It was seeing him sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor, looking excitedly through my sketchbooks and telling me to follow my dream. Small, simple, fleeting things, and yet they made a huge impression on me. At the time I didn’t realise it, but now . . .
Now it’s too late. Whatever happens with Nate, Adam and I are over. This time there are no second chances.
I keep walking, hands stuck deep into the pockets of my shorts. Everywhere around me are the sounds of laughter and excitement, but they only serve to throw into stark contrast my own mood.
After a few moments I slip into a shadowy backstreet. It’s quiet here, no fancy galleries, gelata stalls or souvenir shops to tempt the tourists, just the odd cat sitting on a doorstep, and a washing line strung high above. It reminds me of Artsy and his washing line of art. I think about his upcoming exhibition. It’s definitely going to go ahead now. I spoke to Magda at JFK, just as we were boarding, and sure enough the painting had been verified and it was a Titian.
‘Which of course I knew all along!’ she’d declared. ‘I said to Daniel, “I knew Aunt Irena would not leave me penniless, I knew!”’
Which isn’t the exact truth, but who cares? She was so happy, and I’m happy for her. The painting’s going to be put up for auction and with the proceeds Magda will no doubt be able to pay off her debts and save the gallery. Moreover, she’ll most likely be able to keep herself in genuine designer goods for the rest of her life. Everything, it seems, has worked out for her.
Reaching a small piazza, I pause. In the middle there’s a fountain with an elaborately carved fish spouting water, and a wooden bench in a patch of sunlight. It looks tempting. I’m tired and my sandals are starting to rub in the heat. Despite being the beginning of September, it still feels like summer. Gratefully, I sit down. Gosh, this is much better. Slipping off my sandals, I wiggle my toes and close my eyes for a moment, relishing the peace and quiet. Just the sound of the trickling fountain.
‘Scusi.’
And a voice.
Snapping open my eyes, I look up to see a man peering over me. He’s blocking the sunlight and his face is in shadow, so I can’t distinguish his features, but I can make out the outline of his hat. A white fedora.
Deep within a memory stirs and I feel a tingle run down my spine. There’s something about him. He’s familiar. I know him, but how?
He motions to me, as if to say, Do you mind if I sit down? and I gesture back as if to say, No, of course not. As he eases himself down beside me, his face turns to the light.
And suddenly I place him.
‘It’s you!’ I say, more to myself than to him.
He looks at me quizzically.
Unknown
‘You’re the man who sold me the pendant, who told me about...
‘I tell a lot of people that story,’ he confesses, his eyes crinkling into a rueful smile.
‘You do?’ I feel a curious stab of disappointment and look down at my lap so he can’t see it on my face. All these years I’d imagined Nate and I had been special, yet now, abruptly, I realise we were just one of hundreds of couples to whom he told the story. Foolishness prickles. There was me thinking that somehow he could hold the secret, that he could somehow give me the answer.
‘So did the legend work its magic?’ I glance up to see him looking at me with an amused curiosity. ‘Are you still together?’
‘Sort of.’ I shrug miserably.
He frowns at my expression. ‘I’m sorry . . . my English.’ He throws out his upturned palms. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s a long story.’ I smile apologetically.
He looks at me for a moment, his eyes searching my face, as if for clues. ‘You are both in love with someone else? Is this it?’
‘Yes, it is.’ I nod, thinking about Nate. Earlier at the airport I’d heard him on the phone to Beth, still trying to convince her to give things another shot, and my heart had gone out to him. He was clearly in love with her, and it was even more clear that it was only now he’d begun to realise it. Never has the old adage ‘you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone’ seemed more true. But