Angels of the Flood (24 page)

‘You will come soon?’ Mario was persistent.

‘I said I would, didn’t I?’

Shaking his head with disapproval, Mario went up the steps. He stopped, turned back to look at Francesca, then went into the house. David felt obscurely satisfied as he watched Kate set off slowly. In his opinion Vespas were little more than glorified toys—he had a BSA at home—but if riding them annoyed Mario, then that was fine by him. Once Kate had completed a solo tour round the gravel circle in front of the house, she and Jenny did about three circuits side by side, their hair flying out behind them. As they grew more confident, they gathered speed and their shrieks grew louder. Drawn by the noise, most of the others had emerged from the house to sit on the steps and watch.

‘They’re just like ponies,’ Anna observed. ‘Why don’t you do some races? A Vespa gymkhana!’ To everyone’s amazement, it turned Anna had had her pony with her at her Catholic boarding school. Until boys took centre stage in her life, she’d been pony mad.

She persuaded David and Aiden to be bollards so Kate and Jenny could weave back and forth. Then Aiden and David had a turn, racing up and down picking up twigs from one side of the driveway and putting them in a heap at the other. Everyone was laughing and cheering.

Suddenly Francesca ran forward and spoke to David. ‘Quick. Mario’s coming back. Let me climb on behind you.’

‘Do you want me to take you up to your uncle’s?’

‘No way. This is much more fun. Let’s race some more.’

‘Anything you say.’ David was more than happy to oblige, especially when Francesca clambered on behind and wrapped her arms round his waist. Mario was waving at Francesca from the top of the steps. He shouted at her in Italian. ‘What does he want?’ asked David.

‘He’s still banging on about my uncle.’

‘Why is that so important?’ asked David.

‘It isn’t. Let the old freak wait,’ Francesca spoke into David’s ear.

Dido had found a couple of old-fashioned brooms made from bundles of sticks. ‘Why not try jousting?’ she suggested.

‘Brilliant,’ said Aiden. ‘Climb on behind and we’ll charge them.’

But Dido turned out to be nervous of anything with two wheels, so Kate took one of the brooms and climbed on behind Aiden.

‘Ready?’

‘Ready.’

‘Charge!’

The two little Vespas whizzed towards each other, brooms missing their targets by yards.

‘Stop!’ Mario tried to intercept their second bout and got whacked on the ankles by Francesca’s broom for his pains.

‘Watch out!’ she yelled, but too late.

Mario was shouting to her in Italian as he retreated to a safe distance.

Kate said, ‘I’m Audrey Hepburn in
Roman Holiday.
That makes you Gregory Peck, Aiden.’

‘And we’re
La Dolce Vita!’
shouted Francesca.
‘Viva La Dolce Vita!’

David was laughing. He hadn’t enjoyed himself so much in ages, and Mario’s disapproval was the icing on the cake.

They charged again. This time Kate’s broom made contact with David’s leg, almost toppling them over, but he managed to keep going. Francesca was urging him on, bucking backwards and forwards behind him so he had a job to keep the Vespa upright, and those watching from the steps were cheering and laughing.

All except Mario. ‘What are you do?’ he yelled. ‘Are you go crazy?’

‘Yes!’ shouted Francesca. ‘Everyone’s mad except you, Mario. Isn’t that right?’

The last of the mist had cleared away and the sun was beating down hotly now. Aiden and David stopped at opposite sides of the driveway and pulled off their sweaters. Kate and Francesca, perched behind them, steadied their brooms. The crowd shouted, ‘One, two, three—GO!’ and they hurled themselves at each other. This time both the brooms made contact. Kate’s got David on the hip and Francesca was just too late whisking hers out of the way and a short twig glanced off the side of Aiden’s head. A streak of blood appeared just below the yellow curtain of his hair. There were loud cheers from the crowd.

Mario ran towards Francesca and David. ‘Stop!’ he shouted. ‘Stop before someone get injure!’

David turned to Francesca. ‘You want to stop,
Dolce?’

‘No. Quick.’

Expertly, David spun the Vespa away from Mario and came to a halt beside Aiden and Kate. Francesca’s arms were tight round his waist. He only wished it was a real bike between his legs, not one of these tinny toys. Aiden wiped the blood from his forehead and said, ‘What now?’

Competition was sparking between them. They gunned their engines. It wasn’t a game any more. And David didn’t feel hungover any more either. His mind was clear and diamond sharp. ‘Let’s have a proper race,’ he said.

‘Where to?’ asked Aiden.

‘Down to the main road.’

‘Okay, down to the main road and back.’

‘Broomsticks?’

‘No broomsticks.’

‘Chuck the broomsticks, girls.’

Kate and Francesca tossed the broomsticks to the side of the driveway.

‘Okay. Let’s go.’

‘On your marks, get set—’

‘Go!’

They set off slowly, side by side. Behind them, David could hear Mario shouting, ‘Kate, Francesca, get off! These are Vespa, not child toys.’

Francesca caught Kate’s eye. ‘Quick,’ she urged David. ‘Quick before he stops us!’

A twist of the handle and the Vespa leapt away. Downhill, the little machines were surprisingly responsive. They roared off round the side of the building. Glancing back, David saw that Mario had given up the chase and was watching, still yelling at them to take care.

‘He’ll be sorry,’ said Kate with a grin.

‘La Dolce Vita
for ever!’ shouted Francesca into David’s back.

‘
Viva Roman Holiday!’

Suddenly David knew that he wanted to win, he wanted to win badly. He glanced across at Aiden. His yellow hair was blown back off his face, giving him an oddly naked look. He was concentrating intently. Good, he wanted to win too. That would make beating him all the more satisfying. Three-quarters of the way down the drive, they were wheel to wheel. David nudged his Vespa towards Aiden’s, hoping to make him pull back.

‘Woah!’ shouted Kate. ‘Foul!’

‘What are you playing at?’ roared Francesca. She threw her weight the other way, causing their Vespa to swerve towards the opposite verge.

‘Careful,’ said David through clenched teeth. There were places on the driveway, especially on the sharp bends, where the ground fell steeply away. He was concentrating with all his energy, certain he could keep them both safe and beat Aiden and Kate at the same time.

At the entrance to the Villa Beatrice, where the driveway met the road, he and Francesca were ahead by about ten meters, but they were slower on the turn and Kate and Aiden caught up with them and began to overtake. Side by side and much more slowly now they were going uphill, the Vespas struggled on. David cursed the little scooter for its lack of power, longing to be astride his own bike which would have roared up this hill with no problem.

Francesca’s arms squeezed him more tightly. ‘Isn’t this great?’ she shouted across to Kate.

‘Brilliant!’ yelled Kate. ‘And we’re going to beat you!’

‘I don’t care! I love the world!’ She removed her arms from round David’s waist and waved them in an expansive gesture that nearly made him lose his balance. ‘I love everyone! I’ve never been so happy! I want to—’

The end of her sentence was drowned out by the noise of a car horn which seemed to be right behind them. ‘Oh God, no!’ Francesca’s voice had dropped to a whisper, right in his ears. Her arms were clamped round his waist once more, as if she wanted to hide behind him.

‘What?’ David’s question was lost in a second blaring of the horn. He and Aiden pulled to a halt on either side of the road and looked behind them. A large Mercedes, black and sleek as a hearse, was only yards away. It passed regally between the two Vespas. David could make out a man and a woman in the front, a third figure in the back. The car pulled to a halt about twenty feet further up the road. No one moved.

‘Oh hell,’ said Francesca. ‘They weren’t supposed to come till tomorrow.’

David turned round to look at her. All the fun had died on her face. ‘Parents?’ he asked.

She nodded.

Two short beeps on the horn summoned them forwards. David began to move but Francesca said, ‘No, wait.’ He stopped. Her hands around his waist were holding so tight his gut was hurting.

The front passenger door opened, a single high-heeled shoe emerged, then another and a pair of slim, stocking-clad legs. A tall, elegant, immaculately dressed woman stood on the road, facing them. The family resemblance only made the differences between them more noticeable. Where Francesca’s face was vibrant with life, this woman’s features were dull and cold. Beautiful, yes, but in the way that a china figurine is beautiful: impersonal and dead.

Francesca’s mother didn’t waste time on the others, but said simply, ‘Francesca!’ She didn’t give the impression that she was pleased to see her daughter in the least. ‘Francesca,
vieni qui.
Come here.’

Francesca released David and got down from the Vespa, but didn’t move any closer. Her mother took a single step towards her. ‘Christ, girl, look at the state you’re in! What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’

Francesca stood squarely in the middle of the road and raised her head high. ‘You wouldn’t understand, Mother. I’m enjoying myself. It’s called fun. With my friends.’

‘
Che stupida!’
said her mother dismissively. ‘You look like a tramp. Get in the car at once. Zio Toni is expecting us for lunch.’

‘I will eat with my friends.’

Her mother did not even glance at her friends. The implication was that they were beneath contempt. It was an impasse. David heard a man’s voice talking Italian inside the car, then a rear door opened and a girl got out. David saw with a shock that she was a younger, plumper, plainer version of Francesca. Her hair was cut in a long bob and pulled back from her forehead in a satin ribbon and she had protruding teeth, but the pale green eyes and the fine cheekbones, all those were Francesca’s too.

The girl glanced anxiously at her mother, then smiled at Francesca.
‘Ciao,
’Cesca,’ she said, almost whispering.

David was watching Francesca. Her face was transformed, no longer defensive but bathed in tenderness.
‘Ciao,
Simona,’ she said.

The next moment the two girls had their arms around each other. David got the impression that Francesca was hardly aware of what was happening as her mother ushered them both into the back of the car and closed the door. The car drove off slowly.

‘Wow,’ said Aiden, admiringly. ‘Nice work.’

‘Did that woman remind anyone else of Cruella de Vil?’ asked Kate.

When they got back to the Villa Beatrice there was no sign of Francesca or the black Mercedes and no one had seen them drive past. Uneasily, not at all sure what to do next, they joked among themselves that Francesca had been kidnapped by aliens.

T
HERE WAS SOMEONE OUTSIDE
her door.

Kate had woken from a light sleep where she sat in the chair in the guest room at La Rocca. It was like waking from a nightmare, but in reverse. Usually, on becoming conscious, there’s the relief that the bad feelings were just a dream, but this time the bad feelings were here, in the room, and very real. Someone was outside her door, and the room was filled with a sense of their dark presence.

Who was it?

She stood up, her limbs aching with fatigue and the discomfort of having dozed off in the chair, and walked to the door. She pulled her gown tight round her shoulders and waited. All she had to do was open it, but right now, that seemed an impossible task. It wasn’t like her to be cowardly, but at this darkest hour of the night her courage had deserted her.

Her ears were straining for the smallest sound. Was that a floorboard creaking in the passageway? The press of bare feet on carpets? Was someone’s hand reaching forward to turn the handle? For God’s sake, she told herself angrily, just open the door. Summoning all her courage, she laid her palm on the smooth round of the knob and turned…

The door opened smoothly and she looked out. No one. But then, when she peered further out, she half saw, or imagined, or thought she saw, a shadow whisking round the corner at the end of the corridor.

She closed the door quickly. Had she imagined it? After just a few hours at La Rocca was she starting to come apart, so that she became a person who was frightened of shadows?

She went back to her chair, knowing it would be impossible to sleep again that night, waiting for the dawn. Her thoughts drifted back relentlessly to that final weekend. If only she had left when Francesca’s parents had arrived. It had seemed such a small decision at the time. It wasn’t fair that such trivial decisions should have such a mighty impact. There should have been some warning, some way of knowing what lay ahead. If she’d gone then, once the Vespa racing was over, she’d have forfeited the most romantic night of her life, but that would have been worth it if it meant Francesca survived. If Kate had gone with the others then her last memory of Francesca that weekend would have been her laughter and her fun as she careered down the driveway on the back of David’s Vespa. Francesca enjoying herself, Francesca with not a care in the world.

Instead of which…

T
HE FEELING OF BEING
trespassers grew worse. There was no sign of Francesca or her family, or, for that matter, of Mario. The exuberance of the Vespa racing had vanished. Kate wandered about with the others, uncertain what to do next, while Angelica talked fiercely to anyone who would listen and made violent sweeping gestures with her arms. Dido and Jenny came back from exploring the grounds and said they’d seen a house near the summit that looked like a medieval tower. Parked outside it was the hearse-like Mercedes, Mario’s Topolino and another car no one had seen before.

Several people decided to hitch back to Florence right away. There was a rumour of another party near Santa Croce that night. Around three o’clock, a few minutes after the first batch trudged off down the drive to start hitching, the black Mercedes reappeared in front of the villa. There was only one occupant this time, Francesca’s mother, who got out and briskly set about encouraging the others to return to Florence. Her guest-ejection technique was faultless. She was gracious, even friendly when necessary, but the message was as clear as if she’d handed them an ultimatum in writing. The party was over: it was time to go.