‘I saw him in the restaurant last night and then again on the roof terrace this morning. Briefly, because he took one look at me and bolted.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Lou. ‘What was it like to see him? Did you feel anything?’
‘Fury?’
‘Does he look the same?’
I couldn’t lie to Lou. ‘He still looks good, yeah.’
Lou sighed. ‘He messed up, though, didn’t he? And it doesn’t really matter what his reason was, does it, because short of being dead, which he clearly isn’t, there’s really no way he can explain his way out of what he did?’
‘I know. I definitely know that.’
But there was part of me that wanted to hear his explanation, anyway.
‘Look, I’ve got a taxi coming in a minute,’ said Lou. ‘I’d better go and finish packing. When are you back?’
‘Saturday, but then I’m going straight up to Leicester to see my dad. It’s his birthday, so I thought I’d make an effort.’
‘Let’s hope he doesn’t double-book himself this time,’ said Lou, who knew exactly how flaky my dad could be. ‘Oh, and Maddie? Don’t let Nick’s family get to you. They should be trying to impress you as well, not just the other way round.’
‘Not sure they see it that way,’ I replied, laughing lightly.
It felt as though I’d been fine-tuned to assess what people thought of me, what their first impressions were. Whether they were judging me. Whether they were making assumptions about my background or my schooling or my family. Ithink I did this to protect myself and I would usually retreat immediately if things didn’t feel right, but, of course, Nick’s family were going to be stuck with me and vice versa, so I couldn’t.
‘You’re good enough for them, Maddie. More than good enough. In fact, they’re probably secretly intimidated by what a smart, confident, beautiful woman you are,’ said Lou.
I wanted to believe that, really I did, but when I pictured Rosamund’s face in my mind’s eye, I found it impossible to imagine that she was intimidated by anything at all.
Chapter Seven
The Gucci Garden – a museum, art installation and boutique in one, apparently – sat at the far corner of possibly one of the most impressive squares I’d ever seen in my life: the Piazza della Signoria. It was huge, lined with the cobbles I was getting used to walking on and flanked by a combination of restaurants with outside terraces, palaces, arches and statues. I wanted to stop and take some pictures, to refer to my map to see what was what and why it was significant to Florence’s history, but Rosamund and Sophia – who were walking arm in arm like teenagers on a school trip – were hurrying us along.
‘Daisy, keep up, darling!’ called Sophia, looking over her shoulder at Daisy, who was lagging behind with me.
Nick and Peter were somewhere in the middle, following orders as instructed. I was tempted to catch Daisy’s eye to see if she was on the same page as I was (i.e. I’d rather snatch a few hours to myself and sit at a pavement café reading my book and sipping cappuccino), but her moods were so unpredictable that I didn’t want to chance it. One minute it felt as though she was on my side and the next, she was glaring at me as though I was public enemy number one.
‘Look at that delightful pink!’ exclaimed Rosamund, looking up at the Gucci Garden logo, which was printed on a dramatic candy-pink banner tumbling down the side of the palazzo.
Rosamund and Sophia marched straight through the entrance as though they owned the place and the rest of us followed at varying degrees of speed. I – of course – felt completely underdressed in my summer dress and flat sandals combo. I mean, I should have thought, really, that people might dress up to go to a Gucci museum, and also that people who loved Gucci were generally going to be much more fashion-conscious than I was (not to mention have a considerably higher level of disposable income).
Rosamund had ditched her trademark twinsets and jewels for something altogether edgier – in the way rich, older women did edgy: straight-cut jeans in the deepest indigo blue, a plain white T-shirt, huge Jackie-O-style sunglasses and a classic navy blazer that looked as though it might be Chanel, although that was just a guess. I didn’t think I’d ever seen anyone actually wearing Chanel in real life, but her jacket was definitely not something you’d find on the high street. She looked great, I had to admit.
As for Sophia, she had really gone to town with ripped designer jeans, some sort of jazzy bomber jacket covered in sequins and patches and sky-high heeled boots. Nick was channelling his inner Italian and had on a shirt (always) with a jumper tied around his shoulders, jeans which he’d rolled up to his ankles and tan suede loafers that I swore I’d never seen before. And Peter, well, he was just wearing what seemed to be his staple uniform (i.e. tweed).
Rosamund had reserved us all tickets, so we swept through the foyer and up an enclosed, white-walled staircase daubed with the chicest-looking graffiti I’d ever seen, seemingly in French (I wasn’t sure why, given we were in Italy and I was pretty sure Gucci was an Italian brand): words likeliberté,égalitéandsexualitéwere thrust provocatively in our faces. Rosamund and Sophia gushed over it and I couldn’t helpthinking that if they’d seen this graffiti on some random London wall, they’d have been turning their noses up at it. Sophia was very keen to get Daisy enthused and kept calling her over to look at things.
‘Darling, this is a name you must remember. Alessandro Michele! He’s the artistic director of Gucci and an absolute genius.’
Although Daisy had her arms crossed tightly across herself in a defensive stance, I could see that she was vaguely interested in her surroundings. And, actually, I was too, if I hung back so that I could discover it for myself instead of hearing Rosamund’s running commentary. I managed to lose them for a few minutes in a room full of mirrors that gave the illusion of being in a sort of trippy maze, with the central point being a video of one of Gucci’s cruise collections. I didn’t know what a cruise collection was, exactly, but the clothes were beautiful and for a second I longed to be able to afford a pair of emerald green sequinned trousers (that I’d clearly never wear and probably cost about ten grand).
I caught up with the others in the Gucci Collectors room, which I didn’t understand until I read the blurb and then I thought it was quite cool. The room was inspired by Gucci’s Fall/Winter 2018 collection, which in turn had been inspired by collectors of weird and wonderful objects.
Rosamund stood beside me as I looked at a collection of 182 cuckoo clocks and watched birds popping out all over the place. I remembered a school friend’s parents had had one in their hall and I’d been fascinated by that, too.
‘How are you finding Florence?’ asked Rosamund, cocking her head to inspect the clocks.
‘Lovely,’ I said. ‘Thanks so much for inviting me along.’