THE joy of Florence in the European spring beckoned Tony through the classroom window and melted like a mirage in the stifling afternoon heat. He could feel sweat drifting down his back, and the old throbbing in his left temple. Was it worth it, he asked himself. A term filling in for some lucky sod going on long service leave so Florence wouldn’t dig too large a hole in his superannuation. He was getting a bit old for this sort of caper. Teaching was a young man’s game. He found himself on the Ponte Vecchio, gazing downriver beneath a dusky…