"Stories of Improbable Encounters"
A passer-by on a winter evening
A cold wind was sneaking into the streets of San Frediano district like an evildoer, ambushing its prey behind dark corners.
Manuela Bossina put the collar of her coat up, after lowering the roll-up doors at the front of her flower shop facing the street.
Manuela was a pale, slim girl in her thirties, with rich, soft hair the colour of English marigolds. She didn’t live far from the shop; walking back home would take her only ten minutes. In her mind she was anticipating everything she intended to do, as soon as she arrived home. This prospect already filled her with the subtle pleasure which often accompanies expectation. She would take a quick shower, and try that new hair balsam, supposed to make her curls even more shining. She had already prepared all that was necessary for dinner, which was only waiting to be put into the oven. Candles and fresh flowers would have created the perfect atmosphere.
Manuela’s fiancé, Emilio, lived and worked in Arezzo. It took him one hour driving or even longer (it depended on the capricious conditions of traffic) to reach Manuela in her cosy, small flat in Firenze. Manuela was deeply in love with Emilio, who had given her a comforting feeling of serenity, protection and reliability since their first, casual meeting. Emilio Ciricola was Lieutenant of Carabinieri in charge of Arezzo station. He was in his early forties, and although he could not boast of a tall stature, he was harmoniously built and moved in a determined way, so that he might appear taller. He wore his uniform with proud ease, as if it were a second skin. Manuela was aware that his work was for him a fundamental mission, and she had fallen in love with him also for that reason, because he was a man of ideals and justice.
At the same time Manuela knew that if one of them were to accept changing a little of their life, it would be necessarily her. She could not ask Emilio to apply for a transfer to Firenze. He was happy with his collaborators in Arezzo and the team he had formed was brilliant. Besides that, his best friends, who represented for him the family he had lost, lived only a few kilometres from Arezzo. They had often helped Emilio in his investigations and supported him in all ways.
Manuela had no family of her own either, but Emilio’s friends had welcomed her and made her feel to be one of them, surrounded by the same affection which had helped Emilio overcome the hardest times of his former life.
Manuela was rethinking everything, being sure, by now, that soon she would have left the district of Firenze where she was born and had always lived, San Frediano. Manuela and Emilio had already spoken about marriage and things seemed to move forward very quickly.
She was happy and excited, of course, but, occasionally, the idea of getting rid of her flower shop and her flat provoked a small pang of anxiety in her chest.
She knew by heart every corner of San Frediano and she felt at ease and nearly protected by the walls of the old houses, which flanked the narrow, quiet streets. It was getting colder. Manuela considered that the climatic variations in her town were remarkable. In summer Firenze was regularly affected by unbearable waves of heat, which transformed the inhabitants, and even more the tourists, into pale caricatures of lost explorers in a merciless, scorching desert. In winter, on the other hand, the weather was cold and often icy, with freezing rainfalls which easily became snow.
It hadn’t rained that evening, at least, but the wind and the low temperature kept from the streets everyone who was not obliged to be outdoors.
Manuela was already enjoying the idea of her romantic candlelight dinner with Emilio. He would be tired, probably, but she would help him to relax and feel well.
Lost in her daydreaming, Manuela didn’t realize that a scooter had approached her from behind. She understood that she was being mugged only when her handbag was violently snatched. Manuel was unable to react and fell belly-up on the pavement, too surprised to be really scared.
The street, where only the storefront of a small café spread a reassuring light, was deserted, with the exception of the dark silhouette of a man, who had just appeared from the corner.
Manuela perceived the events that followed in slow motion, although everything was happening so quickly. She imagined that the man walking toward her would help her to get on her feet, while the two snatchers ran away with her handbag. “Oh my!” Manuela moaned, remembering suddenly that in her handbag, besides her documents, there were also the keys of her flat and her mobile phone.
But the man in black paid no attention to her as she had expected. He turned quickly on his feet in a move, which resembled a matador ready to lower his sword into a bull’s shoulders. He gripped one of the chairs by the café door and precisely stuck the metallic legs among the spokes of the front wheel of the scooter, which was speeding by him.
With a worrying noise, the run of the scooter was blocked, and both the crooks fell miserably to the ground. The one who was sitting on the back, hampered by Manuela’s handbag, could not limit the effects of the fall, and his head bumped against the body of the motorbike. He remained on the ground, dizzy. His partner in crime, the driver, was in better condition and would have run away had the tall man in black not caught him firmly, twisting his arm not only metaphorically.
“Ough!” He groaned, trying vainly to free himself.
In the meanwhile four men had emerged from the café. One of them, the bar- tender, was calling the police with his mobile phone, while another, a rather old man, with a cigar stub in a corner of his mouth, rushed to assist Manuela, who, got up again by herself with a pale smile.
The hero of the scene, the tall man with the long, black coat, evaluated with a knowing look the other two men. They seemed to be strong and determined. With merely a nod he made them understand to take charge of the driver of the scooter. They firmly grasped the fellow by both arms. At that point, the man in black approached the other purse snatcher, who was still lying on the ground, half unconscious. He bent down to check the man’s pulse. Although a trickle of blood came out his forehead, he didn’t appear to be seriously injured. The man in black nodded again; then he picked up Manuela’s handbag, rubbed it on his sleeve to clean it and then handed it to Manuela. He had not said a single word yet. He looked at Manuela and finally spoke.
“I cannot speak Italian. Here is your handbag, Miss…”
“Oh, don’t worry, I can speak English. Thank you so much! You have been so courageous. It would have been really annoying for me losing my documents and my keys.” Manuela felt a little uncomfortable; she didn’t know what to add. The man in black, now that she could see his face more closely, had an impenetrable expression. His eyes were of the same bluish colour as certain glaciers. She noticed that he wore a dark suit and a white shirt under his dark coat, and he had also a thin black tie. He might be in his early forties, but it was difficult to judge.
“The police are coming,” announced one of the men. “They said that we have to wait for them, because it will be necessary to follow them to the police station for the complaint.” Then he added, “A complaint's not going to accomplish anything. In a few days these two low life thugs will be released. This is our justice…”
Manuela translated everything to the man in black, who made no comment.
“Luckily I can use my mobile phone to call my fiancé; he’s probably already on his way. We have a meeting, but I don’t know how long I’ll have to stay at the police station, so…” Manuela called Emilio, who didn’t answer immediately. Probably he was driving and had forgotten to connect his mobile with the function of the speakerphone.
The young woman explained in few words what had happened and reassured him that she was perfectly fine.
“No, Emilio, I don’t know in what police station we’ll go for the report yet. I’ll call you again as soon as possible.”
The policemen arrived and took custody of the two rascals. Manuela noticed that they were just two teen-agers and felt nearly sorry for them.
Then they took down the particulars of the four men from the café, but insisted that Manuela and the man in black had to follow them to the police station; they offered to drive them there with a second police car.
Once they arrived at their destination, it was immediately clear that the man in black could not speak a word of Italian and finding an interpreter would have needed a long time. Manuela told them that she could translate their questions to the man in black. The policemen on duty accepted gratefully. They really didn’t feel like wasting too much time for such a banal case.
The man in black showed his passport, from which it appeared that he was a British citizen. He declared that he was in Firenze for professional reasons, to accompany his employer. He reported concisely what had happened, and his declaration was fully confirmed by the witness of the men from the café and by Manuela’s detailed description of the facts.
“I’m sorry, but you have to wait still for a while, before the registration of the charges. If you feel like having a cup of coffee, there is a beverage machine at the end of the corridor, but I warn you, the coffee is disgusting.” The middle-aged policeman, with a receding hairline and a good-natured look, smiled.
“I have just called my fiancé once again. He’s a colleague of yours. He’s Lieutenant of Carabinieri of Arezzo. He should arrive soon.”
The last, short conversation was in Italian, but Manuela didn’t consider important to translate it to her saviour, who had made a phone call too. Manuela didn’t want to look around, but she had the impression he was not speaking English on the phone.
Time passed relatively quickly. Before seeing him, she recognized Emilio’s voice; he was showing his professional badge to the colleagues of the police, since he was not in uniform, obviously.
When she finally saw her fiancé walking quickly toward her along the corridor, Manuela rose joyfully from the bench where she was sitting and rushed to hug him.
“Manuela, my little darling, are you fine? Did you get scared?”
“I’m perfectly well, my love, don’t worry. Luckily there was that gentleman who could block the young thugs and recover my handbag and its entire contents. It would have been such a terrible nuisance if I had lost my keys, my phone, all my documents and the rest.”
“Where is he? I’d like to thank him for taking care of you…”
“He’s there. I think he went for a coffee. He’s not Italian. He should be English…”
At that moment the man in black turned the corner of the corridor carrying a plastic cup. He arrived a couple of metres from Emilio and Manuela, and then he lifted up his eyes and stopped.
“Maresciallo Ciricola!” He exclaimed in an unexpectedly loud voice.
“Pasha!” Cried Emilio even louder.
“Do you know each other?” Manuela asked uselessly, since it was obvious that the man in black and her fiancé were not strangers to each other.
In a totally different way from his usual behaviour toward Manuela, Emilio seemed to ignore her question and addressed, in English, the man in black, whom he had called Pasha.
“Pasha, it’s nice to see you, after such a long time. It’s amazing that it was really you who rescued my fiancée. What are you doing here in Firenze? Are you alone?”
Pasha, who was obviously not very talkative, simply repeated “Maresciallo Ciricola!” With a pleased tone of voice.
Absurdly Manuela intervened.
“My fiancé is Lieutenant!”
Nobody seemed to pay attention to her clarification.
The good-natured policeman, who had typed the report, spoke directly to Emilio.
“Lieutenant, of course your fiancée and this gentleman, whom you know personally, can leave now…”
Emilio’s presence had obviously sped up the bureaucratic procedure. But another person, who would slow the departure from the dull police station, had arrived, as always from the end of the corridor, like a new character entering the stage.
It was a very tall woman, wearing a long and elegant shearling coat of an unusual dark purple. She could not be considered beautiful in a very traditional way. Her face was vaguely too flat, except that her cheekbones were nicely raised. Her nose was neither too plump nor too thin; her lips were not well defined either, and she wore no make-up. Her eyes, although they were of a very charming amber colour, were definitely a little too small. She had her long silver-blond hair tightly plaited, but a few curly locks danced on her forehead like moon beams.
Manuela was unpleasantly surprised realizing that her fiancé had become stunned into silence. The lady in purple saw him and exclaimed:
“Emilio!”
“Lyuba…” Emilio whispered at his turn, looking at her.
Manuela had the impression of watching one of those South- American soap operas, in which unexpected meetings were source of amazing recognitions among characters.
As she was at least ten centimetres taller than Emilio, the mysterious Lyuba would have to bend over a lot to place her eyes at the same level as his.
Confusedly Manuela remembered that one of their friends, Ellie, had told her something about Emilio’s life, before his first meeting with Manuela. She knew, of course that Emilio was a widower and that he had lost prematurely his beloved wife many years before, but she had never dared to be too inquisitive about his past life. Once Ellie had told Manuela that Emilio started blooming again at the beginning of his relationship with her and that he had suffered terribly for his wife’s death and later had his heart broken because of a Russian woman he had fallen for.
“Oh no! It would be too absurd…” Manuela told herself. “What if that Russian woman were really this so elegant and smart creature with amber eyes?” And suddenly she felt troubled and worried.
Emilio began to recover from the initial amazement, and a quick side-look to Manuela’s face made him feel guilty. His beloved fiancé seemed to be lost. He put his arm around her shoulders and gently dragged Manuela closer to him.
“Darling, may I introduce you to Miss Lyuba Orlova? I didn’t expect to find her here; for this reason I was nearly paralyzed with astonishment. I have not seen Lyuba and Pasha for at least two years. They are good friends of William and Peter.”
Emilio mentioned William and Peter, their very close friends who owned a farm and a country B&B near Arezzo, to reassure Manuela and to state that Lyuba and Pasha were not his personal friends.
Then he smiled at Lyuba (he could not hide to himself that he was glad to see her again, even though a little troubled) and said
“Lyuba, this is Manuela, my fiancée.”
Lyuba Orlova smiled. It was a little smile which lightly distorted her thin lips, and she answered in a rather good Italian.
“I’m glad to meet you Manuela, and I’m happy to see such a pleasant young lady at Emilio’s side. Emilio deserves only the best from life. He’s a very special gentleman. Two years ago he saved my life, but I suppose you know that…”
Emilio was the first to react, trying to hide his uneasiness. Actually he was sure he had never told Manuela about the facts that Lyuba had just mentioned, at least not in all details. He had only justified the scar on his shoulder as an accident on duty, when a criminal had shot him.
Manuela assumed, involuntarily, a kind of posture of self-defence. ‘It’s really the Russian woman; it’s she!’ she told herself. This thought sounded as loud as a cry in her head. Who knows how many other things she ignored about Emilio’s life? She felt suddenly ridiculous in her banal winter coat, if compared with the smart tall woman in front of her.
Lyuba, who was a woman of the world, an important business woman actually, realized immediately the situation and didn’t insist on mentioning what had happened two years before.
“Lyuba, how well you speak Italian!” Emilio steered the conversation toward more secure topics.
“I have studied Italian, but still my accent is far from being good,” claimed Lyuba unostentatiously.
“Well, I think we have finished here, and we can go. It’s amazing, really amazing that the fate put Pasha on my Manuela’s path exactly when she needed help.” Emilio smiled more openly and invited with a gesture all the others to follow him to the police station exit.
“When are you going to Arezzo, Lyuba? William and the others didn’t tell me that you were coming to Italy.”
Lyuba shrugged and shuddered as if she could not stand the cold.
“No, no it’s not in my plans. I came to Firenze for an urgent business reason, but I’ll fly back to New York tomorrow.”
Emilio remembered vaguely that Lyuba had moved from London to the States, but he felt quite puzzled knowing that she had no intention to go to visit the friends in Arezzo.
If he had looked directly at Pasha’s face in that moment, he would have perceived a hint of surprise, but Pasha was accustomed never to show his feelings. Instead he immediately recovered his impassive expression. Inside himself Pasha was wondering what was happening. Miss Lyuba had told him that they would remain in Toscana for several days, and he had already booked the hotel in Arezzo.
“They will be very sorry to miss this opportunity to see you, after such a long time, Lyuba.” Emilio had the strong impression that something was unclear, but he knew how Lyuba behaved. She appeared and disappeared without giving explanations. He remembered how sad and disappointed he was, when he regained consciousness at the hospital, after being shot during an investigation, when he had protected Lyuba with his body. He expected at least a visit from Lyuba, but his friends told him that she had left. He told himself, with a sense of relief, that he would have never had a chance with Lyuba, although he had fallen in love with her. He had never told her about his feelings and it had been definitely better like that. Now there was Manuela in his life, like a comforting guiding light.
“I know, I know…I’ll give William a ring. Give all of them my best regards.” Lyuba seemed to be suddenly very busy. She didn’t propose to drink something together, not even just a coffee or a cup of tea. Emilio remembered that Lyuba loved tea.
On the steps of the police station Lyuba said a few quicks words to Pasha; she spoke Russian to him. Pasha shook hands with Emilio and Manuela and said,
“My congratulations for the promotion, Lieutenant. You are a good man. I’m happy that those two thugs didn’t hurt you, Miss.” And then he disappeared into the night.
Emilio understood that Lyuba intended to take leave immediately, but couldn’t help offering to drive her wherever she needed to go.
“I have my car parked just here…”
“No need, Emilio, really. Pasha went to fetch the car we rented. It was what he was doing when he blocked the guys who tried to snatch your fiancée’s handbag. Thank you. It was a joy to meet you again and to meet your charming fiancée as well. Good luck, Emilio. Enjoy your serene future.”
Lyuba abruptly turned her back and took a few steps in the direction that Pasha had taken.
Manuela had not said a word, but now that that strange woman had left and Emilio was hugging her protectively, she felt well again.
“I’m afraid it’s a little late for our dinner now, but we might go to my flat and order a pizza…”
“It’s a wonderful idea, Manuelina. I only need to relax at your side and to know all details of your bad adventure.”
They walked in an embrace along the silent street.
“I think that you have many things to tell me as well. I’m curious about these people we have met and that Pasha, so silent and so determined.” Manuela felt proud of the love she felt for her Emilio, who was obviously admired and appreciated by everyone.
Lyuba Orlova, when she was sure that Emilio would not walk back, towards her, followed him with her eyes. Her head was spinning a little, and she felt a deep feeling of emptiness. She could not tell him that she had studied Italian only for him, and she had planned to stay in Tuscany for a rather long time. She knew that two years earlier he felt for her, but she was not ready yet. She was still lost in her impossible sentimental passion for William, who would have been her soul mate, if only he had not been gay. Lyuba laughed ironically at herself. Looking for what she could not have, she had missed what was probably more important. During the last two years she had felt the burden of sentimental loneliness. She had many suitors; she was a woman of success, very rich. Her life looked perfect, if considered from outside. But Lyuba needed something different, something deeper. She wanted a family, a man who loved, respected and protected her; she was fed up with the atmosphere of jet-set society and smart parties. She even imagined having babies. She told herself that she was not too old for that yet. Little by little, the memories of Emilio had returned always more frequently in her thoughts. She remembered his integrity, his sincerity, his courage and his devotion for her, which was not a passive dependence, but a sincere sentiment of love, and she told herself that maybe the answer to all her existential questions was there. Lyuba had decided to come back for Emilio and to try to deserve his love learning to give him hers.
She didn’t expect to meet him like that, by chance, and to realize how sincerely in love he was with his young fiancée. Lyuba understood bitterly that she had committed another mistake, and she had lost probably her only chance to find serenity in life.
When Pasha reached her with the car he asked.
“Where will I drive you, Miss Lyuba?”
“Wherever you feel like, Pasha, it doesn’t matter.”
A cold wind was sneaking into the streets of San Frediano district like an evildoer, ambushing its prey behind dark corners.
Manuela Bossina put the collar of her coat up, after lowering the roll-up doors at the front of her flower shop facing the street.
Manuela was a pale, slim girl in her thirties, with rich, soft hair the colour of English marigolds. She didn’t live far from the shop; walking back home would take her only ten minutes. In her mind she was anticipating everything she intended to do, as soon as she arrived home. This prospect already filled her with the subtle pleasure which often accompanies expectation. She would take a quick shower, and try that new hair balsam, supposed to make her curls even more shining. She had already prepared all that was necessary for dinner, which was only waiting to be put into the oven. Candles and fresh flowers would have created the perfect atmosphere.
Manuela’s fiancé, Emilio, lived and worked in Arezzo. It took him one hour driving or even longer (it depended on the capricious conditions of traffic) to reach Manuela in her cosy, small flat in Firenze. Manuela was deeply in love with Emilio, who had given her a comforting feeling of serenity, protection and reliability since their first, casual meeting. Emilio Ciricola was Lieutenant of Carabinieri in charge of Arezzo station. He was in his early forties, and although he could not boast of a tall stature, he was harmoniously built and moved in a determined way, so that he might appear taller. He wore his uniform with proud ease, as if it were a second skin. Manuela was aware that his work was for him a fundamental mission, and she had fallen in love with him also for that reason, because he was a man of ideals and justice.
At the same time Manuela knew that if one of them were to accept changing a little of their life, it would be necessarily her. She could not ask Emilio to apply for a transfer to Firenze. He was happy with his collaborators in Arezzo and the team he had formed was brilliant. Besides that, his best friends, who represented for him the family he had lost, lived only a few kilometres from Arezzo. They had often helped Emilio in his investigations and supported him in all ways.
Manuela had no family of her own either, but Emilio’s friends had welcomed her and made her feel to be one of them, surrounded by the same affection which had helped Emilio overcome the hardest times of his former life.
Manuela was rethinking everything, being sure, by now, that soon she would have left the district of Firenze where she was born and had always lived, San Frediano. Manuela and Emilio had already spoken about marriage and things seemed to move forward very quickly.
She was happy and excited, of course, but, occasionally, the idea of getting rid of her flower shop and her flat provoked a small pang of anxiety in her chest.
She knew by heart every corner of San Frediano and she felt at ease and nearly protected by the walls of the old houses, which flanked the narrow, quiet streets. It was getting colder. Manuela considered that the climatic variations in her town were remarkable. In summer Firenze was regularly affected by unbearable waves of heat, which transformed the inhabitants, and even more the tourists, into pale caricatures of lost explorers in a merciless, scorching desert. In winter, on the other hand, the weather was cold and often icy, with freezing rainfalls which easily became snow.
It hadn’t rained that evening, at least, but the wind and the low temperature kept from the streets everyone who was not obliged to be outdoors.
Manuela was already enjoying the idea of her romantic candlelight dinner with Emilio. He would be tired, probably, but she would help him to relax and feel well.
Lost in her daydreaming, Manuela didn’t realize that a scooter had approached her from behind. She understood that she was being mugged only when her handbag was violently snatched. Manuel was unable to react and fell belly-up on the pavement, too surprised to be really scared.
The street, where only the storefront of a small café spread a reassuring light, was deserted, with the exception of the dark silhouette of a man, who had just appeared from the corner.
Manuela perceived the events that followed in slow motion, although everything was happening so quickly. She imagined that the man walking toward her would help her to get on her feet, while the two snatchers ran away with her handbag. “Oh my!” Manuela moaned, remembering suddenly that in her handbag, besides her documents, there were also the keys of her flat and her mobile phone.
But the man in black paid no attention to her as she had expected. He turned quickly on his feet in a move, which resembled a matador ready to lower his sword into a bull’s shoulders. He gripped one of the chairs by the café door and precisely stuck the metallic legs among the spokes of the front wheel of the scooter, which was speeding by him.
With a worrying noise, the run of the scooter was blocked, and both the crooks fell miserably to the ground. The one who was sitting on the back, hampered by Manuela’s handbag, could not limit the effects of the fall, and his head bumped against the body of the motorbike. He remained on the ground, dizzy. His partner in crime, the driver, was in better condition and would have run away had the tall man in black not caught him firmly, twisting his arm not only metaphorically.
“Ough!” He groaned, trying vainly to free himself.
In the meanwhile four men had emerged from the café. One of them, the bar- tender, was calling the police with his mobile phone, while another, a rather old man, with a cigar stub in a corner of his mouth, rushed to assist Manuela, who, got up again by herself with a pale smile.
The hero of the scene, the tall man with the long, black coat, evaluated with a knowing look the other two men. They seemed to be strong and determined. With merely a nod he made them understand to take charge of the driver of the scooter. They firmly grasped the fellow by both arms. At that point, the man in black approached the other purse snatcher, who was still lying on the ground, half unconscious. He bent down to check the man’s pulse. Although a trickle of blood came out his forehead, he didn’t appear to be seriously injured. The man in black nodded again; then he picked up Manuela’s handbag, rubbed it on his sleeve to clean it and then handed it to Manuela. He had not said a single word yet. He looked at Manuela and finally spoke.
“I cannot speak Italian. Here is your handbag, Miss…”
“Oh, don’t worry, I can speak English. Thank you so much! You have been so courageous. It would have been really annoying for me losing my documents and my keys.” Manuela felt a little uncomfortable; she didn’t know what to add. The man in black, now that she could see his face more closely, had an impenetrable expression. His eyes were of the same bluish colour as certain glaciers. She noticed that he wore a dark suit and a white shirt under his dark coat, and he had also a thin black tie. He might be in his early forties, but it was difficult to judge.
“The police are coming,” announced one of the men. “They said that we have to wait for them, because it will be necessary to follow them to the police station for the complaint.” Then he added, “A complaint's not going to accomplish anything. In a few days these two low life thugs will be released. This is our justice…”
Manuela translated everything to the man in black, who made no comment.
“Luckily I can use my mobile phone to call my fiancé; he’s probably already on his way. We have a meeting, but I don’t know how long I’ll have to stay at the police station, so…” Manuela called Emilio, who didn’t answer immediately. Probably he was driving and had forgotten to connect his mobile with the function of the speakerphone.
The young woman explained in few words what had happened and reassured him that she was perfectly fine.
“No, Emilio, I don’t know in what police station we’ll go for the report yet. I’ll call you again as soon as possible.”
The policemen arrived and took custody of the two rascals. Manuela noticed that they were just two teen-agers and felt nearly sorry for them.
Then they took down the particulars of the four men from the café, but insisted that Manuela and the man in black had to follow them to the police station; they offered to drive them there with a second police car.
Once they arrived at their destination, it was immediately clear that the man in black could not speak a word of Italian and finding an interpreter would have needed a long time. Manuela told them that she could translate their questions to the man in black. The policemen on duty accepted gratefully. They really didn’t feel like wasting too much time for such a banal case.
The man in black showed his passport, from which it appeared that he was a British citizen. He declared that he was in Firenze for professional reasons, to accompany his employer. He reported concisely what had happened, and his declaration was fully confirmed by the witness of the men from the café and by Manuela’s detailed description of the facts.
“I’m sorry, but you have to wait still for a while, before the registration of the charges. If you feel like having a cup of coffee, there is a beverage machine at the end of the corridor, but I warn you, the coffee is disgusting.” The middle-aged policeman, with a receding hairline and a good-natured look, smiled.
“I have just called my fiancé once again. He’s a colleague of yours. He’s Lieutenant of Carabinieri of Arezzo. He should arrive soon.”
The last, short conversation was in Italian, but Manuela didn’t consider important to translate it to her saviour, who had made a phone call too. Manuela didn’t want to look around, but she had the impression he was not speaking English on the phone.
Time passed relatively quickly. Before seeing him, she recognized Emilio’s voice; he was showing his professional badge to the colleagues of the police, since he was not in uniform, obviously.
When she finally saw her fiancé walking quickly toward her along the corridor, Manuela rose joyfully from the bench where she was sitting and rushed to hug him.
“Manuela, my little darling, are you fine? Did you get scared?”
“I’m perfectly well, my love, don’t worry. Luckily there was that gentleman who could block the young thugs and recover my handbag and its entire contents. It would have been such a terrible nuisance if I had lost my keys, my phone, all my documents and the rest.”
“Where is he? I’d like to thank him for taking care of you…”
“He’s there. I think he went for a coffee. He’s not Italian. He should be English…”
At that moment the man in black turned the corner of the corridor carrying a plastic cup. He arrived a couple of metres from Emilio and Manuela, and then he lifted up his eyes and stopped.
“Maresciallo Ciricola!” He exclaimed in an unexpectedly loud voice.
“Pasha!” Cried Emilio even louder.
“Do you know each other?” Manuela asked uselessly, since it was obvious that the man in black and her fiancé were not strangers to each other.
In a totally different way from his usual behaviour toward Manuela, Emilio seemed to ignore her question and addressed, in English, the man in black, whom he had called Pasha.
“Pasha, it’s nice to see you, after such a long time. It’s amazing that it was really you who rescued my fiancée. What are you doing here in Firenze? Are you alone?”
Pasha, who was obviously not very talkative, simply repeated “Maresciallo Ciricola!” With a pleased tone of voice.
Absurdly Manuela intervened.
“My fiancé is Lieutenant!”
Nobody seemed to pay attention to her clarification.
The good-natured policeman, who had typed the report, spoke directly to Emilio.
“Lieutenant, of course your fiancée and this gentleman, whom you know personally, can leave now…”
Emilio’s presence had obviously sped up the bureaucratic procedure. But another person, who would slow the departure from the dull police station, had arrived, as always from the end of the corridor, like a new character entering the stage.
It was a very tall woman, wearing a long and elegant shearling coat of an unusual dark purple. She could not be considered beautiful in a very traditional way. Her face was vaguely too flat, except that her cheekbones were nicely raised. Her nose was neither too plump nor too thin; her lips were not well defined either, and she wore no make-up. Her eyes, although they were of a very charming amber colour, were definitely a little too small. She had her long silver-blond hair tightly plaited, but a few curly locks danced on her forehead like moon beams.
Manuela was unpleasantly surprised realizing that her fiancé had become stunned into silence. The lady in purple saw him and exclaimed:
“Emilio!”
“Lyuba…” Emilio whispered at his turn, looking at her.
Manuela had the impression of watching one of those South- American soap operas, in which unexpected meetings were source of amazing recognitions among characters.
As she was at least ten centimetres taller than Emilio, the mysterious Lyuba would have to bend over a lot to place her eyes at the same level as his.
Confusedly Manuela remembered that one of their friends, Ellie, had told her something about Emilio’s life, before his first meeting with Manuela. She knew, of course that Emilio was a widower and that he had lost prematurely his beloved wife many years before, but she had never dared to be too inquisitive about his past life. Once Ellie had told Manuela that Emilio started blooming again at the beginning of his relationship with her and that he had suffered terribly for his wife’s death and later had his heart broken because of a Russian woman he had fallen for.
“Oh no! It would be too absurd…” Manuela told herself. “What if that Russian woman were really this so elegant and smart creature with amber eyes?” And suddenly she felt troubled and worried.
Emilio began to recover from the initial amazement, and a quick side-look to Manuela’s face made him feel guilty. His beloved fiancé seemed to be lost. He put his arm around her shoulders and gently dragged Manuela closer to him.
“Darling, may I introduce you to Miss Lyuba Orlova? I didn’t expect to find her here; for this reason I was nearly paralyzed with astonishment. I have not seen Lyuba and Pasha for at least two years. They are good friends of William and Peter.”
Emilio mentioned William and Peter, their very close friends who owned a farm and a country B&B near Arezzo, to reassure Manuela and to state that Lyuba and Pasha were not his personal friends.
Then he smiled at Lyuba (he could not hide to himself that he was glad to see her again, even though a little troubled) and said
“Lyuba, this is Manuela, my fiancée.”
Lyuba Orlova smiled. It was a little smile which lightly distorted her thin lips, and she answered in a rather good Italian.
“I’m glad to meet you Manuela, and I’m happy to see such a pleasant young lady at Emilio’s side. Emilio deserves only the best from life. He’s a very special gentleman. Two years ago he saved my life, but I suppose you know that…”
Emilio was the first to react, trying to hide his uneasiness. Actually he was sure he had never told Manuela about the facts that Lyuba had just mentioned, at least not in all details. He had only justified the scar on his shoulder as an accident on duty, when a criminal had shot him.
Manuela assumed, involuntarily, a kind of posture of self-defence. ‘It’s really the Russian woman; it’s she!’ she told herself. This thought sounded as loud as a cry in her head. Who knows how many other things she ignored about Emilio’s life? She felt suddenly ridiculous in her banal winter coat, if compared with the smart tall woman in front of her.
Lyuba, who was a woman of the world, an important business woman actually, realized immediately the situation and didn’t insist on mentioning what had happened two years before.
“Lyuba, how well you speak Italian!” Emilio steered the conversation toward more secure topics.
“I have studied Italian, but still my accent is far from being good,” claimed Lyuba unostentatiously.
“Well, I think we have finished here, and we can go. It’s amazing, really amazing that the fate put Pasha on my Manuela’s path exactly when she needed help.” Emilio smiled more openly and invited with a gesture all the others to follow him to the police station exit.
“When are you going to Arezzo, Lyuba? William and the others didn’t tell me that you were coming to Italy.”
Lyuba shrugged and shuddered as if she could not stand the cold.
“No, no it’s not in my plans. I came to Firenze for an urgent business reason, but I’ll fly back to New York tomorrow.”
Emilio remembered vaguely that Lyuba had moved from London to the States, but he felt quite puzzled knowing that she had no intention to go to visit the friends in Arezzo.
If he had looked directly at Pasha’s face in that moment, he would have perceived a hint of surprise, but Pasha was accustomed never to show his feelings. Instead he immediately recovered his impassive expression. Inside himself Pasha was wondering what was happening. Miss Lyuba had told him that they would remain in Toscana for several days, and he had already booked the hotel in Arezzo.
“They will be very sorry to miss this opportunity to see you, after such a long time, Lyuba.” Emilio had the strong impression that something was unclear, but he knew how Lyuba behaved. She appeared and disappeared without giving explanations. He remembered how sad and disappointed he was, when he regained consciousness at the hospital, after being shot during an investigation, when he had protected Lyuba with his body. He expected at least a visit from Lyuba, but his friends told him that she had left. He told himself, with a sense of relief, that he would have never had a chance with Lyuba, although he had fallen in love with her. He had never told her about his feelings and it had been definitely better like that. Now there was Manuela in his life, like a comforting guiding light.
“I know, I know…I’ll give William a ring. Give all of them my best regards.” Lyuba seemed to be suddenly very busy. She didn’t propose to drink something together, not even just a coffee or a cup of tea. Emilio remembered that Lyuba loved tea.
On the steps of the police station Lyuba said a few quicks words to Pasha; she spoke Russian to him. Pasha shook hands with Emilio and Manuela and said,
“My congratulations for the promotion, Lieutenant. You are a good man. I’m happy that those two thugs didn’t hurt you, Miss.” And then he disappeared into the night.
Emilio understood that Lyuba intended to take leave immediately, but couldn’t help offering to drive her wherever she needed to go.
“I have my car parked just here…”
“No need, Emilio, really. Pasha went to fetch the car we rented. It was what he was doing when he blocked the guys who tried to snatch your fiancée’s handbag. Thank you. It was a joy to meet you again and to meet your charming fiancée as well. Good luck, Emilio. Enjoy your serene future.”
Lyuba abruptly turned her back and took a few steps in the direction that Pasha had taken.
Manuela had not said a word, but now that that strange woman had left and Emilio was hugging her protectively, she felt well again.
“I’m afraid it’s a little late for our dinner now, but we might go to my flat and order a pizza…”
“It’s a wonderful idea, Manuelina. I only need to relax at your side and to know all details of your bad adventure.”
They walked in an embrace along the silent street.
“I think that you have many things to tell me as well. I’m curious about these people we have met and that Pasha, so silent and so determined.” Manuela felt proud of the love she felt for her Emilio, who was obviously admired and appreciated by everyone.
Lyuba Orlova, when she was sure that Emilio would not walk back, towards her, followed him with her eyes. Her head was spinning a little, and she felt a deep feeling of emptiness. She could not tell him that she had studied Italian only for him, and she had planned to stay in Tuscany for a rather long time. She knew that two years earlier he felt for her, but she was not ready yet. She was still lost in her impossible sentimental passion for William, who would have been her soul mate, if only he had not been gay. Lyuba laughed ironically at herself. Looking for what she could not have, she had missed what was probably more important. During the last two years she had felt the burden of sentimental loneliness. She had many suitors; she was a woman of success, very rich. Her life looked perfect, if considered from outside. But Lyuba needed something different, something deeper. She wanted a family, a man who loved, respected and protected her; she was fed up with the atmosphere of jet-set society and smart parties. She even imagined having babies. She told herself that she was not too old for that yet. Little by little, the memories of Emilio had returned always more frequently in her thoughts. She remembered his integrity, his sincerity, his courage and his devotion for her, which was not a passive dependence, but a sincere sentiment of love, and she told herself that maybe the answer to all her existential questions was there. Lyuba had decided to come back for Emilio and to try to deserve his love learning to give him hers.
She didn’t expect to meet him like that, by chance, and to realize how sincerely in love he was with his young fiancée. Lyuba understood bitterly that she had committed another mistake, and she had lost probably her only chance to find serenity in life.
When Pasha reached her with the car he asked.
“Where will I drive you, Miss Lyuba?”
“Wherever you feel like, Pasha, it doesn’t matter.”