‘Should we get a taxi to your hotel?’ Angelo asked when they’d disembarked.
‘If it’s in the centre, I’d rather walk,’ Mariana said. ‘By the time we’ve found a taxi and negotiated our way through the city, we could’ve walked there.’
‘Then we’ll walk. Provided you let me carry at least half your bags, because you have much more luggage than I do.’
‘That’s kind. Thank you.’ She let him take charge of the easel and the lights.
Once she’d checked into the hotel and sent her mother a text to confirm her safe arrival, she followed Angelo through the city.
‘I love Florence,’ she said wistfully. ‘On every corner there seems to be a church or a gorgeous building; but it’s the little details I always notice. Look at those tiny bronze tortoises holding up grilles on that window.’ She gestured towards them. ‘And that enormous lion’s head over there on that door knocker. And the Medici symbol on a stone shield on the corner of that palazzo.’
‘Either I really am a philistine, or familiarity breeds contempt,’ Angelo said, ‘because I never really notice things like that.’
‘Did you come to Florence often when you were younger?’ she asked.
‘Cammie and I stayed with our grandparents here every summer,’ he said. ‘Though I probably didn’t appreciate the city as much as I should’ve done. It’s beautiful. But I guess I see the wood, and you’re seeing the individual trees as well.’
Brunelleschi’s red-tiled dome loomed up against the sky; and then finally the cathedral itself came into view, the beautiful pink and green and white facade with its rose windows and niches filled with statues, next to the tall square bell tower and the huge octagonal baptistery.
‘I love this city. It’s probably my favourite after London,’ she said. ‘The way that anywhere you walk, you see something beautiful, whether it’s the reproduction of David next to the entrance of the Palazzo Vecchio, or the narrow streets that suddenly open into wide squares.’
Funny, walking with her made him see the city with new eyes. And somehow she made the old, familiar place feel fresh and full of wonder.
Finally Angelo stopped by a large dark brown building. ‘Welcome to the Palazzo dei Gigli,’ he said.
‘The Palace of Lilies?’ she translated.
‘Yes. And here are the lilies.’ He pointed to the tiny fleurs-de-lys decorating the windows and lintels, a mixture of carved stone and wrought iron.
‘They’re gorgeous. Can I take a photo?’ She gestured to her phone.
He smiled. ‘Of course. Nonno will be pleased you like the lilies. They’re from the sixteenth century, I think.’
‘They’re beautiful,’ she said. ‘Excuse me a second.’ She quickly texted her mother to say she had arrived at the palazzo.
Angelo opened the door, then stood aside for her.
‘Nonno?’ he called when he’d closed the front door behind them.
‘Angelo!’ A woman bustled over to him, hugged him and kissed him on each cheek. She said something in rapid Italian that Mariana couldn’t quite catch.
‘Let me introduce you,’ Angelo said. ‘Lucia, this is Mariana Thackeray, who’s come to look at Nonno’s paintings. Mariana, this is Lucia, who looks after Nonno and takes a lot of worry off my shoulders.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Mariana,’ Lucia said in a strong accent.
‘And you, Lucia,’ Mariana said politely.
‘Is Nonno asleep?’ Angelo asked.
‘No. He’s in the Red Room,’ Lucia said. ‘I’ll make coffee.’
‘No need, Lucia, thank you,’ Angelo said. ‘It’s practically lunchtime and I was planning to take Nonno out.’
‘Bene. You tell me if you need anything,’ she said, and kissed his cheeks again. ‘You are a good boy to your nonno. Your mamma brought you up well.’ She patted his arm and left.
Mariana glanced round the hallway. The walls were crammed with paintings of various sizes, and she recognised some of them from the photographs Angelo had shown her.
‘This is amazing,’ she whispered.