The other side now, careful to look left and right. Past Borgo San Jacopo, and into Via Maggio. She slowed down. Took her time to look at faces, to look into small alleyways because she knew she was close. She stood outside Bianca Cappello’s Palazzo and looked at the photograph and it was no mistake that it had been taken right there, that fateful hour.
A woman cleaning out her cheese shop stands next to her and points to the photograph and says, Signor Temper.
Sì, Signor Temper, says Evelyn. Dove?
The woman points. Santo Spirito, she says.
Of course, Santo Spirito! thinks Evelyn.
Onwards she goes. Takes a right, past the basilica, and is careful across the stones, always pausing, always looking. She is so close now she can feel it. She sees an old man scrubbing a jukebox, a large blue parrot atop a statue. And then— Him. Cleaning a stone bench.
She moves closer. Ulysses? she says.
He looks up. He smiles.
It is you, isn’t it? she says.
Hello, Evelyn.
Twenty-two years and where do you start?
Some might say where you left off.
So tell me, Ulysses, how is the good captain? And it was the silence, that alerted her. That long, steady intake of breath.
And around the kitchen table in an old palazzo, Ulysses told his story. First time Cress had heard some of it and it made him a bit choked, truth be told. Darnley, Arturo, Peg, the kid called Alys, the inheritance, the move to Italy, the pensione, Dotty’s portrait of Alys, a wild dash for a train. So that was you? said Evelyn. Yes. But how do you know that was me? Evelyn laughing now. She said, Dotty Cunningham saw you from the train. Dotty Cunningham? said Ulysses. She’s my oldest friend, said Evelyn. She’s here with me now. And they couldn’t believe how so many roads had either led to him or led to her. And for Evelyn, there was equal sadness as there was delight at hearing how close they’d been to one another, how touchable, if only – the preciousness of time, you see.
They heard the front door open. In here, Alys! said Ulysses. Oh my God, said Alys. Hello, kid, said Evelyn. Miss Skinner? said Jem. Jem Gunnerslake? said Evelyn. Fair to say there was more than a touch of farce to the reunion.
Two days later, Evelyn and Dotty moved into the guest room. It was the best room and still smelt of Des. Amber, isn’t it? said Evelyn. With a touch of citron, said Dotty. Expensive, they added.
Dotty and Evelyn’s first night turned into a double celebration on account of tap water finally being declared drinkable in the city. That meant unlimited baths and showers, albeit in cold water. The students glistened and Pete said they smelt lovely and fresh like summer linen. He was head down at the piano as he always was, a medley of show tunes to get the evening warmed up. Jem, Alys and Massimo sang along, and Claude performed a spot of asymmetric hovering.
Dotty turned to Evelyn and said, I might be wrong, but d’you think Pete’s the man who played a frontier pianist with a drink problem all those years ago in the West End? A small but noticeable part.
I think you’re right, said Evelyn.
I feel as if I’ve imbibed a hallucinogen, Lynny.
How lovely, said Evelyn.
Suddenly a knock at the door. I’ll get it! shouted Ulysses.
Not too early, am I? said the elderly contessa, barging in. Ulysses had bought her an electric stove, but she’d found every conceivable thing wrong with it and ultimately shunned it in favour of food and company at the pensione. But who could blame her?
We’ve sat you at your usual place, contessa, said Ulysses. And we have two more guests.
Two more? You giving Saint Francis a run for his money?
Sixteen sat down for dinner that night. The wine kept flowing, bowls of tagliatelle al tartufo kept flowing, bread and conversation flowing. Pete telling Cress about Col’s new girlfriend June. Not June Woeful? That’s her, said Pete. Won’t last, said Cress. He needs someone older, said Ulysses. Older than Woeful? Older than him, said Ulysses. I always prefer someone older, said Pete. What’s he saying? said the elderly contessa. Pete says he prefers an older woman, said Alys, translating. I’m not on the market, said the elderly contessa. Massimo talking to Jem about Ernest Hemingway and Dotty said she’d met him in a bar once. Kept going on about a six-word story, she said. Such a bore. So male. Jem said his mother still talked so fondly of the weekend Dotty taught her to paint. Ah, the divine Penelope, said Dotty. Do you think she might enjoy a follow-up? Incorrigible, whispered Evelyn.
A knife tapped against a spoon. The conversation hushed and Ulysses stood up. He delivered an invocation of thanks, mostly. That they were all gathered at that moment in time. How that meant something, would continue to mean something over the years. True worth, he said.