It wasn’t. Not for a woman, said Cress.
But it made you who you are now, said Ulysses. Sensitive. Intuitive. Profound.
Thanks, Temps. I wrote a song about it at the time: ‘Love Shouldn’t Come with a Dowry’。 Melody went something like this, and his fingers moved gracefully across the keys and fag smoke vexed his bloodshot eyes.
Ulysses got up and opened another bottle of wine. He bent down and kissed Pete’s head. Bless you, said Pete. Claude squawked and said, All the world’s a stage. And all the men and women merely players. They have their exits, and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts.
Ulysses, Pete and Cress looked over at the bird.
Where does he get it from? whispered Cress.
Search me, said Ulysses.
Maybe he’s Shakespeare, said Pete.
You what? said Ulysses.
Maybe. He’s. Shakespeare, mouthed Pete, pointing at Claude.
That parrot? said Cress. The greatest playwright that ever lived?
Pete shrugged. I’m not saying he is, but—
Carry me, said Claude.
They turned to the bird. Claude was lying louchely on a pillow, pointing a long wing feather – like a quill – in their direction. Carry me, he said with an air of entitlement.
Pete left the next day. The sky was blue, mostly, with a sun that was firing blanks. He’d decided to hitchhike his way back to London, and Cress had packed him up with bread and cheese and a surprise jar of caper berries that would lift his spirits one lonely night to come. Pete intended to bed down in youth hostels. He said the number of hostels had doubled over the decade, as a way to encourage young people to travel and engage with other nations. To heal the schism that war had caused, he said. We’re not so different.
They walked across the square; shouts of goodbye echoed in the air. Cressy, Alys, Ulysses and Pete, and Claude in Ulysses’ arms as had been demanded.
They passed the recent additions to the neighbourhood, the new trattoria and tabacchi that no one could remember never having been there. They walked past Betsy – a loving glance her way – past the church and up onto the lungarno. Pete got his sign out then. It just said ‘North/Nord’。 He lit a cigarette and a minute later, a Fiat Millecento stopped: an antique dealer on his way to Milan, a cheery sort of fella.
Pete lifted his holdall onto his shoulder.
Come here, said Ulysses. The men embraced.
Bye, Pete! Bye, my love.
Come back soon, son. Take care, Cress.
Pete striding ahead to the car with his holdall held high. The sleeve slipping down his thin arm and a familiar trail of smoke. Pete climbing into the passenger seat. The car driving away, heading north. And then that airless bubble, absence.
February brought the whisper of spring. Cress got the pensione ready for the new season. A bit of darning and a coat of paint on the doors – nothing taxing – and a couple of additions to the weekly menu. Three years since the dining room had opened up. Rarely more than six guests at a time around the communal table, so more than manageable. That’s how Des and Poppy met the Australian couple Ray and Jane in ’57. What would become a lifelong friendship forged over a bowl of ribollita. What’s ribollita when it’s at home? said Jane. Old stale bread, said Des. I’d never have known, said Jane.
Ulysses grabbed Alys for a night at the movies before Romy stole her away. Fellini’s La Dolce Vita had just opened in town and Massimo came too, and it was just like old times. No one dared move after the credits had rolled, and Alys declared it a masterpiece. They ended up at a table in Michele’s. Cress said something about Anita Ekberg frolicking in the Trevi Fountain and everyone laughed because frolicking wasn’t a word Cress would normally use. Giulia said she wanted to see the film, but Michele didn’t, and Ulysses – so high on the night – said I’ll take you and he and Giulia blushed because it was the closest they’d ever got to going out on a date. It would never happen, of course, but it felt good to imagine. The perfect end to a moony old night.
Alys saw the film a second time with Romy. She told Romy that this was the trajectory she’d always imagined for Fellini after seeing I Vitelloni. Romy wasn’t that interested actually. A little chink in love’s bright armour. Alys pasted over the crack and sketched Romy naked one afternoon after school. She used charcoal and white chalk on black paper and made Romy look like a statue.
In March, the swallows returned.
Alys was the first to see them around the campanile and Cress said, They’re early this year, and Alys said, That’s what I thought. March also saw the return of the guests. First through the door was Mrs Shields from Sunderland. She was a Michelangelo enthusiast and spent hours gazing at David’s allure. She also had a soft spot for the hostess trolley and come an evening, made a considerable dent in a bottle of Campari. An art appreciation class from Boston took three rooms for two weeks and appreciated everything, which isn’t always the case. Anyway, it was a solid start to the tourist season and an effortless way to bolster the coffers. And even Des turned up. Just for the night, but still. He came down from Milan after an industry seminar on the future of plastics.