Do you think she’d like it up the Duomo? asked the reverend.
Everyone likes it up the Duomo, said Mr Collins. In my experience.
Finally, something we both agree on, said the reverend. Excellent!
Evelyn stood up. Excuse me, she said and left the room.
Did you know that whenever Ghirlandaio left Florence he complained of Duomo sickness? said the reverend to Mr Lugg.
Did he really? How touching.
Evelyn made for the drawing room and fell onto a Chesterfield. A cloud of dust rose. Opposite, she noticed that a picture of King Edward had surreptitiously appeared in a face-off with the former Queen. A loud cough. She looked over to the door. Mr Collins was standing there, holding two wine glasses and smirking.
Miss Skinner?
Don’t say a word, Mr Collins.
I—
Don’t.
I’ve brought you your wine, he said. May I? and he sat down next to her.
Stop looking at me please, Mr Collins.
How can you tell?
I can.
She suddenly turned towards him. I have something important to say to you, she said.
Mr Collins leant in close. Tell me, he said.
Forgive my forwardness, but – and Evelyn shifted position – I like you, Mr Collins.
And I like you too.
But I’m not in love with you.
I know you’re not.
You do?
You’re in love with Livia the maid.
I beg your—？
It’s all right, Miss Skinner, nobody else knows.
But how—
Because I’m in love with Matteo the laundry man. You see, Miss Skinner, whilst you’ve been looking at the breast, I’ve been looking at the chiappe.
Oh, Mr Collins!
Thaddeus, please. And he kissed her hand. Write to me, Evelyn, he said. Else I’ll hold it against you forever.
They’re in here! bellowed Miss Everly, leading the group into the drawing room. Oh no, Mrs Lugg, she said. Time is what it’s all about. The ephemeral seed of time. The heavy thud of the pendulum swing, the noose of time. Mmm, the noose of time.
She reached into her pocket and took out a notebook and scribbled furiously.
There was much talk about what should happen next and Mr Collins skilfully headed off the suggestion of another duet by the elderly twins. Instead he proposed that Miss Everly should read some poetry. Hers, preferably, he said.
Really, Mr Collins! said Miss Everly but she was, of course, delighted.
However—
The insecurity that stalks the artist was never far behind, and in a swift lunge, Miss Everly was mugged of all confidence and acclaim. Rather than read her own work, she decided to culminate her stay with a rendition of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Casa Guidi Windows. （We had a loose friendship once. How loose? I was ten.） All 1,999 lines, Miss Everly?
Would that be a problem, reverend?
I was thinking of the Brown sisters.
Will they not make it till the end?
Miss Everly didn’t chance it. She read for an hour, plenty of time to elicit rapturous applause. The grandfather clock struck midnight with eleven gongs, and people said goodbyes and goodnights and bon voyages and climbed the stairs to bed. Evelyn looked about her and thought she would miss them all. Even the Reverend Hyndesight, in hindsight.
Dust hovered in the wake of departure. Just her and Miss Everly left now, facing one another and holding hands.
Constance.
My dear Evelyn.
I shall miss you.
I shall miss you too.
I want to cry, said Evelyn.
So cry, my dear. This room needs the outpouring of emotion. The stiff upper lip is woven into the haberdashery.
I’ve never had so much fun with anyone, said Evelyn. At which point Livia entered and caught their eye.
Except—？ said Miss Everly.
Evelyn blushed and both women laughed.
Cherish it, said Miss Everly. I did at your age. Love is the most wonderful discovery in the pantheon of human existence.
The next day, the reverend left with the elderly sisters to Arezzo, the Luggs made an early start for the Duomo so as to avoid the beggars, and they all left in a convoy of cabs.
Miss Everly was heading south to Naples in search of squalor and inspiration. And Mr Collins north to Venice in search of romance and a gondolier. （He would find both and would live out a short but ecstatic life overlooking the Grand Canal.） Evelyn waved them off from the steps.
Good luck, Thaddeus! she shouted.
Good luck to you too! he shouted back.
Write well, Constance! she cried.
I shall! And don’t forget to write to me too, my dear, shouted Miss Everly from her cab.
The sound of horse’s hooves on stones, the turn of wheels. Goodbye, goodbye!
And then they were gone. And she was alone.