Urban Venus

Chapter Twenty-Nine

‘James, darling, we need a photo,’ Evie says, thrusting her phone into her husband’s hands. ‘Here, in front of David. Hang on, wait a sec until there’s a gap in the crowds, will you? We don’t want everyone’s heads getting in the way of David and his lovely body, do we?!’ She turns to me and giggles. We both produce a perfectly-timed cheesy grin and point to the statue as James clicks the button and the photo is a done deal. ‘I must send that one to my friend, Grace, back home. Her new bloke looks just like him. It’ll make her laugh.’

‘Just let me get one with my camera, too,’ James says, pulling an expensive-looking piece of kit with an enormous lens from its special padded case. ‘Takes a much better quality of photo than these phone camera things,’ he mutters, handing Evie’s back to her.

‘What is it they say about a man with a big lens?’ I giggle to Evie, as James twiddles the lens and instructs us to pose again, but sensibly this time. Nothing should ruin his shot, and certainly not two mad sisters pointing to David’s private parts. Heaven forbid it should turn into a tourist snapshot, and not a piece of art.

‘No, that’s big cars. But hey, maybe it applies to lenses, too,’ she laughs. ‘Not so, in James’ case, dear sister, I hasten to add.’

‘Too much information!’ I reply, putting my hands over my ears before she reveals any more intimate details.

My mad sister and her husband have come to stay, making their long-promised visit to see me, and I have to say, their timing couldn’t be better. I’d managed to persuade Vincenzo not to call my family after the hospital incident; I wasn’t ill as such, anyway, and the last thing I wanted was my parents jumping on a plane and dragging me back to the UK with them. I need to enjoy my last few weeks here in peace. God knows it’s going to be hard enough to leave when I do have to.

So I can relax and enjoy Evie’s visit. I’ve had my results for this year – and passed with flying colours, the dreams are all over and done with, and so the rest of the time here is my own, to soak up this wonderful place as much as I can before I have to leave it behind.

It helps to have someone to show round, as it makes me realise just how intimately I know Florence now, plus it forces me to visit places I haven’t been to for a while, one last time. Typically for Evie, she insisted on shopping before sightseeing, and so we have done the smarter shopping quarters this morning, followed by a beautiful little restaurant for lunch. It was well outside my price bracket, so I’ve never been there before, not even with Vincenzo – but James was picking up the tab – and now we’re planning a few touristy bits and pieces before I introduce them to Vincenzo, later on this evening. I’m a little nervous about that; I so want Evie to love Vincenzo. I don’t see why she wouldn’t, but it’s a little scary introducing the love of your life to your family.

We have an Uffizi tour planned for this afternoon, with me acting as guide. I’ve been back to the gallery just the once since the dream I had in Vincenzo’s office, and although I didn’t linger in room twenty-eight, there was no feeling, as I passed the painting, that Maria had anything else to tell me. She doesn’t, I know that; her story is complete and her spirit is gone, but I have to admit I feel kind of bereft, as though it were a final acknowledgment that that period of my life is over. I was very privileged to have those dreams, I think, to have been the chosen one for Maria to tell her story to. In a way I’m glad it’s all over, but part of me misses her deeply.

Evie has a novel approach to taking in the gallery, whizzing through some rooms like a whirling dervish, and lingering in others, when her attention happens to be caught by a particular piece.

‘Uh, she’s just like this round the shops,’ James bemoans, deliberately holding back as she tries to drag him through to the next room at her pace. He seems rather taken with the busts and statues in the First Corridor, pausing to read the inscriptions and standing back to fully admire them. Evie gives him a chance to catch up when she reaches the Second Corridor at the end of the gallery, overlooking the Arno, stopping to admire the view, up-river towards the Ponte Vecchio. Then she switches sides and people-watches the swarming crowds below, her second favourite hobby after retail therapy.

‘So, this new man of yours,’ she starts, plopping her designer handbag on the plinth of a statue (not allowed, I’m sure – must keep an eye out for guards) and swiftly parking her bottom next to it. ‘Tell me more. He’s a lecturer you say. Handsome? Sexy? Rich? And more importantly, does he treat you well?’

Evie, bless her, is never backwards in coming forwards when it comes to my boyfriends, hence my slight trepidation about this evening. When Ed and I broke up and I filled her in on the details, it was as much as I could do to prevent her from seeking him out and disembowelling him on the spot. I suppose it’s something to do with the age difference between us; she feels protective of me, like a surrogate mother sort of thing. And in the absence of parental presence, I think she feels it’s her job to carry out the Spanish Inquisition of my new lover. I just hope Vincenzo’s shoulders are broad enough to cope with it. I go on to extol his virtues, in the hope that she will start the evening with good expectations of him.

‘Hey, I know this one,’ Evie says a little later, pulling me away from the Bronzino painting in room twenty-seven and through the archway into room twenty-eight. I know exactly which painting she is referring to; after all, Venus of Urbino is one of those paintings everyone wants to see in the Uffizi, hence the crowds milling around it on a pretty constant basis. Although there are quieter moments, I know that…..

‘I love this one,’ she goes on. ‘Isn’t she gorgeous? Just look at that hair, oh, and I’d never noticed that little dog before. Sweet! Come and sit over here with me for a mo, will you? We can wait till the crowds have gone and have a proper look. Do you know, I always thought the painting would be bigger than that.’

‘No, it’s OK thanks, I’m just going to carry on over here,’ I protest, not wanting to take up my regular place on the bench. ‘I… er… I spent a lot of time in here doing… er…. research, so I know that one pretty well. But you go for it, I’ll just be over here. She is lovely, though, isn’t she?’ I can’t help throwing a backwards glance at Maria as I move to the other side of the room.

I’d decided before Evie arrived that I wasn’t going to tell her about the dreams. She’s always been a ‘face value’ sort of person, not a dreamer by any means, and much more of a practical ‘doer’, so the notion of her little sister being transported back to the sixteenth century in her mind just wouldn’t wash with her. I’d asked Vincenzo what he thought, and even though he’s never met her, he too thought it probably best just to keep it amongst those who already knew and understood.

Maybe one day I’ll get round to writing about it; I have so many notes, after all, I’m sure I could knock up a volume of a similar size to Antonio’s in no time. One day, when I have some time on my hands. Maybe then I’ll tell my family how I came by the knowledge…

Anyway, here I am gazing at Flora instead – also Maria, I know, but I’ve never had the same pull to this or any of Titian’s many other works of art. Strange really, but I do feel quite safe looking this way whilst Evie gets her fill of Venus. There she is now, muscling in on a tour guide – an English-speaking one at that – and staring interestedly as the woman recounts the history of the painting in great length. Huh that’s what you think, I chuckle to myself as the guide explains how the exact identity of the model is still a mystery. Oh no it’s not….

Sneaking another quick glance at Venus, I can’t help wondering what happened to Bella, Maria’s little dog. I hope she ended up with Clara; I’m pretty sure she would have taken care of her when her mistress left. Despite that final snippet of unfinished business I can’t see Maria wanting to summon me back to dreamland to tell me about her dog’s fate, much as I’d love to go there again, just for one last time.

I needn’t have worried about introducing Vincenzo to my sister. Half an hour in, Evie is chatting to him as though they have known each other for years. I suppose it helps that Vincenzo has called upon his huge reserve of suave, Italian charm, and as I glance across the table at them, he has her pretty much eating out of his hand.

James is trying to have a serious conversation about art with me, so I have one ear on that, making sure I nod and make a few noises in the right places, occasionally contributing with an interesting fact that he probably wouldn’t have known, and the other ear on what my boyfriend and sister are talking about, just to make sure they don’t stray into dangerous territory. But what likelihood is there that I might have to leap to Vincenzo’s defence and rescue him from my sister’s clutches? Let’s face it, this is a man who has been brought up on a diet of charm, and somehow I don’t think he’ll need my help.

I used to wonder if there was some sort of secret Italian charm school that adolescent boys got whisked off to for a couple of years. Or maybe it’s just passed down from generation to generation: a lifetime spent watching your elders behave around women and learning to emulate them. Either way, our lads back home could certainly learn a thing or two from them, that’s for sure.

After best part of a year here, I know now that this charm stems from a deep-rooted admiration and respect for women, and has nothing whatsoever to do with disrespect or finding women easy prey. At first glance, the amount of attention they pay to women might seem sleazy, but Italian men grow up with a deep respect for their Mamma and their sisters, which they never lose as the Italian family unit is so strong. This coupled with the fact that they simply adore women for their beauty and grace and the fact that they are so different from them, gives them the ability to make women feel as special as we know we are.

Vincenzo certainly makes me feel like that. I look over at him and pass him a look with an implicit ‘You OK?’ and he smiles back, twisting round in his seat to include me in the conversation once more, his body language letting me know he’s missing me all the way across from the other side of the table. He reaches across and takes hold of my hand.

‘Your sister, she is as lovely as you,’ he says in perfect English, with the aforementioned bucket of Italian charm. ‘Almost as lovely,’ he adds with a giggle, glancing at James to make sure he hasn’t overstepped the mark.

Later as we are saying our goodbyes, Evie and James heading back to their hotel, and Vincenzo and I to his apartment, Evie pulls me to one side.

‘He’s lovely,’ she says. ‘Mad about you, too. Totally head over heels.’