Page 19 of The Affair
‘Art like that is life-enhancing,’ he added quietly.
When they reached the piazza, Connie immediately saw couples from her group, looking about, probably wondering where she was, and realized it was nearly twelve. They’d been much longer in the Scuola di San Giorgio than she’d intended.
‘I’ve got to go,’ she said, glancing up at Jared. ‘They’re waiting.’ He nodded. ‘Thank you for showing me the paintings. They were really wonderful,’ she said.
‘I’ve loved every minute,’ he replied.
She thought, when he didn’t immediately move off, that he might dare to kiss her again and became slightlyflustered. But he made no attempt to do so, and absurdly she realized she was disappointed. The memory of his lips on hers that night at Lake Como came back to her again and she caught her breath.
‘Bye,’ she said, turning quickly away and hurrying over to her charges, hoping they hadn’t seen her and Jared together. She didn’t want them reporting her for dereliction of duty.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of organization. Connie had to corral the group at the end of the day and pack them onto the train back to Desenzano. Not easy when everyone had dispersed into the crowds after the basilica tour. They only just made the train, one couple sauntering onto the churning water taxi, calmly licking ice creams as if they had all the time in the world.
It was not until she shut the door of her room that night, and could finally dispense with the company lanyard round her neck, take off her shoes and wipe away her make-up that she could properly think about Jared.
So strange, she mused,him turning up like that.Although these things did happen, she knew that. It was, as people were always pointing out, a small world. And, after the initial surprise, she had enjoyed seeing him. The Carpaccios were gorgeous and he was so knowledgeable, so interesting about thescuolaand its history – she had been quite carried away in his company.
About Jared himself, Connie wasn’t sure what to think.Was he flirting with me?she asked herself, as sheclimbed into bed. Or was he just being friendly and charming? Since she would never see him again, it didn’t matter either way: the tour managers, on pain of death, were required to delete passengers’ contact details when they returned from a tour, so she didn’t even have his phone number … not that she would have used it, if she had. But, still, there was this tingling in her belly when she thought about him. And it wouldn’t go away.
Verona was only a twenty-minute journey from Desenzano, and the tour set off early on the last day. It had been cloudy when Connie had woken, rain forecast on her weather app at 33 per cent during the afternoon. It would be a shame, she thought, after the brilliant weather they’d had, not to be able to take full advantage of the beautiful city.
She decided to join Serena – the Verona tour guide – on the walking tour today. She felt she hadn’t been present enough or paying proper attention to her flock, her mood initially too distracted by the problems at home, then by Jared’s sudden appearance two days ago. Though what she would really have liked to do today was wander round the super-chic boutiques hidden in Verona’s side-streets, where she could find things that would never make the crowded Via Mazzini and its designer stores.
But she would do Juliet’s balcony – always a bit of a disappointment – and the first-century Roman arena instead. She would listen to the glamorous Serena – an actress by night – making jokes about Romeo, andwatch tears fill her brown eyes as she told dramatic tales of Christians waiting in the dank, gloomy tunnels before walking into the sunlit arena to be slaughtered. She would bond with the group. Do her job.
It did rain. Not hard, but drizzly and chilly enough to dampen the group’s enthusiasm for standing outside for long periods in their summer clothes. Serena, chic in a short cream trench coat, matching cloche hat over her shiny hair, soldiered on, but everyone – Connie included – was pleased when the traditionalosteriaand a comforting bowl of dark, rich Amarone risotto hove into sight.
She had found herself glancing around as they stood in the echoing Roman amphitheatre, checking the tiers of stone seats raking sharply to the sky and the wide arena, as if she were expecting – ridiculously – to see Jared emerge from one of the tunnels. She was mortified by her imaginings, but couldn’t help feeling his presence, couldn’t help remembering with pleasure the morning they had spent together in Venice.
Connie angled the magnifying mirror in the bathroom to put on her make-up, preparatory to the last dinner of the tour. As she gazed at her reflection, foundation stick in hand, she saw the anxiety etched in her eyes, and sensed the reluctance she always felt as home and Devan loomed. She’d only messaged him a few times over the past eight days. He had replied to each with a row of three kisses – the equivalent of a cop-out on WhatsApp. She had almost rung him one night as shelay in bed trying to sleep. But she didn’t want to start a conversation on the phone when he’d probably been drinking. It might only escalate the current tension between them. She knew, however, that once home, they would need a proper discussion.
Dinner was fun, the long table that Bianca had constructed in the small hotel dining room becoming more and more raucous in the face of the delicious home-cooked food – platters of local salami andfrico friabile(crispy-fried Montasio cheese); tortellini with a shallot, scallop, basil and white wine sauce; panna cotta wobbling delicately in a sea of raspberry coulis – and quantities of local wine. Connie, as she always did on the last night, drank more than she should. But no one else was in a state to notice or care. She even made friends with Martin from Cheltenham, who had come out of his shell over the week and become quite talkative, even if his conversation about local Gloucester politics was not entirely riveting.
‘Be glad to get shot of us, will you, Connie?’ he said, as the party wound down, people beginning to make their way up to their beds, some still lingering in the lobby, reluctant for it all to end. ‘Must be like herding cats, your job.’
‘It has its moments,’ she said, laughing. ‘Although cats don’t have wallets to steal.’
Martin grinned. ‘Could have been worse, I suppose. My daughter says I’m so scatty I need a leading rein to stop me wandering off.’
‘I’ve never lost a passenger in all the twelve years I’vebeen touring,’ Connie told him. ‘And I don’t plan to start now.’ She put her finger to her cheek in mock contemplation. ‘A leading rein? Hmm, not such a bad idea …’
They were both laughing as they said goodnight. She waved to the others waiting by the lift, but she wasn’t tired.
Sandro, Bianca’s younger son, stood behind the desk, punching away on his computer, a frown of concentration on his face. He was in his fifties and broad, well-fed, genial. She supposed he had a pleasant existence with his lovely mum, beautiful hometown and job for life.
‘It was a wonderful dinner, Sandro,’ she said, leaning on the counter. ‘Thank you, we’ve all had such a great time, as usual.’
He grinned. ‘Prego!You know how Mamma loves you, Connie.’
She yawned, peered through the open hotel doors. ‘I think I’ll pop out for a bit of fresh air. It seems to have stopped raining at last.’ She unfolded the caramel pashmina she’d brought downstairs and pulled it round her shoulders. ‘See you later.’
The night was beautiful, the hot summer dustiness cleansed by the recent rain. Connie breathed deeply as she crossed the road and walked past the line of café tables, still occupied with a few chatting diners. Ranks of small blue and white boats bobbed silently on the water, people strolling the cobbled promenade beside the lake. She knew the main squares would be heaving with the young at this time of night – she could hear the beat of disco music in the distance.
She leaned against the cold iron railing and looked out onto the lake. Lights lacing the peninsula of Sirmione twinkled to the east, dominated by the illuminated elegance of the Rocca Scaligera, the expanse of dark water stretching away from it like the ocean.
Turning to walk back the way she’d come, tiredness sweeping over her, she heard the ping of a text on her work phone. Hoping it wasn’t something serious, she opened the screen.
I’m outside the hotel, if you fancy a nightcap? Jared x
