Maestra by L.S. Hilton

Author:L.S. Hilton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2016-03-28T16:06:58+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

LATER, I HAD a lot of time to think about when I’d made the decision. Had it been swelling inside me all along, waiting, like a tumor? Was it the moment when Rupert packed me off like a servant without a reference, or when I heard the drained resignation in Dave’s voice? Was it when I agreed to work at the Gstaad Club or to Leanne’s stupid plan to have ourselves a night out, or when I closed the door on James’s body and took the Ventimiglia train? If I was being romantic, I could argue to myself that the decision was made for me long ago, by Artemisia, another young woman who understood hate, who had left her no-mark husband and come to these very streets to paint a living for her family. But none of that would be true. It happened when I went upstairs to my room and quietly changed my teetering cork-heeled wedges for flat sandals. My hands shook as I fastened each buckle. I stood up slowly and set off straightaway for the Corso Italia.

In Zara I found a plain linen dress, a short A-line with deep pockets. Close up, it was easy to see it was poorly made, but it was simple enough that with good accessories it looked expensive. I took two, one in black and one in navy. In a sports store I bought a pair of shorts, two sizes too big, and a pair of chunky white trainers. I added an “I Heart Rome” from a tourist booth on a nearby corner. I paid visits to two more tacky souvenir shops, then at the bottom of the Via Veneto I found a lightweight Kenzo raincoat in a bright fuchsia-and-white print. It looked quite striking. In a smart tabacchaio, the kind that sold silver photo frames and humidors, I bought a heavy cigar cutter and one of the fat leather pocket tubes that the guys back on the boat had used to transport their Cohibas. I also picked up a black nylon backpack, loose enough to slip my own leather tote inside, and called at a farmacia for a pack of maxi-size sanitary pads and some wet wipes. By the time I had finished, it was after six. I felt a moment of regret for the Pinturicchios at the Vatican. I wouldn’t get to see them now, but I wanted to take the time to bathe and blow out my hair for my date with Cameron.

I rejoined him at the Hassler at around eight. He was waiting for me in the lobby and suggested a drink, but I said I’d love one later. On the way to the third floor in the lift I dropped a few unsubtle hints about how eager I was to work for a private gallerist when I returned to London. The dei Grecis, conveniently, were dining with relatives that evening. As soon as we entered his room I slowly slipped off the new Kenzo coat and dropped it over the back of the chair.

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