Claire Gulliver #03 - Intrigue in Italics (2 page)

It was Kristen. And she was sure Kristen had recognized her, too; she saw it in her eyes.

But then her own eyes widened as she realized it couldn’t be Kristen. Chills ran down Claire’s spine causing her to shudder.

“I just can’t believe it.”

“Hush, Ruth, you’ll wake Claire.” Millie’s whisper woke Claire instantly.

She lay there a minute remembering where she was, blinking at the afternoon light which was pleasantly dimmed by the louvered shutters. Then she rolled over and said, “Believe what?”

“Oh, now, see what you did.” Millie accused Ruth.

Ruth rummaged through a drawer, pulling out a clean shirt while at the same time she struggled to get the one she was wearing over her head.

“Ugh. A pigeon got me. Pigeon? It felt like a pelican. A direct hit; it’s disgusting.”

Millie, Claire’s mother, couldn’t keep the shadow of a smile from reaching the corners of her mouth. “Ruth, it could happen to anyone. Some people consider it a sign of luck.”

“With all those people on the street I was the one that got it. It was lucky for all those others. Trust me; I could have happily lived my entire life without this experience.” Ruth was indignant. She took great pains with her grooming. She would never have worn anything even slightly soiled, and wearing the dirty shirt back to the hotel was odious for her. Even now, well into her sixties, she kept up with current styles, wearing what was fashionable regardless of what was suitable for her age bracket. She bragged she still wore the same size she did in high school, ignoring the fact she now appeared to be poured into her clothes, which only further accentuated the bulges. And of course, no one mentioned the sagging muscles and wrinkles which clearly told her age.

Claire was wide awake now. “Mom’s right. It could happen to anyone. Mom, remember my friend, Pat? She was in her bridal gown, getting out of the limo at the church when a seagull got her good.”

Ruth looked shocked. “What did she do?”

“She went on with the wedding of course. Her mother cleaned her up at the church. I’m sure it wasn’t easy. She had a beautiful gown with lace and beading, but she got it clean. And it wasn’t an omen or anything.”

“Well, I don’t know about that, Claire,” her mother said. “As I recall, after about ten years and three kids, she finally got tired of her husband’s philandering and divorced him.”

“Philandering? Come on, Mom. Sometimes marriages just don’t make it. And I’m pretty sure it didn’t have anything to do with the seagull.”

Millie shrugged, obviously not convinced. “Anyway, dear, are you feeling better now after your little nap?”

“Yeah, I do.” She was a little surprised at how revitalized she felt. “I think I’ll shower and change my clothes, and then I’m ready to see Florence. What do you two have planned?”

“I’m writing some postcards.” Millie sat down at the little desk beneath the generous window, shuttered to keep out the hot afternoon sun.

Ruth sank down on her side of the big bed she shared with Millie. “I’m going to take a nap, and then we’ll decide what to do tonight for dinner.”

Claire straightened the covers on the bed the hotel had rolled into the generous-sized room so she could share with the two women. Then gathering up her toiletry kit, she headed for the bathroom. The large room was completely tiled, including the ceiling. It took her a moment to realize there was no bathtub, not even a shower stall. She poked her head out and whispered to her mother, “Mom, where’s the shower?”

“See the spigot in the middle of the wall?” She nodded in the direction of the shower. “That’s it. I’ve already learned to move the toilet paper out of the way. Put your clothes on the shelves at the far end away from the spray. And be very careful, because the floor is like a skating rink when it gets wet.”

After she got over the shock of standing in the middle of the room to shower, Claire found the spray very satisfactory. She let the water flow over her, remembering how pleased she had been to find her mother in such good spirits and obviously enjoying this trip she had been so reluctant to take.

When Millie had announced last year she would retire at the end of the year, her boss at Richman Cadillac had been justifiably alarmed. He and his two brothers had immediately tried to talk her out of the idea, not wanting anything to interrupt the smooth flowing dynamics of their company. The dealership had grown to be one of the biggest in the West and they had always said it wouldn’t have been possible without Millie’s management of the support functions. If she retired, they believed, everything would change and not for the better.

Rich Richman, the oldest of the brothers, couldn’t believe she was intending to start a second career. “That’s not retirement, Millie. Retirement is doing something fun. Something you want to do, but don’t have time to do while you’re working.”

“That’s it exactly. I love to cook. And I don’t have the time or any reason to cook now. That’s why I plan to provide meals for a few busy career people and cater some small dinner parties. I think it will be perfect. It won’t be work, you see; it will be fun!”

And he did see, so he convinced his brothers her retirement was inevitable. And then, in an effort to show their appreciation of her contribution, they had signed her up at the prestigious Italian Culinary Retreat, which was being held the following year at the posh Villa Tuscany outside Florence, Italy.

Millie had been touched and grateful. But she flatly refused to go. She wasn’t adventurous. She didn’t travel. She thought the classes she was taking at the California Culinary Academy, just a bus ride away, were all she needed.

Of course she didn’t tell the Richman brothers any of that.

Her friend, Ruth, and her daughter, Claire, argued endlessly with her trying to change her mind. They saw this as a chance to help Millie spread her wings a little; to stretch her boundaries as they say in all the magazine articles. They were convinced she was passing up an opportunity of a lifetime.

At last they succeeded by pointing out the cost of the gift, a sizable amount, would be wasted if she didn’t use it. That was a very distressing thought for the ever frugal Millie. Finally, Ruth promised to accompany her, even agreeing to take the classes at the Retreat, so Millie, reluctantly, capitulated.

Of course, then Millie tried to talk Claire into going with them. Not to the Culinary Retreat; she knew Claire had little interest in cooking. But why not join them in Florence and Venice, she wheedled.

Claire had lots of reasons to resist. The most important were the two trips she had taken the previous year which had both turned out to include harrowing experiences, which she was still trying to forget. Those trips had cooled her ardor for travel considerably. Of course, her mother didn’t know about the near disasters and Claire didn’t intend she ever learn of them.

Then there was the universal horror of 9/11 which had occurred shortly after she returned from her second trip. That disaster had stunned the world. Claire’s business, Gulliver’s Travels Bookshop reeled from the public’s sudden aversion to travel. Claire had laid off staff and cut hours in an effort to make it through the slump. And luckily, after the beginning of the year, business had started improving. People once again wanted to hear the travel lectures she had scheduled at the store. And customers started buying books for trips they were planning.

Claire’s mother continued to nag her to go to Italy with them and in early February, Marianne Peabody’s inspiring lecture at the store kindled Claire’s desire to see Italy. That’s when her assistant manager and friend, Mrs. B, got on her case.

“Look, Claire, if we want people to travel we need to show them it’s safe. It would be great for business for you to go and send back lots of postcards for our bulletin board.”

Claire countered with, “Why don’t you go? You could use some time off. And you get along well with my mother. It would be perfect.”

“I’m too old.” Then seeing Claire’s skepticism, she shook her head firmly. “It’s true. I like reading the books and talking to the customers. But I’ve done my traveling. I’ve been there, everywhere. I don’t want to schlep my luggage on and off trains and planes. I don’t want to sleep in a strange bed every night. I’m too old. Getting up and coming to work every day is enough adventure for me.”

Claire didn’t even know how old Mrs. B was, but suspected she was in her eighties, even though she looked twenty years younger. But she could see Mrs. B didn’t intend to travel again.

“You have the free pass on Vantage, so it would be a pretty cheap trip. What’s keeping you from going?” She continued, looking at Claire shrewdly, “You’re not scared are you? You’re not letting those past two experiences turn you off of traveling, are you?” She shook her head, an expression of disbelief on her face. “Travel is fun. It’s enriching. And believe me, it’s safe. And don’t forget we rely on it for our livelihood. You should go!

“Tuffy-Two, Theroux and I can handle the store.”

Claire smiled to herself. It was hard to win an argument with Mrs. B; she always seemed to know the right buttons to push. Tuffy-Two, the West Highland Terrier puppy, was no longer a little ball of fluff that customers mistook for a stuffed toy. And Theroux, the bookshop cat had him well in hand, treating him as if he were her kitten instead of a puppy. The customers of the book store loved them both. Mrs. B was right; the three of them could handle the business in the store, which still had not returned to the level it had been before the terrorist attacks.

Claire turned off the shower and concentrated as she carefully made her way over the slick floor to the thick towel she hung from a hook earlier. She toweled her hair and checked her face in the mirror. She looked okay, the years were being kind. She thought she looked in her thirties a good ten years younger than she was. That was encouraging. It made her feel more energetic. The shower had really perked her up and she was getting a little excited about exploring Florence.

Her mother and Ruth, had arrived in Florence on the previous Thursday, so they had several days to acclimate themselves before Claire joined them today. They were due to start their Culinary Retreat on Wednesday, leaving Claire to explore Florence on her own and then proceed to Venice where they would meet her when “school” was over. And Claire had a whole list of “things to do” and “places to see,” some she had taken from Marianne Peabody’s lecture, some were suggestions she had collected over the years from travel magazines and newspapers, and some were recommendations from her customers. She knew she wouldn’t do everything but she fully intended to make a big dent in the list.

Finally, hair dried, dressed in her underwear, she quietly entered the big room, nodding at her mother. She quickly selected and donned a pair of khaki slacks and a sleeveless knit sweater. She was fastening her sturdy sandals when Ruth’s gentle snoring abruptly stopped.

“Okay,” Ruth said stretching on the bed, “a little nap was just what I needed. So what shall we do this evening?”

“Well, it’s Claire’s first night, so I think we should do something special.”

Ruth nodded her agreement.

“Remember that area of little shops we saw on the other side of Pont Vecchio?” she asked Ruth. “That lady from Toledo said she ate at a very nice restaurant there. Wait, I marked it in my book.” She rummaged around in her bag and came up with the book. “Here it is, Momma Mia’s. And we could show Claire the gold shops on the bridge and look in some of the art galleries and shops in that area. What do you think?”

“Fine with me.” Claire thought anywhere with food was sounding good about now.

“Let’s do it,” Ruth agreed, swinging off the bed and looking for her shoes. “But let’s take a taxi to Pont Vecchio. I’ve walked enough today.”

It didn’t take long for the taxi to drop them at the foot of the ancient stone bridge over the river Arno. The bridge itself was golden, bathed in the rays of the setting sun, and was crammed with shops clinging along both sides selling their gold. Even though it was early evening all the shops were open, their proprietors eager for every sale.

The women slowly made their way through the pedestrians, examining the endless variety of jewelry, comparing prices. Claire couldn’t resist an intricate gold chain bracelet, deciding to wear it on the same hand as her watch. She was certain it would look perfect with the beautiful gold and diamond Cartier watch Vantage Airlines had given her last September. Of course, she wasn’t wearing it now; she hadn’t even brought it. She knew enough to leave her expensive jewelry safely at home, and that watch was the only expensive piece of jewelry she owned. Then just before leaving the bridge she purchased a pair of earrings she thought would make a wonderful birthday gift for her friend, Lucy Springer.

“Well, now you must feel like you’re on vacation, Claire. You’ve spent your first wad.” Ruth’s droll comment made Claire laugh.

But it was true. She had napped and showered, so she felt good. She had bought herself a trinket. And she was in Florence.

The evening was warm and beautiful. They strolled down a street parallel to the River, glancing in the windows at beautiful paintings, works of art and artful displays of shoes, purses and other leather goods.

“There it is. See, where those people are turning in.” They picked up their pace, the thought of food drawing them.

“Wow, our timing was right,” Claire exclaimed a few moments after they had been seated at one of the last available tables in the dimly lit restaurant. They noticed the people who had arrived after them were already crowded into the bar, glancing enviously at the diners, hoping some would be finishing soon. But they forgot about the people waiting as they turned their attention to a mellow red wine from the generous carafe placed on their table while they nibbled nuts and olives and considered the menu choices.

“Millie, can I see that phrase book?” Ruth held out her hand, explaining, “I thought I ordered rabbit the other night, but when it came I just couldn’t figure out what it was.”

Millie laughed. “Maybe it was rabbit tripe. Fortunately my dinner was large enough for us both,” she explained to Claire.