Urban Venus by Sara Downing Read Free Book Online

that whilst the arrays of books lining his room are impressive, Signore Tizzaro, or should I say Vincenzo, fails to make the initial impression on me that he is clearly hoping to. After my obvious exposure to the argument, he seems to be trying too hard to compensate by laying on the charm, but why he should feel he needs to is a mystery to me; he’s my tutor, not a prospective lover. I’ve already marked his card as a womaniser, even with so little evidence to go on. Whilst my new friends Stefano, Dante and Lanzo seem to be able to carry off that very over-the-top Italian ‘way with women’ without it seeming offensive, Vincenzo just comes across as a bit creepy. Which is a shame, as I had been hoping for someone to look up to this year, someone I could draw inspiration from. But that’s going to be tricky if I don’t feel entirely comfortable with him.
    During and after our first conversation, I can’t help thinking back to that poor girl leaving his office; I wonder exactly what cause she had to be so angry with him, and the word ‘sleazebag’ keeps popping into my head. I try to divorce it from my professional opinion; we have to work together, after all. I can’t allow myself to think at this stage that it was a lovers’ tiff. I shouldn’t be drawing such conclusions based on first impressions alone, and I resolve to give the guy a break, see what he has to offer me. I’m not normally one to judge people I hardly know so harshly.
    I leave Vincenzo’s office with a lecture timetable, study guide, map of the city (another one) and various other bits of paperwork to add to the green, pink and blue sheets of paper Mr Formality downstairs gave me earlier. Luckily for me it looks as though my lectures are scattered about in various parts of the city centre, and some even in the great homes of art themselves, so I consider myself very fortunate not to have to traipse off to some dull 1970’s concrete lecture theatre every day. It seems the faculty like to present as many of the lectures as possible in situ, and who can blame them; it has to be heaps easier to inspire your students when you actually have the art to hand as a prop, instead of relying on PowerPoint and other mock-ups, as we had to back home.
    As for today, I want to go to this afternoon’s lecture on Raphael, which is being held in a side room at the Uffizi. Great, another chance to get back in there, and this time without having to buy a ticket; the uni provides us with special passes on the days we need to get in there for lectures. I must remember that – it’s one way to save the Euros, to hoard up my visits for days when I can get in for free!
    After leaving Newcastle with my bank balance looking none too healthy at the end of the summer term, I had worked a lot over the long holidays. Well, a lot is a bit of an understatement actually, as I’d worked all the hours I possibly could in a vain attempt to erase Ed from my mind and not be left sitting around with time on my hands, going over it all time after time. That last bit hadn’t worked too well but at least the financial side of my plans was a success and I’d managed to pay off my overdraft and save up enough to see me through – hopefully – most of this year. My parents are helping me out with accommodation costs – I don’t see how I could do this otherwise – but I don’t want to have to put on them any more than I have to so I need to be careful, or I will end up having to work whilst I’m here too. And I’d planned not to have to do that.
    The lecturer looks an interesting sort; typical ‘mad professor’ hair cut (although that mop probably hasn’t seen a pair of scissors in two decades, more likely a set of garden shears), dreadfully mismatched clothes (aren’t we in one of the Italian centres for fashion here?) and a set of teeth that could be used as park railings, complete with rust. Nothing aesthetically pleasing about him at all, although Vincenzo did say he