Claire Gulliver #03 - Intrigue in Italics Page 2

  “Tuffy-Two, Theroux and I can handle the store.”

  Claire smiled to herself. It was hard to win an argument with Mrs. B; she always seemed to know the right buttons to push. Tuffy-Two, the West Highland Terrier puppy, was no longer a little ball of fluff that customers mistook for a stuffed toy. And Theroux, the bookshop cat had him well in hand, treating him as if he were her kitten instead of a puppy. The customers of the book store loved them both. Mrs. B was right; the three of them could handle the business in the store, which still had not returned to the level it had been before the terrorist attacks.

  Claire turned off the shower and concentrated as she carefully made her way over the slick floor to the thick towel she hung from a hook earlier. She toweled her hair and checked her face in the mirror. She looked okay, the years were being kind. She thought she looked in her thirties a good ten years younger than she was. That was encouraging. It made her feel more energetic. The shower had really perked her up and she was getting a little excited about exploring Florence.

  Her mother and Ruth, had arrived in Florence on the previous Thursday, so they had several days to acclimate themselves before Claire joined them today. They were due to start their Culinary Retreat on Wednesday, leaving Claire to explore Florence on her own and then proceed to Venice where they would meet her when “school” was over. And Claire had a whole list of “things to do” and “places to see,” some she had taken from Marianne Peabody’s lecture, some were suggestions she had collected over the years from travel magazines and newspapers, and some were recommendations from her customers. She knew she wouldn’t do everything but she fully intended to make a big dent in the list.

  Finally, hair dried, dressed in her underwear, she quietly entered the big room, nodding at her mother. She quickly selected and donned a pair of khaki slacks and a sleeveless knit sweater. She was fastening her sturdy sandals when Ruth’s gentle snoring abruptly stopped.

  “Okay,” Ruth said stretching on the bed, “a little nap was just what I needed. So what shall we do this evening?”

  “Well, it’s Claire’s first night, so I think we should do something special.”

  Ruth nodded her agreement.

  “Remember that area of little shops we saw on the other side of Pont Vecchio?” she asked Ruth. “That lady from Toledo said she ate at a very nice restaurant there. Wait, I marked it in my book.” She rummaged around in her bag and came up with the book. “Here it is, Momma Mia’s. And we could show Claire the gold shops on the bridge and look in some of the art galleries and shops in that area. What do you think?”

  “Fine with me.” Claire thought anywhere with food was sounding good about now.

  “Let’s do it,” Ruth agreed, swinging off the bed and looking for her shoes. “But let’s take a taxi to Pont Vecchio. I’ve walked enough today.”

  It didn’t take long for the taxi to drop them at the foot of the ancient stone bridge over the river Arno. The bridge itself was golden, bathed in the rays of the setting sun, and was crammed with shops clinging along both sides selling their gold. Even though it was early evening all the shops were open, their proprietors eager for every sale.

  The women slowly made their way through the pedestrians, examining the endless variety of jewelry, comparing prices. Claire couldn’t resist an intricate gold chain bracelet, deciding to wear it on the same hand as her watch. She was certain it would look perfect with the beautiful gold and diamond Cartier watch Vantage Airlines had given her last September. Of course, she wasn’t wearing it now; she hadn’t even brought it. She knew enough to leave her expensive jewelry safely at home, and that watch was the only expensive piece of jewelry she owned. Then just before leaving the bridge she purchased a pair of earrings she thought would make a wonderful birthday gift for her friend, Lucy Springer.

  “Well, now you must feel like you’re on vacation, Claire. You’ve spent your first wad.” Ruth’s droll comment made Claire laugh.

  But it was true. She had napped and showered, so she felt good. She had bought herself a trinket. And she was in Florence.

  The evening was warm and beautiful. They strolled down a street parallel to the River, glancing in the windows at beautiful paintings, works of art and artful displays of shoes, purses and other leather goods.

  “There it is. See, where those people are turning in.” They picked up their pace, the thought of food drawing them.

  “Wow, our timing was right,” Claire exclaimed a few moments after they had been seated at one of the last available tables in the dimly lit restaurant. They noticed the people who had arrived after them were already crowded into the bar, glancing enviously at the diners, hoping some would be finishing soon. But they forgot about the people waiting as they turned their attention to a mellow red wine from the generous carafe placed on their table while they nibbled nuts and olives and considered the menu choices.

  “Millie, can I see that phrase book?” Ruth held out her hand, explaining, “I thought I ordered rabbit the other night, but when it came I just couldn’t figure out what it was.”

  Millie laughed. “Maybe it was rabbit tripe. Fortunately my dinner was large enough for us both,” she explained to Claire.

  Ruth studied the menu carefully consulting the little book of Italian translations that Millie carried.

  “This doesn’t look like the menus from one of our Italian restaurants, does it?” Claire had been thinking of having Petrale Sole Meuniere with mashed potatoes and wilted greens, one of her favorites served in the many Italian restaurants in San Francisco, but she couldn’t find anything like that on the menu.

  “No, we’re in Tuscany, dear, not San Francisco. I’m sure we can find you something good in the local dishes.” Her mother was in her element, but of course, food was her passion. “We found a first course and an entree is plenty, unless you’re really hungry. If you’re starved you might want to order a pasta course too?”

  Claire shook her head. “I’m going to order a salad and fish, because I’m intending to have some luscious pastry for desert.”

  “Why don’t you try the Triglie Alla Livornese? See it?” Ruth suggested helpfully.

  “It would probably help if I had a clue as to what it was.”

  “It’s a local fish I had the other night. It was very good,” her mother encouraged.

  “Sounds perfect, and a salad; do you have a suggestion?”

  Her mother nodded and gave the waiter their selections. Then Ruth, with a serious face, ordered Piccioni Sul Crostone.

  “Stuffed Pigeons? Ruth, are you sure?” Millie looked up from the book she had retrieved from Ruth.

  Claire choked on her swallow of wine. Her mother patted her on the back while she gasped and wheezed, finally getting her breath back after a sip of water.

  Ruth’s eyes gleamed in anticipation. “Revenge comes in many ways. And I feel obligated to do my part in controlling the numbers of pigeons Italy has to cope with. I’m sure the dish will be superb.”

  And the meal was wonderful. Claire’s fillet of fish was very tasty and served with wilted greens with pine nuts and tiny steamed potatoes. Her mother’s heaping plate of pasta was fragrant and she claimed, tasted wonderful. And while the plate set before Ruth holding four tiny birds seemed a little obscene to Claire, Ruth ripped into them with gusto. Finally, finishing their wine they waited for their desert and coffee.

  “Oh, look Ruth, there’s that couple we met at the hotel.” She and Ruth nodded pleasantly when the couple waved to them across the room. “It’s really a very small town, isn’t it? We keep seeing people we know, and we don’t even know anyone in Italy.”

  That’s when Claire remembered.

  She looked at her mother. “Mom, the funniest thing happened when I went back to the hotel this afternoon. Well, not funny really, but very odd.” It must have been the tone of her voice, because Millie and Ruth both turned and gave her their full attention.

  “I was standing on a street waiting to cross and Kristen rode pas
t me on a bicycle.”

  Her mother’s head jerked. “Kristen? Kristen Bonnibelli?”

  “I’m sure it was her. And she recognized me. I saw it in her eyes.”

  “That’s not possible, dear.” Her mother reached out putting her hand on Claire’s arm. “Maybe you were dreaming.”

  “I know, I know, but I swear it was Kristen. Right here! In Florence! Kristen was on a bicycle riding along the street in the midst of a bunch of other people.”

  “Claire, that’s crazy. It couldn’t have been Kristen. You were dreaming or in jet lag or something.” Her mother’s voice had sharpened with her effort to convince her daughter.

  “Wait a minute, Millie. It’s not impossible to see someone you know on the other side of the world. People do it all the time. Why couldn’t Claire have seen her friend?”

  “Because Kristen died, that’s why,” Millie muttered grimly. “It couldn’t have been Kristen.” It was as if she could make it not true. “Kristen died in an auto accident last year. Claire went to the funeral. It was very sad. I remember it well.”

  Ruth’s mouth dropped open and it was a moment before she recovered enough to swallow the last of her wine.

  “So it was just someone who reminded you of Kristen, Claire. That’s all. You didn’t speak to her, did you?” Then seeing Claire’s head shake, she said vehemently, “There, that’s it! You were tired and someone passed who reminded you of Kristen. If you had spoken to her, you would have realized it wasn’t her. But because she then vanished, you keep thinking it might have been her.” Millie was fully satisfied with her reasoning.

  But Claire wasn’t convinced.

  CHAPTER 2

  The day was already hot when they rounded the corner, only to stop aghast at the long line snaking down the block.

  “Is this the line?”

  Ruth asked the lady at the end. “Are you waiting to get in the Accademia?”

  She nodded her head vigorously as she replied in some language they didn’t recognize any words but “Accademia?”

  A woman standing several people ahead of them turned around and assured them in English. “It looks worse than it is. It seems to be moving quickly.”

  Already there were several people lined up behind them asking the same question.

  “You two wait here and I’ll go up to the front and check it out,” Ruth told them and then marched ahead.

  Millie started a conversation with the lady behind her who was from Houston. The woman had been to Florence before, so she had several suggestions for them to try for dinner.

  Claire scanned the street, watching the natives going about their business, seemingly totally disinterested in the large group of tourists hungering for a look at Michelangelo’s David. The line did move steadily and soon Ruth was back.

  “It’s a good thing we decided to come this morning because a lady up in the front said she was here Sunday and the line was so long they couldn’t get in before closing. So they finally gave up. But because the museum only opened a bit ago, it will take a while for it to get so crowded they will have to stop allowing people to enter until some leave.” Ruth was pleased with herself as she was the one who insisted they visit David the first thing this morning.

  Claire hadn’t been eager as she had already seen two copies in various parts of town and she had been here less than one day. But Ruth was adamant. She said they couldn’t visit Florence without seeing the real David and, of course, the Accademia housed all the other works by Michelangelo as well. And the deciding factor was the Accademia was right around the block behind their hotel. Ruth said it would be easy to come out after breakfast and visit this museum before they did anything else.

  Claire watched while her mother introduced Ruth to the new friends she made in the line and then listened to their conversation as they all discussed their decisions to make the trip to Italy.

  Claire smiled to herself watching her mother. She was proud of her even though she frequently became impatient with her tendency to be overcautious. She wished she looked more like her mother. They had the same hair color as Millie’s blonde hair was now streaked with a pretty gray and Claire had her light brown hair professionally highlighted with blonde. But Millie was several inches shorter than Claire. Her shape was not model thin, but compact, and she looked well in the clothes she wore. And Millie was pretty. The age lines couldn’t disguise her beauty and her interest in people showed in her eyes and the animation on her face. No wonder people were drawn to her.

  Claire’s Great Uncle Bernie always told Claire she took after his mother, but Claire had never been comforted by any similarity to the stern faced woman in the old pictures he showed her. And when in high school she began to grow she thought she would never stop. So she was tall, slender and very strong, which was good as she was always slinging boxes of books about at the store. She always looked older than her friends, and she realized now that had probably impacted her life. She had friends of both sexes, but she had never been into the party scene, nor had she dated much. She seemed more interested in her studies, reading and then her library career than the silly activities her friends enjoyed.

  Then in her mid-thirties two things happened which drastically changed her life. First, she noticed her looks had finally come into fashion or maybe she had just grown into her features. Anyway, where as a young girl and woman she had always been aware she was not attractive, now she seemed to be. That gave her increased confidence and a burgeoning interest in style and fashion. Then of course there was the incident where she almost lost her life. She was only doing a favor for Ruth while she was away. She agreed to stop by Ruth’s house to take care of her cat. That led to a very scary few weeks, two near-death experiences and the realization that leading a cautious careful life did not guarantee longevity. Eventually that and subsequently inheriting Great Uncle Bernie’s book store led to a complete turn-about of her life. She no longer wanted to read her favorite mystery novels, she no longer was content to observe life; she wanted to spread her wings a bit, take some risk and take charge of her life.

  She shook herself out of her daydreams as she saw they were nearing the front of the line. The conversation around her was now about other special destinations in Italy. The people behind them had just spent four days on the Cinque Terre.

  They were having a great time bragging about walking the high trails between the five little villages perched on the cliffs over the sea. Actually, it did sound nice. Claire remembered Marianne Peabody had waxed ecstatic about the area she called the Italian Riviera as she flashed her incredibly beautiful slides on the screen. But Claire was more interested in seeing the art and history of Florence and Venice, so she hadn’t even considered a visit to that area. But now, listening to these fellow tourists rave about their experiences, she wondered if she had made the correct decision. Finally, they came to the front of the line and were able to buy their tickets and enter.

  The inside of the museum was a blessed relief of coolness after the long wait in the sun. They followed the crowd into a high rotunda and Claire halted in her tracks, transfixed by the sight of David in front of her. She heard her mother’s gasp and knew just how she felt. It was incredible. There was no comparison between the copies of this statue and the real thing. Of course the light in the rotunda lit the statue so the gleaming marble became luminescent, highlighting the tiniest details of the sculpture. It was breathtaking.

  She was so glad Ruth had been adamant they see it, and she told her so. When she had her fill of looking she pulled her camera out of her backpack and tried to take a picture that would somehow convey this perfection to film. It was a while before they were willing to wander into the other rooms. They marveled at the carvings, the richness and variety housed in this one gallery. And they found amazing the blocks of marble with figures emerging, which had been works in progress, only to be abandoned when Michelangelo died.

  When they emerged, they were momentarily dazed by the sunshine. They huddled in a b
it of shade and conferred over the maps, finally agreeing on the appropriate direction to take. Next on their itinerary was a visit to the Mercato Centrale, a huge food market serving both retail and wholesale customers. This visit was scheduled so Millie and Ruth could complete a homework assignment for their Culinary Retreat. They had been given a shopping list and instructed to locate each item in a market and then price them for use in their class. However, when they entered the cavernous building and saw how huge the market was, they decided to split up. The meats and fish were upstairs, so Ruth went there. The fruits and vegetables were on the main floor. Claire tagged along with her mother enjoying the conversations half in English and half in Italian with lots of hand gestures. But eventually they were able to locate even the most obscure item on the list and head back to the main entrance to find Ruth already at the little café sipping coffee and reviewing her list.

  Claire sat and ordered bottled water while her mother opted for a coffee. The women compared their lists, discussed a few of the items and decided they were done.

  “Great, now for the fun shopping.” Ruth had a gleam in her eye. “Look, this next market is really big, so we need a plan in case we get separated.”

  “Can’t we just stay together?” Millie was nervous, uncertain about how she could cope if she found herself alone in this strange city.

  “We’ll stay together, Mom, but Ruth is right. A plan is a good safety tool. I think since we’re so close to the hotel, if one of us gets separated we’ll just meet back there. Does that sound good?”

  Ruth nodded.

  “Here, Mom, this is the hotel’s card with a little map. See that’s where we’re going and here’s how to get back. But don’t worry, if you do get lost just grab a taxi and give them this card; they’ll drive you back.” Then seeing the fear in her mother’s eyes she smiled. “I’m going to stick to you like glue. Remember when I was a kid and you made me hang on to your jacket when we went out in crowds? Today you can hang on to my backpack, okay?”