Page 35 of Escape to Tuscany

‘WhyI’vebeen quiet?’ I’m so nervous, so hyper-aware of him sitting close to me, that I sound a bit more offended than I meant to.

But he just smiles at me. ‘I wanted to get in touch and ask how it was going, see if you wanted to meet up, but I knew you were busy and I didn’t want to push. And then Chiara kept telling me how much work you had on and that she couldn’t even persuade you out for a drink. So I thought it was best to leave you alone. I really hope you didn’t think I was ignoring you.’

‘No,’ I lie. ‘No, not at all.’

‘Anyway, I’m here now and awaiting instructions. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it.’

He’s killing me. I think my whole body is blushing. ‘Well…’

‘I guess you need a native speaker, right? So maybe you choose the papers that look interesting and I check them over, just to speed things up a bit?’

‘Right.’ I take another gulp of wine, though I’m not sure it helps. ‘I actually found some already. There’s a stack of them next to you.’

‘Oh yes, I see. And what kind of thing exactly am I looking for?’

‘I don’t even know, really. Just anything that catches your eye. Anything that makes you say oh, hang on a minute.’

‘A pretty vague brief, then. I mean nice and open-ended, of course,’ he corrects himself as I shoot him a look. ‘Don’t worry, Tori. From everything you’ve told me about your grandmother, I’m sure we’ll turn up something interesting in no time.’

*

‘Your grandmother had so many friends,’ Marco says.

‘I know,’ I say.

‘And they all wrote such long letters, and had such terrible health problems.’

‘I know.’

‘And they only ever, ever signed with their first names.’

I look up from my seat on the floor. Marco’s slouched on the sofa, a hand over his eyes and a letter abandoned in his lap. He looks roughly as knackered as I feel, and who can blame him?

It’s past midnight and we’ve finished all but two of the boxes, and so far it’s been a totally pointless exercise. We’ve found half a dozen letters signed ‘Maria’, but they’re in several different hands and none of them mention Giuseppe, or Niccolò, or a bar, or anything that might suggest it’s the same Maria I remember. And that’s it.

‘It’s so weird,’ I say. ‘I really thought there would be more.’

‘More than this?’ Marco says wearily. ‘You must be joking.’

‘No, I mean more about the people I remember. She went back to that specific bar again and again, every time we came to Florence. I don’t understand why we haven’t found anything about the family who ran it.’

‘Maybe they aren’t important. For your project, anyway.’

‘Maybe not,’ I say. ‘But it’s still weird.’

Marco sighs. He puts the letter aside and stretches out his back, reaching his arms over his head. I try not to watch as his sleeves ride down and his muscles flex and move. ‘Right,’ he says. ‘Next box.’

‘No,’ I groan. ‘No more.’

‘Come on, Tori. We’ve only got a couple left! That’ll take us, what, another hour or so? We can easily manage that.’

‘Maybe you can. I’ve been at this all day.’ I haul myself up onto the sofa and sprawl out, my head lolling on the rigid back. It’s too low and makes my neck hurt. ‘Ow. Hey, can I replace the sofa in a rented flat? What does Italian law say about that?’

‘You can, but I think you’d have to store the original one at your own expense. Come on,’ he says again. ‘Let’s open just one more box. You never know – this could be the one.’

‘And if it isn’t?’

‘If it isn’t, then I come back bright and early tomorrow and we go through the other one.’

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