Urban Venus

Chapter Thirty

England, One Year Later

My parents are glowing with pride. The smile on Dad’s face as I leave King’s Hall says it all: ‘My clever girl, graduating from university with a First Class Honours Degree.’ He couldn’t look more proud if he was at Buckingham Palace, receiving a knighthood from the Queen.

Mum fusses around me, adjusting my mortar board and gown, and squeezing in a few quick snaps as I stroll across the lawn to meet up with the others, who hadn’t been allowed into the graduation ceremony. They are all here: Sophia, Leonora, Dante, Stefano and Lanzo. All of them have made the journey to see me graduate, wanting to support me on my big day; it was just a shame I couldn’t get enough tickets for them all to come inside. But still, they’re here for the party afterwards, and that’s the most important part. It’s lovely to have them here. All of them, even Stefano. Despite what happened between us, I can safely say we have remained firm friends, which I’m so pleased about.

They are all quite taken with Newcastle, these sophisticated Italian friends of mine, and for some of them it’s their first taste of UK life. They’d arrived yesterday afternoon, and I’d managed to shirk a quiet meal with my parents in favour of showing my friends a few of the sights. And some of the nightlife too, which I have to say I’m regretting slightly this morning. Although it could be the level of euphoria and general feeling that the rest of my life begins today which is making my head spin.

They’ve all fallen for this quaint old northern city with its grey skies, rows of terraced houses – and amazingly – stotties. I’d tried to explain Newcastle’s answer to the focaccia to them, but there is no substitute for popping into a little corner café and ordering one stuffed to overflowing with bacon, egg and sausage. Blissful, especially on the back of the teensy weensy hangovers we all have today. I think it’s safe to say they are all converts already; they appreciate good food when they see it, after all.

Stefano hands me a little parcel. ‘From Antonio,’ he says.

I rip off the paper to reveal a tiny book, with a perfect reproduction of a Titian painting on each page. It’s beautiful. The label reads, ‘To my dearest Lydia on your graduation day. Much love as always, your cousin Antonio Di Girolamo.’

My cousin. Yes, he is, however many times removed, which is something we will never be able to calculate. All that matters is that we are two members of the same huge family who have been privileged to share in the same story from five hundred years ago.

I stroll over to Vincenzo, who is looking gorgeous in his dark suit and designer sunglasses, kiss him on the cheek and take hold of his hand. Oh yes, here’s here too, of course. This day wouldn’t be complete without him, would it? In fact, he’s been staying with me for the past week, as we finalise our plans for our return to Florence together.

Yes, I’m going back. For good this time. England is still my home, and I have to keep reminding my parents of that, to help them deal with the fact that I’m going; they’re struggling a little bit to come to terms with their baby daughter leaving them to live overseas. But Italy isn’t far away, is it? They can quite easily hop on a plane and come and see me any time they like. And vice versa.

Vincenzo has been across to see me whenever he can during this past year, which has been fantastic to help ease the pain of having to leave behind not just him but my beloved Florence. Every time he came over it was like he brought a little bit of Florentine life with him. I’m pleased to say our love has survived the test of time and distance – but then we both knew it would.

I’ve also secured myself a job. With a little influence from my lovely friend Antonella Pasi, who I met that wet day at the archives, and the contacts she has in the world of galleries and museums, I have managed to land the grand position of Junior Curator, Sixteenth Century Art, at the Uffizi, of all places. It sounds very grand, but really it’s a very junior position and there are loads of us. Still, it’s a start, a foot in the door of my career in Art, and therefore just what I want and need. I’m going to do a Masters alongside it, I think. I need to carry on my academic studies, particularly in the light of what I learnt from, and about, Maria. There’s more to Renaissance life than just the paintings, I know that now.

The best thing of all about getting the job is that it gives me a valid reason for going to Florence to be with Vincenzo. He’s always said I could come out and he would support me, job or no job, but I need a reason to be there, other than him, and I think he understands that. He knows I love him and I want us to be together, but I need to think of the me in all this, and not lose sight of what I want for myself and my career too.

We’ve bought a little house, Vincenzo and I, a tiny, picturesque villa high on the hill overlooking the centre of Florence, up near the Piazzale Michelangelo. This has to be the scariest, most grown-up thing I’ve ever done! It’s a gorgeous little place – it needs a lot of work doing to it but it’s going to be our home. Vincenzo has already bought me something to hang on the walls – a print of the Venus of Urbino, just a small one, beautifully framed. When the renovations are finished it will take pride of place on the wall in the loo; Vincenzo fails to understand this quirky element of British interior design which can lead to an Old Master hanging in the smallest room of the house.

And I am planning to write that book about Maria. Life’s going to be busy, isn’t it? My book is going to be available to the wider public straight away – I’m not going to keep it under wraps like Antonio did – provided I’m lucky enough to secure a publishing deal of course, although both Vincenzo and Antonio have several contacts in that area, so here’s hoping...

Actually, Antonio is thinking of doing a third edition of his book, and braving the outside world with it. I’m going to publish mine as a historical novel, then there will be no worries in the future about my reputation as a serious art scholar (a reputation I have yet to earn) being called into question.

I’ve chosen a title for it already, Urban Venus, A Renaissance Love Story.