The innkeeper smiled at Keira’s attempt to speak Italian, and she came in, sitting on the couch.

“Avete dormito bene?” the woman asked.

Keira shrugged, not able to understand. The woman mimed sleeping.

“Did I sleep well?” Keira asked. “Yes. Si. Bene.”

The lady smiled. Keira remembered the fresh loaf of bread she’d purchased for her breakfast. She offered some to the innkeeper. The woman accepted the offer and cut off a chunk, slathering it with butter and jam. Keira joined her.

In the quiet moment, Keira felt very at peace. Though neither could communicate properly with the other, her loneliness was alleviated just be the presence of the calm innkeeper.

“Is Florence nice?” Keira asked the lady.

“Firenze,” the innkeeper corrected. “In Italiano.”

“Florence is called Firenze in Italian?” Keira asked, surprised. She’d had no idea.

“Si.” The woman beamed.

“Is it nice?” Keira asked. She shook her head, recalling the scant bit of Italian she knew. “Bene?”

“Si, si, si,” the innkeeper replied, smiling widely. “Tu ci vai?”

Keira’s extremely limited grasp of Italian did not stretch to understanding the question. But once again the woman mimed an action, this time of a train wheel in motion.

Keira laughed. “Am I taking the train there?” She pondered a moment. “I don’t know. Do you think I should?”

This time it was the innkeeper’s turn to shrug. Her limited grasp of English prevented her from understanding what Keira was asking her.

Keira smiled to herself then. Even if she could have understood, how on earth was she supposed to know the answer? It was up to Keira whether she braved the trip to Florence alone, not this sweet and unassuming inn owner.

The innkeeper spoke then, breaking through Keira’s reverie.

“Guarda,” she was saying, beckoning Keira to stand. She had the same serene smile on her face, an inviting and soothing expression.

Keira stood from the couch, and the woman did too, stiffly, groaning a little from the effort. Keira took her arm to support her.

“Okay?” she said.

The woman nodded. “Si, si.”

She hobbled across the room, turning her face over her shoulder sporadically, to check she was still following, Keira presumed. Then she stopped at a large bookcase in the corner and pointed upward.

Keira looked up. There were many heavy, leather-bound books up on the towering shelves, covered in dust. The innkeeper pointed emphatically over and over at one particular book. Keira was short, but not hunched like the elderly lady, and her fingertips were just able to reach the book. Giving herself an extra inch by going up onto her tiptoes, Keira was able to fish the book down.

The innkeeper clapped with delight. Keira handed the book to her, watching as she took it in her hands like it was a prized possession. Keira wondered how long it had been stuck up on that shelf, just out of the lady’s reach.

They went back to the couch and Keira helped the lady into her seat. The innkeeper opened up the book and gave a delighted gasp. She handed Keira a photograph that had been slid inside the front jacket.