Page 38 of In Italy for Love

Even if it hadn’t been an eminently reasonable price, she probably would have bought it, her dwindling bank balance bedamned. For pure wool and a glimpse into her own heart, she happily handed over two banknotes.

Wandering the rest of the market, it became clear she truly was visiting a place at the crossroads of Europe. There were woodcarvings from the Alps, Murano glass, Russian orthodox crosses in gold, Meissen porcelain – and Limoges porcelain and Bohemian porcelain – and coins and notes from the former Yugoslavia.

When she spotted an accordion, she got so excited, she had to admit to herself that she’d been looking for an excuse to go and find Alex. Except she’d drifted a long way from where she’d said goodbye to him in the Piazza del Duomo – and they somehow still hadn’t exchanged phone numbers.

Dodging meandering punters, relaxed Sunday locals and tourists who distinguished themselves by speaking other languages – or standard Italian – Jules picked her way back in the direction of the cathedral, keeping her eyes up. She should have realised it wouldn’t be too difficult to find him. Not far from the statue of Julius Caesar, she caught sight of his curly head, several inches taller than everyone around him.

‘Alex!’ she called out, rushing in his direction. Arco picked up on the game and frolicked ahead, his tongue lolling. ‘Alex!’

He whirled around. ‘What? What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing! Don’t worry,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I found you an accordion.’

His smile stretched slowly. ‘You did?’

She grasped his hand without thinking. ‘It’s this way! Come on! Before someone else buys it.’

‘I don’t think we need to worry about that.’

When she turned back, he was studying their joined hands and she hurriedly dropped his. ‘You can’t be certain!’

‘All right, I’m coming,’ he grumbled, but this time with a smile that reminded her of sitting by the fire in Maddalena’s dining room – or roasting chestnuts on the stove.

As she was having a day off from her money worries, she insisted on paying for it, calling it ‘rent’ just to make him roll his eyes. But she suspected that if she’d divulged her real reason for giving it to him – so he’d have something to remember her by – he wouldn’t have accepted it.

By the time they returned home for lunch, he was the proud owner of a red and gold Fantini piano accordion, only slightly not working. And Jules had started to wonder what the future version of her would have to remember Alex by.

On the following Tuesday, Jules made her mad dash to Parma for a ten-minute passport interview at the local police station, while Arco stayed rather too happily behind with Alex. She wore her new cardigan, freshly hand-washed, and arranged her hair in a messy ponytail, just in case she had the opportunity to disappoint Luca’s mother one more time.

But the closer she got to her old frazione, the part of the city where the B&B was situated, the smaller she felt. What if the bureaucrat in the interview took issue with her misshapen old cardigan? She could be too colourful for the country of Gucci and Dolce & Gabbana. And if Luca saw her, his mouth would twist in a sneer she still sometimes pictured in her dreams – her bad ones.

Returning to Parma also made her realise she’d been avoiding thinking about the sale of the building. Luca hadn’t contacted her even once, which she would have thought wasa good thing, except she didn’t know what that meant for her investment.

With a shot of panic, she realised she would cut her losses and run so she never had to face him again. She wished she could have brought Arco with her – but no, he would have drawn attention to her and she couldn’t risk Luca seeing her.

She got through her appointment with a combination of blank smiles and ‘Puoi ripetere, per favore – lentamente,’ to have the important bits repeated slowly, then she bolted for the train back home.

Home?

The journey passed in a blur, even though it took five hours to travel between Parma and Udine – longer that day, as one of her trains was delayed. She had her e-reader with her, but she couldn’t have said what happened in the pages she apparently read. All she knew was that the fog in her brain gradually cleared the farther she got from Luca, and she asked herself if perhaps she was in a worse state than she’d realised.

I was having some problems.

Her mind had been in such a tangle that it was only when she arrived at the station in Udine and went to buy a ticket for the retro diesel railway that chuffed east to Cividale that she realised how late it was and that she’d missed the last train.

After a leap of panic up her throat, she took a deep breath and considered her options. It was past eleven o’clock. She refused to disturb Alex, Berengario or Maddalena so late – which meant her only option was a taxi.

When the taxi pulled up at Alex’s courtyard, she placed her card on the reader with dismay, imagining her meagre balance ticking down by another thirty euros she’d never see again. Stepping under the low brick archway, she felt as though she’d been gone much longer than a day, although the tree looked the same as it had that morning, the plump orange fruit moreprominent now more leaves had fallen. She shivered with the sudden cold of the late evening.

It was nearly midnight and although the shutters in the courtyard were all firmly closed – except her own on the first floor of Alex’s building – she suspected someone would still hear her footsteps.

And Alex was probably awake.

But she fetched her key quietly, just in case. Of course, it wasn’t quietly enough. An alarmed bark sounded, followed by frantic scratching. Before she could even turn the latch, the door flew open and Arco made his best attempt to bowl her over.

‘Hey, boy,’ she crooned, dropping to a crouch to give him a thorough rub. ‘I missed you too.’ She let him give her a gentle lick on the chin and looped her arms around his little body. Boy, she’d needed a hug. ‘I bet you had a nice day at the bike shop.’

‘He did.’

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