Dear Alessandra............

CHAPTER 1

Florence, ‘Firenze,’ capital of the Italian Province of Tuscany, birthplace of the Renaissance, centre of medieval trade in Europe and one of the wealthiest cities of the Middle Ages. A city with a turbulent political past, and a history of numerous religious and republican revolutions, which was from 1865 until 1870 the Capital of the newly established Kingdom of Italy. Situated below the beautiful hills surrounding it, the city is split in two by the River Arno. Cold in winter, it is unbearably hot in the height of summer; however the freezing breezes that blow during the winter months, nor the heat and humidity in summer do little to deter tourists, although there are fewer of them in those seasons.

To this day the city attracts millions of visitors each year who enjoy the beautiful parks, and walk on cobblestone streets in the footsteps of historic figures like Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Machiavelli and members of the Medici dynasty who once lived in Firenze and made the city what it is today. Visitors wander the gardens photographing fountains peopled by grand marble figures, statues of historic figures, and beautiful works of art celebrating famous figures. They marvel at the splendid buildings and browse through numerous museums, stopping to view for a few minutes the priceless works of art displayed in them.

But while tourists come and go, the permanent inhabitants of this remarkable city, being familiar with the grandeur of their mainly terra cotta coloured buildings, go about their daily lives in the same way that others in lesser cities do, ignoring for the most part the magnificence about them.

At six in the afternoon Signorina Alessandra Storari left the office of the Department of Parks & Gardens in the Palazzo Vecchio where she was employed as an Administrative Assistant. She avoided making eye contact with several young men coming towards her in the corridor but sensed, as attractive girls seem to be able to, that they turned to admire her and more than likely than not made a complimentary remark. None could blame them for la bella donna at twenty-four years of age was tall and slender with dark hair and olive complexion and might well have been modeling the stylish powder blue sleeveless cotton dress she was wearing, for she had the bearing of a runway model but without a model’s pretentiousness.

Having changed into her ‘going home’ shoes, a pair of white Nike ‘Free Trainers,’ she had left her office to walk the short distance along the dingy corridor to take the crowded lift to the piazza below where it was raining, a light summer shower that would ensure that the evening, like last evening and the one before it would be uncomfortably humid. This July day had been a scorcher as it always was at this time of year in Firenze and there would be little relief, if any, until later in the evening. She waited briefly in the portico while deciding whether to walk in the drizzle or wait until the rain cleared, wishing she had brought an umbrella with her, but the blue sky she had seen as she left her mother’s apartment in the north-western suburb of Refredi that morning gave no indication one would be needed.

Alessandra waited for a couple of minutes, then protecting her hair from the rain with the morning newspaper she took from her carry bag, hurried into the piazza. There were still many tourists about despite the inclement weather, and a sea of coloured umbrellas moved with her as she was swept in the current of people along the narrow footpaths towards her bus stop, past fashionable shops, and cafés from which the aroma of coffee was enveloping the customers who were beginning to fill them for their evening meal.

She had not had a good day. Her boss, Alberto Genovesi ,a swarthy, balding middle-aged man was an arrogant bastardo who delighted in touching her as he spoke, which annoyed her, and today he had excelled himself by making an inappropriate suggestion which she found offensive. She had felt like slapping his grinning face but jobs like hers were too hard to come by so she gave him a look that should have killed him and walked away. Now, hours later, she was still appalled by his obscene proposal. She often thought of leaving her job but it was convenient for her, the pay was good and she got on well with the other girls in the office. In fact some of the girls were the only real friends she had.

After waiting at the bus stop in the drizzle for a few minutes the vehicle arrived in a cloud of stinking diesel fumes and she pushed her way, as everyone else did, through the waiting people to step up onto it. It seemed that Florentines had yet to grasp the concept of queuing. As usual the bus was crowded and she was unable to get a seat. Standing, holding onto the back of a seat, she felt every bump in the road go through her body as the old bus lurched its way through the peak hour traffic. At the end of this unpleasant day she breathed shallowly to avoid as much as possible the stench of some smelly passenger she was wedged against who had yet to discover the need for personal hygiene, and was thankful she had splashed on herself some perfume before she leaving the office.

By the time she arrived at her fermata the rain had stopped, making the atmosphere even more humid, and as she stepped off the bus she felt the material of her light dress clinging to her back. She was looking forward to getting home to have a shower and later going for a run in the cool of the evening. She suddenly remembered that her mother had asked her to buy some fruit on the way home so she stopped to buy some bananas and apples from a street stall near the bus stop.

"Buonasera Alessandra. Va bene?

"Molto bene, grazie . Signor Cuomo."

" Desidera?

"Un chilo di queste banana e due mèle per favore."

Signor Cuomo put the fruit into a bag; she took some coins from her purse and paid for the purchase.

"Ecco," he said with a smile, here you are.

Grazie, Buonasera, she replied as she left.

Signor Cuomo smiled as he watched Alessandra walk away. She had been one of his customers since she was a small girl, coming with her mother to buy from him. She had grown into a lovely young woman and he sighed as he thought how lucky the young man would be who married her.

Alessandra continued her short walk home noticing that ‘Bambina,’ her elderly Fiat 500, was still where she had parked it on the footpath the night before. When she turned the corner into the Via Andrea Cesalpino she noticed an ambulance parked near her apartment but took little notice of it. She was looking forward to the relief of getting out of the heat and into the shower to cool down then later, returning from her run she would eat the polo cacciatore she knew her mother was cooking for the evening meal then relax in front of the television, but only if any programs interested her, otherwise she would have an early night.

After climbing the stairs to the third floor she stopped outside the door of her apartment to look in her handbag for her key but was startled when she saw that the door was already open. From inside she heard muffled voices. Alarmed, she followed the sounds into the kitchen where her mother lay unmoving on the floor with two paramedics kneeling over her, and her aunt Maria dressed in black, as she had since her husband died several years before, standing by sobbing loudly and holding a handkerchief to her mouth.

"Oh, Dio! Is she dead?"Alessandra asked anxiously.

No, her aunt sobbed, but she is very ill.

She could smell something burning, and looking for the source of it saw the chicken her mother had been cooking had burnt dry on the lighted stove. She turned off the gas, and poured water into the pan, sending an explosive cloud of steam hissing to the ceiling, then opened the window over the kitchen sink and hurried back to kneel beside her mother and look enquiringly into the face of the paramedic.

My name is Daniela, the girl said, and indicating the other paramedic, this is Giovanni. What is your name?

Alessandra.

Is this lady your mother Alessandra? she asked.

Yes she is.

What happened? What’s wrong with she her? Will she be all right?

I’m afraid she’s had a stroke," Daniela replied.

Is it serious?

"Si, it is. She is paralyzed down her right side and can’t speak. You can see one side of her face has dropped. We have to take her to the Careggi Ospitale as quickly as possible."

Daniela saw the frightened look on Alessandra’s face, and put her hand on her arm to reassure her.

"Don’t worry Cara; the doctors at the hospital can do wonders. She will be alright."

While the paramedics prepared her mother for the journey to the hospital Alessandra comforted her distraught aunt, five years older than her mother, a stout woman with graying hair pulled back in a bun behind her head. She had been visiting for the afternoon and was just about to leave when her sister suddenly fell to the floor unconscious.

Best you go home, Alessandra said, there’s nothing you can do here. I’ll go to the hospital and stay with her, and give you a call in the morning to tell you how she is.

But how will you be? her aunt asked through her tears, looking very concerned.

I’ll be alright, she replied. But she really didn’t know how she was going to cope. In her twenty-four years she had never experienced anything like this. She had depended on her mother all her life and now she was terrified of being on her own.

As the paramedics maneuvered the old lady out of the apartment on a chair, because it was impossible to take her down the steep narrow stairs on a stretcher, a small crowd gathered around the ambulance in the street below. A policeman who happened to be passing stopped to see what the commotion was, and seeing the paramedics needing to get through the people, blew his whistle and, with much waving of his arms in an authoritative manner, made a way for them through the people where they quickly transferred her onto a stretcher and into the ambulance.

Would you like to go with her? the paramedic Daniela asked.

"Si, certamente. Grazie."

Soon the ambulance was on its way down the Via Andrea Cestalpino with lights flashing and alarms blaring bringing traffic to a halt and scattering pedestrians while inside it Alessandra held her mother’s hand and talked to her, telling her she loved her and everything would be alright. But it seemed obvious to her from her mother’s distorted face and her inability to speak that she was badly affected by the stroke, and she was not at all sure she would be alright.

The next hours, while she waited in the emergency department of the ospitale, were very anxious ones. The paramedics left, having transferred her mother from their stretcher to a hospital trolley. They had been very good to her, but now without them she felt very much alone. After some time her mother was wheeled away but Alessandra stayed waiting for news of her condition.

The hospital’s emergency department was a large room, crowded and smelling of people and antiseptic. It was a busy night and all the seats around Alessandra were occupied while other people stood waiting for the triage nurse to assess their needs. On a seat nearby a distraught young mother sat with her small daughter on her lap. The little girl was holding her stomach and moaning and Alessandra felt sorry for her. A young man, in brown overalls, a carpenter from his appearance, sat with a blood-soaked towel around his hand trying unsuccessfully to conceal his pain. There were woman coughing and sneezing next to her and nurses were taking people away from time to time for attention. All the while others with problems came in to the Emergency Department to take the place of those taken for treatment. Despite fighting her weariness, after a long, hot, traumatic day, Alessandra finally succumbed to her fatigue and nodded off in her chair.

Sometime later, she didn’t know how long, she felt a touch on her arm and through her drowsiness heard a man saying something she didn’t quite take in. She opened her eyes, and for a moment didn’t know where she was, then remembered she was at the hospital.

"Scusi?" she asked.

Are you Signora Storari’s daughter?

Si.

I’m sorry I startled you, the tall man in a white coat said. I was saying that I am Doctor Marinelli; I’m treating your mother. We have assessed her and she is badly affected by the stroke. I will be admitting her into a ward now so there’s nothing more you can do here tonight. It’s late so I suggest you go home and get some sleep.

I think I will, she replied, rubbing her eyes and putting her hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn.

Would I be able to phone in the morning to see how she is?

"Si, of course," the doctor replied,

He could see she was concerned and added.

Don’t worry, she will be well looked after.

Alessandra stood and looked at her watch. It was 2am and the buses had stopped running so she walked to the front door of the hospital and took a taxi home. On arrival she paid her fare then climbed the dimly lit stairs to her apartment. Even at this hour the building was still hot from the heat of the day. As she opened the door there were no welcoming lights, and no welcoming mother, and when she went inside the rooms felt empty and smelt unpleasantly of burnt chicken. She closed the kitchen window she had opened earlier and went into her bedroom, kicked off her shoes and, exhausted, fell fully clothed on her bed where she cried herself to sleep. The future seemed so distressing and uncertain.

CHAPTER 2

There was nothing at all unusual about the three well dressed, rather fit looking old gentlemen sitting in the dining room of the Milgrave Country Club in a South-Eastern suburb of Melbourne, Australia. It was July and soft winter light filled the large room through floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Club’s three lawn bowling greens.

The gentlemen had arrived early for lunch, and although the room was not crowded, many of the tables were occupied by other ‘oldies’ taking advantage of the ‘Senior’s Meal’ offered for lunch every Tuesday; fifteen dollars for two courses, soup and a main, or if preferred, a main and dessert instead.

From the way they spoke to each other it would have seemed to a casual observer that the men had known each other for many years; however the trio had only recently met when they and their wives moved into the same retirement village. Harry, initiator of this outing, a small happy man in his late seventies with laughter lines around his eyes, wavy dark hair despite his age and a perpetual smile, was the joker of the group and a dedicated watcher of the stock exchange which he thought was a big game played by people who were either mega rich