As Chandra walks off, he looks a little shell-shocked. Which actually, isn’t surprising. He probably didn’t even realize you could get yoga videos. He certainly didn’t seem to have heard of Geri Halliwell.
A waiter appears and I order a beer for Luke, plus a mango and papaya cocktail, which in the menu is called Happy Juice. Well, that just about suits me. Here I am in the sunshine, on my honeymoon, about to have a surprise reunion with all the people I love. Everything’s perfect!
I look up to see Luke approaching the table, holding his handheld computer. Is it my imagination, or is he walking faster and looking more animated than he has for months?
“OK,” he says. “I’ve spoken to the office.”
“Is everything all right?”
“It certainly is.” He seems full of a suppressed energy. “It’s going very well. In fact, I want to set up a couple of meetings for the end of this week.”
“That was quick!” I say in astonishment.
Blimey. I’d thought it would take about a week just to get ourselves organized.
“But I know how much you’re getting out of this yoga retreat,” he adds. “So what I propose is that I go on ahead, and you join me later… and then we return to Britain together.”
“So, where are your meetings?” I say, confused.
“Italy.”
The waiter appears with my Happy Juice and Luke’s beer.
“But I don’t want to be separated from you!” I say as the waiter retreats. “This is our honeymoon!”
“We have had ten solid months together… ” Luke gently points out.
“I know. But still…” I take a disconsolate sip of Happy Juice. “Where are you going in Italy?”
“Nowhere exciting,” Luke says after a pause. “Just a… northern Italian city. Very dull. I recommend you stay here. Enjoy the sunshine.”
“Well…” I look around, feeling torn. It is pretty nice here. “Which city?”
There’s silence.
“Milan,” Luke says reluctantly.
“Milan?” I nearly fall off my chair with excitement. “You’re going to Milan? I’ve never been to Milan! I’d love to go to Milan!”
“No,” says Luke. “Really?”
“Yes! Definitely! It’s the fashion capital of the world! I mean, it’s got Prada… and Dolce—” I break off as I catch his expression. “And… er… it’s a place of great cultural interest which no modern traveler should miss. Luke, I have to come.”
“OK.” Luke shakes his head ruefully. “I must be mad, but OK.”
Elated, I lean back in my chair and take a big slurp of Happy Juice. This honeymoon just gets better and better!
Two
OK, I CANNOT believe Luke was planning to come to Milan without me. How could he come here without me? I was made for Milan.
No. Not Milan, Milano.
I haven’t actually seen much of the city yet except for a taxi and our hotel room — but for a world traveler like me, that doesn’t actually matter. You can pick up the vibe of a place in an instant, like bushmen in the wild. And as soon as I looked round the hotel foyer at all those chic women in Prada and D&G, kissing each other while simultaneously downing espressos, lighting cigarettes, and flinging their shiny hair about, I just knew, with a natural instinct: this is my kind of city.
I take a gulp of room-service cappuccino and glance across at my reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Honestly, I look Italian! All I need is some capri pants and dark eyeliner. And maybe a Vespa.
“Ciao,” I say casually, and flick my hair back. “Sì. Ciao.”
I could so be Italian. Except I might need to learn a few more words.
“Sì.” I nod at myself. “Sì. Milano.”
Maybe I’ll practice by reading the paper. I open the free copy of Corriere della Sera, which arrived with our breakfast, and start perusing the lines of text. The first story is all about the president washing his piano. At least I’m pretty sure that’s what presidente and lavoro pieno must mean.
“You know, Luke, I could really live in Italy,” I say as he comes out of the bathroom. “I mean, it’s the perfect country. It has everything! Cappuccinos… yummy food… Everyone’s so elegant… You can get Gucci cheaper than at home… ”
“And the art,” says Luke, deadpan. “Da Vinci’s The Last Supper, for instance.”
I was just about to mention the art.
“Well, obviously the art,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I mean, the art goes without saying.”