Tuscany, Italy. November 27th
Clarice hadn't spent much time in Rome. The city was irrefutably intriguing, holding centuries of history and culture, yet the continuous bustle and dense tourist population eased the process of leaving. Within her first couple of days she had learnt a thing or two about the 'European way'; the coffee might be good, but the more you drink, the more money you have to waste on dirty public toilets, the porcelain bowl beside the toilet isn't a stunted basin and never, never smile at the Albanian gypsies.
Although it had been a relief to get out of the airport in Rome, stepping onto the coach headed for Tuscany felt even more liberating. The luxury bus seated twenty-four, but fortunately only eleven of those seats had been occupied, giving Clarice the chance to rotate her seat from the left to right side throughout the estimated four hour trip. Getting comfortable, she slumped back into her seat, resting her knees on the chair in front, leaving her feet free to dangle. The hum of the engine vibrated against her temples as she rested her head on the tinted glass window.
Outside, steep mountains rolled together into lush green gold valleys. The clear sky, speckled with small fluffy clouds, made for the perfect backdrop. It was a cold, yet beautiful day. Nothing like the winters back home. The streets were cold, buildings were cold, even her bed was cold. Nothing could compare to this view- this way of life she had stumbled into.
Moments struck her, since she'd arrived, where she felt alien. Life was moving around her in a completely different pattern. Italians had agendas poles apart to what Clarice was accustomed to. Work was a minor part of life, something that stopped at one o'clock to allow you to go home, rest and spend time with family, and something that resumed later in the afternoon, after the real life had slowed down for the day.
Clarice thought about suggesting that when she handed in her resignation when she got back.
What do you thing Mr. Noonan? I mean who really needs to work through the busiest part of the day anyway?
She offered a somewhat ridiculous snort, stirring the attention of an older woman seated in front on her. She was pleased that she could bring herself to joke about her resignation, in the very least smile back at her own stubborn pride. If things had been different, she may have stayed. It wasn't the duty she wanted to leave; making a difference to helpless victims was a noble cause. It's just the arrogant suits in charge that left bravery, integrity and fidelity with a bitter aftertaste.
Ever since that evening in July, three years ago, her superiors had made life hell. The four months following the death of Paul Krendler were the worst consecutive days of her life. Possible charges of murder, aiding and abetting and obstruction of justice saw several weeks of intensive closed-door legal arguments. But no case was tried; the Bureau had nothing substantial that her badge could not cover. That made no difference to her reinstatement. In the eyes of the law there was nothing condemnable in her conduct, but to the Bureau, she was still the unwanted black sheep, the crazy breasts that took on a madman as a rookie and succeeded far too much for their liking. She was given no second chance before being filed away to paperwork and menial fieldwork. Within the past three years, her job had withered. She knew they were waiting, counting down the days until she finally gave in. She had wanted to fight them, make them frustrated and stay on. But the price was too high; she had already given up enough of her time and happiness. Now she was taking back what she deserved. She smiled then, her hair glistening as the sun penetrated the glass.
Florence was the first place that she thought of. She hated to admit that he had influenced her decision, yet ultimately, his taste was impeccable. She knew Ardelia wouldn't understand. They had been friends for years, but never really knew much about each other. The decision she had made could not be moved, her friend may be concerned, but her destination was set, in booking and mind.
At Pisa the bus made a brief stop, but the driver hurried everyone back on after ten minutes, claiming the traffic was only going to worsen with time. Clarice remained neutral, unaffected by the demands of hasty travel. She was looking forward to getting to Florence, the sooner the better. The travel attendant mentioned that four weeks in Florence alone could grow tiresome and expensive for someone on her budget, and it would be wiser to see more in that time, perhaps Milan and Venice. She agreed to an extent, making plans to spend two and a half weeks in Florence, followed by one and a half weeks in Genoa and Milan. Regardless, she had to drive through Florence on the way back, so extending for a few nights on the home straight was reasonable.
Clarice hadn't been overseas for a long time. It wasn't a regular occurrence. Once to Columbia, in high school, and Canada for work, so the experience was something new to her. Especially here, where he had been and told her to come. She closed her eyes and tried to ease the thoughts out of her head. She exhaled deeply, shaking her shoulders and moving to sit up in her seat. It wouldn't do her any good to dwell. She wasn't here for him.
Yeah right, Starling!
She was here to open her eyes to the new, and to inspire and motivate herself for when she returned home to no job and no family. Not to chase him, or bump into him on the street. By chance, he's probably not even on the continent. You can't follow the footsteps of a ghost, and that was all he was to her, a distant dying memory.
The bus pulled into the Piazza Statione at ten past five in the afternoon. Clarice felt her nervous heart pounding, thrashing in her chest. Grabbing her carry-on bag, she jumped out of the side door of the bus and into the chilly dark. She double-checked her watch to assure herself she'd heard right and looked around the piazza. Tiny delicate lights hung from terracotta condominiums and a tall pine tree stood before the underground station, decorated with small metallic red balls. They twinkled brightly in the clear black night.
Her large suitcase was deposited at her feet as she thanked and tipped the driver. Directly in front of her stood The Grand Hotel Majestic, her place of stay for the next few weeks. Reluctantly tearing her gaze from the sights before her, she entered through a revolving glass door twined with mistletoe and gold ribbon. It made her smile. She never put decorations up at home, Ardelia has a tree on her side of the duplex, but Clarice could never bring herself to find the mood. Besides, there was no one else to share it with. This Christmas would be no different, but at least the setting had changed.
The first two weeks flew by without much recognition. As much as Rome was the home of history, Florence was the city of art. Museums, basilicas, The Duomo, art galleries, marble markets, gold and silver welding, Clarice had seen as much as she could, but dreaded leaving for Genoa and Milan. In Florence there was just something that felt like…home.
Everywhere she turned she saw dark suit coats flapping in the wind, fedoras of white, beige and black. It was hard to forget when every man reminded her of him. She had been chasing delusions and cursing herself every time she went to look twice.
The day, when she finally wasn't deluding herself, came towards the end of her trip, on the return home. She had spent a day shopping on the far side of Pointe Vechhio, indulging in the goodness of gold when a familiar, but strangely undetectable tingle make its way up her spine to her scalp. There was no one near her, but as she turned, she caught the tail end of a navy trench coat disappearing around a corner. It felt stupid to follow, like she'd done so many times on her trip.
Can it hurt to go again? C'mon, Clarice for the very last time.
So she did. She left the pesky sales assistant mid-sentence and dashed after him. The time of year was inconvenient; tourists swamped the cobblestone streets flashing their cameras and heavy wallets. Clarice hit the pathway and weaved through the makeshift stalls. Ahead of her she saw him, walking at a graceful pace and turning left into a piazza.
Christ another piazza! So much for thinking outside of the square!
After ten minutes of careful pursuit, she finally found a comfortable distance behind him. It wasn't until he stopped in front of a shorter block of exclusive condominiums that he turned, looking in her direction. As soon as she seen him pause she fell back behind a larger, well-dressed man hoping that from his angle, she couldn't be seen. Her throat was constricting and throbbing. She had seen it. It was him. She'd finally found him!
Found. I thought you weren't looking hmm? His mocking, ghostly voice rumbled through her mind.
She stayed behind Mr dress nice and smell bad for a few minutes, but grew tired of waiting and poked her head around the side of the thick body. Just in time, the doctor pressed the third buzzer down from the right and waited for the intercom and doors to open.
With all her attention focused on the doctor, she tried to ignore the smiling man before her, all yellow teeth and gold capping. She fights a persistent cringe and sidesteps him, paying no heed to his mouldy laugh.
The rest of the afternoon she spent at a café, sipping extremely slowly on a vanilla cappuccino, watching the doors and windows of the block he walked into, from the extended ristortane balcony. From what she gathered, it was his temporary residence- he was there too long for a social call.
You hope!
At four-thirty it stared to get dark. She watched the lights sprinkle on over the city and decided to make her way back to the hotel. She would be back. Tomorrow was Christmas day, she would remind them both.