, but it was too late now. I cursed my stupidity.

  “He tells me he’s loved me for a long time. He’s my best friend in the entire world and I hate what I put him through sometimes.” She took in a deep breath. “But I’ve made it clear to him, many times. I’ll only ever see him as a friend.”

  Just what kind of friendship did these two share, given that Marco spent last night with her. I actually felt a little repulsed. Knowing how he felt about her, she still slept with him even though she never intended to commit to him. Alessia was exactly the same as all my friends back home, who’d sleep with their boyfriends even though they weren’t in love. I even knew girls who slept with guys they’d just met, which to me really did feel wrong. Where did Alessia fit within this demography?

  “In fact he was one of the reasons I wanted to get away and go to Milano.” Alessia confessed.

  “Really?”

  “Oh my God, I can’t believe I’ve just told you that.” She blushed and turned to face the other side of the square.

  I didn’t know what to think. “Why did you want to get away from Marco?”

  “Let’s go to Piazza della Republica, it’s a pretty walk.” She said, leading the way.

  She threaded her hand under the inside of my elbow, so our bare arms were linked. Her flesh was soft and smooth, but it was the sudden warmth of her skin I noticed the most, for it conflicted with the cool breeze that was uncharacteristic for a September afternoon in Tuscany. The warmth was physically comforting even if emotionally, I couldn’t commit to the small gesture.

  “It’s just that I’ve known him all my life.” Alessia continued. “It’s as though my entire life was pre-planned for me. Living in the countryside with few people my own age to grow up with. It was as though I was expected to marry Marco, like I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

  “I see.” I had also grown up in the countryside, but never experienced having that one special friend such as Marco. I could relate to her on some levels, but not all.

  “Nobody ever stopped to consider if I ever loved him, it was always just assumed, maybe because it was just too obvious and would make everybody else’s lives easier.”

  “So why does he not move on and find somebody else?” I didn’t think he’d have much trouble with that aspect. I’d already noticed how other women looked at him. Heck, I’d more than noticed how other men looked at Alessia, which irritated me a great deal.

  Alessia laughed. “I really do wish it was that simple. It’s not as though I can press a magic button and he’d move on with his life.” She stopped and turned to look at me. “I guess when you’re in love with somebody, it’s not that simple to just move on.”

  However I felt, it was obvious Marco had it far worse. The poor man had suffered with unrequited love probably for years. I really didn’t want to fall into the same trap, but there was something happening here, something inside me that I just couldn’t control. The truth was, it was terrifying to my very core.

  She linked back with me and we continued on our way, threading between crowds of tourists who gathered to see various street artists.

  “And then there’s the vineyard.” She continued. “Being an only child and therefore having the burden thrust upon me of being expected to go into the family business.” She exhaled as though she was sick of the very subject. “For my parents, ideally I’d marry Marco and we’d work the rest of my lives on the vineyard. But nobody ever stops to consider me and…” Alessia stopped as she approached breaking down.

  “Hey, it’s ok. I understand now.” For the first time, I emotionally accepted her warmth. I gave her arm a squeeze and to my amazement not only did she squeeze back, but she pulled me closer, our hips crushing together as we approached Piazza della Republica.

  And then it hit me. We’d connected. In this moment I felt close to her. It was no longer just lust, but the seeds of something else had sprouted in my heart.

  I was in deep trouble.

  *

  “Sorry I’m late.” Marco arrived at Salvo’s with a stylish new leather man bag slung over one shoulder. “I’m not usually one for brand names, but I couldn’t resist this one.” He took his seat, placing the bag by his feet.

  “Don’t worry, we’ve only been here half an hour or so. Just time enough for one drin
k.” I said, recalling how Salvo had given us the drinks on the house. “We met your friend, he’s lovely.”

  “Yes he is. It works out mutually beneficial too – I bring tourist groups here for drinks and for one of the best views of the city and in return he gives us seats like this.” Marco gestured with his hand toward the Duomo, of which the mid-section and above was visible over the buildings that lay between the spectacular Duomo and Piazza della Republica, where Salvo’s was located.

  It was five in the evening and the first of the square’s performers were unlimbering. There were four of them; three men and one lady.

  “It’s the Firenze Opera Quartet.” Alessia said. “They’re one of my favourites.”

  “It’s usually one of the same groups of people who perform.” Marco said. “They have to pass an audition in front of the municipal council to be granted a license. On top of that, they’re required to pay eighty euros for every spot they do. So they have to be good otherwise they’d lose money.”

  “That sounds a bit harsh. Eighty euros is a lot of money.” I said, wondering how they managed to make a living as street performers.

  “True. But Firenze is all about tourism. We can’t be risking some awful dead frog sounding singer scaring the Japanese away. We need their money.” Marco laughed, I suppose he did have a point.

  Salvo arrived and warmly greeted his friend. He was around Marco’s age and had a similar sort of style to him; in fact the two of them could have been brothers if it wasn’t for Salvo’s shaven head. I noticed the looks he gave to Alessia, which bothered me, but thankfully Marco didn’t seem to notice. Within a minute, free drinks arrived for everyone and it occurred to me that this was the second night in a row I’d be having drinks lavished upon me which also meant it was the second night running that my uncontrollable emotions would be running away with me. It was always a consequence when I drank; I become attached to people, clingy and needy. Most often it was funny and people enjoyed being around me when I was in such a jovial mood, but here and now, it really wasn’t what I needed.