Page 47 of In Just One Day

‘Er, due Bellinis, please?’ He held up two fingers, just in case.

‘Of course,’ replied the waiter, his accent impeccable.

‘I mean, practically fluent,’ said Johnny, grinning at Flora once the waiter had moved away.

‘Uncanny.’ She smiled back. The bar felt cosy, the atmosphere warm. She’d imagined something far grander, given its reputation but, actually, it was perfect.

‘So, what do you think so far?’ Johnny popped an olive in his mouth.

‘Rubbish!’

His face fell.

‘No, it’s a joke. I was being like the two old guys in the box at the theatre in The Muppets. You know?’ She pulled a face and put on a voice. ‘Rubbish!’ She could tell by his face he had no idea what she was talking about, even with a second attempt. ‘Sorry, forget it.’ A short silence fell between them. Flora grabbed Johnny’s hand. ‘Look, I know I’m probably as much fun as a poke in the eye at the moment and I really hope you don’t think I’m being ungrateful. I’m honestly not.’ She looked around. ‘This is amazing. I can’t believe we’re here. I just can’t seem to, you know…’ Flora’s nose wrinkled.

Johnny squeezed her hand back. ‘I know. Well, in actual fact, I don’t know because I didn’t lose a brother and I can’t imagine how that feels but…’ He stopped when the waiter appeared by their side, holding a silver tray. With swift movements he placed a small plain cylindrical glass in front of each of them, both filled almost to the top with the most beautiful light peach-coloured drink Flora had ever seen.

Flora picked up her glass, the smell of fresh peach hitting her before she could even get her nose to it. She put it back down on the table. ‘Johnny, you don’t have to say…’

‘No, Flora. I’m just trying to say that whatever you’re feeling, I might not feel it, too, but I see it.’ There was another small pause, their eyes locked. ‘That’s all.’

She looked at the table, at their hands intertwined. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

‘Now, are you just going to look at that Bellini or are you going to have a sip?’

‘Given the price, I’m going to sip it slowly, that’s for sure.’ Flora laughed a little, raising the glass to her lips. She took a small sip, letting the flavours fill her mouth before swallowing. The bubbles sat briefly on her tongue, leaving fresh white-peach flavours on the taste buds. She swallowed and waited a second. ‘Oh my God, that is absolutely delicious!’ Her eyes were wide, her nose already in the glass to get another whiff of the aromas. ‘Go on, have a sip.’ She looked at him expectantly.

Johnny raised his glass and took a sip, a third of it gone in one go. He swallowed and looked at Flora. ‘Well, I think that was about ten euros worth but you’re right, it is absolutely delicious.’

‘I didn’t have you down as a Bellini kind of guy.’ She laughed again.

The waiter came back to the table with a small plate of croquettes. He put them down, his face still expressionless.

‘Did you order those when I wasn’t noticing?’ Johnny whispered.

‘No, but whatever happens, you’re not sending them back. They smell amazing.’ Flora reached for one. ‘Ooh, hot.’

‘You know, Hemingway used to come here, apparently.’

‘I’m not sure there’s a bar left in any city he didn’t go to. Isn’t there another famous one near here he went to? I’m sure I read that somewhere.’

‘Yes, near St Mark’s Square. We’ll pass it on the way back. What about food? Shall we find somewhere to eat on our way?’

‘I reckon if we order a couple more drinks, we’ll get more of these.’ Flora pointed to the now empty plate where moments before the croquettes had been.

‘Good plan. What would you like after that?’

‘I’m thinking it might have to be a Martini.’

‘I’ll make that two.’

* * *

An hour later they left the bar, the cool, damp November night air hitting their gin-and-vermouth-flushed cheeks immediately. Rounding the corner of the narrow street, the sight before them brought them both to a stop. An almost deserted St Mark’s Square seemed to be waiting just for them.

The lights from the buildings lining the square shone brightly, reflected back in the water on the ground left by a recent high tide, and ahead of them, beyond the square, lay the five domes of St Mark’s Basilica, the clock tower to its right. They stood, trying to take in the size and sheer splendour of the sight.

‘Oh, my goodness, it’s just as I remember it,’ Flora whispered.

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