Angels of the Flood (33 page)

‘But that’s crazy.’

‘Isn’t it just?’ said Kate. ‘But so much easier than blaming themselves. God, I wish there was some way we could get Simona away from them, it’s what Francesca would have wanted us to do, I know it is. Remember when we met her, when she was standing on that bridge? She pretended it wasn’t true, but I
know
she was thinking about suicide then. While she was with us she learned what it’s like to be happy—that’s what they can’t forgive us for, because she was free and happy for the first time in her life.’

‘You sound very sure about this, Kate.’

‘There’s nothing to do in here, except think.’

‘But why didn’t her parents want her to be happy?’

‘It’s her mother,’ said Kate slowly. ‘She’s… she’s weird and…’ She broke off, unable to find the words.

‘Well, you can understand if she’s acting strangely now, losing her daughter and all… Still…’ He was silent for a while, looking at his hands. Then he said, ‘I’m going back to England the day after tomorrow.’

‘I thought you were planning to stay till the end of April.’

‘I know, but… it’s not the same any more. Not since Francesca died—and now you’re going. There doesn’t seem any point in staying. Jenny’s gone already, so has Aiden. Dido’s leaving at the end of the week.’

Of course. The carefree world of the mud angels had been shattered for ever. There was no point in staying in Florence any longer.

‘I’ve got your address,’ he said. ‘I’ll get in touch in a week or so. Dido and the others are talking about organizing a reunion in London in the summer. Maybe we could—’

She interrupted him. ‘No, don’t write to me, David. Or phone. Maybe I’ll get in touch with you some time, when all this has faded.’ But she knew she wouldn’t and he must have guessed it too.

‘Not even a card?’

‘I need to get away from all of this. Everyone who had anything to do with it.’

He nodded. ‘It must be worse for you, because you were there. You saw it happen.’

‘But I can’t remember.’

‘Dido thinks you blanked it out, because the memory was so horrific.’

‘Maybe. There’s no way of knowing. Her mother said she died instantly, but I keep worrying that Mario told her that, just to make it easier for her.’

‘Of course it was instant!’ David had been staring at his hands. Now he looked up at Kate in disbelief, then quickly looked away again. ‘Oh my God,’ he said. ‘No one’s told you, have they?’

‘Told me what?’

‘How she died.’

‘Her Vespa came off the road and she was killed. Isn’t that what happened?’

‘Yes, but…’

‘But what? What aren’t you telling me? David, I
have
to know!’

He hung his head and said in a low, almost inaudible voice, ‘Apparently Francesca was flung off the bike but it wasn’t the fall that killed her.’

‘So… what did?’

‘The Vespa fell on top of her. The windscreen caught her throat. It cut right through to the bone. That’s how she died. Quick, yes. Like a guillotine.’

Kate thought she was going to be sick. ‘I can’t believe it. How do you know? Did Mario tell you?’

‘Mario? No one’s seen him since the Villa Beatrice. But it’s true all right, we heard it from Hugo, who got the news from the consul.’

‘Oh God… Kate lay back on the pillows, tears rolling down her face.

‘Kate, I’m so sorry. I thought you knew.’

She wiped her eyes. ‘I don’t know why it makes it so much worse, but it does.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘To think of her… mutilated like that. She was so… so beautiful… and… I loved her.’

‘Yes.’

After a while, Kate said quietly, ‘Will you do something for me, David?’ He nodded. ‘Will you take these flowers—’ she took up the carnations he’d brought her and handed them back to him—‘and go to the bridge where we first talked to her? And throw them into the river. Say a prayer from us, or something. You’ll know what to do. It can be our goodbye.’

Another day passed and still there was no sign of Mario. The doctors were pleased with her progress and Kate’s mother began making preparations for their homeward journey. ‘You’ll start feeling yourself again once you’re home,’ she said, worrying now more about the damage to Kate’s mind than to her body. ‘You’ll be able to put all this behind you.’

‘I can’t go yet,’ said Kate. Why hadn’t Mario been to see her? It didn’t make sense. She couldn’t shake off the idea that he had been maimed or even killed in the accident and no one would tell her the truth. Her longing for Mario was a raw hunger, an ache deep in the pit of her stomach. She went over and over the night they spent together, every word and gesture and caress. If it had meant to him even a tenth of what she’d felt, how could he stay away from her now? ‘I’m not going till I’ve seen Mario,’ she said.

The resulting argument left both Kate and her mother exhausted and with aching heads. But Mrs Holland had observed a new steeliness in her daughter, so she made enquiries.

‘He’s coming in tomorrow morning,’ Mrs Holland said when she returned to the ward the next day. ‘He’s going to be taking time off specially. And after that we’re catching the three o’clock train, no matter what. I’ve been to that room of yours and got all your things packed and ready.’

‘Okay, Mum.’

But Kate didn’t believe in the reality of the three o’clock train back to England. She still clung to the idea that once she saw Mario a more generous future was sure to open up.

It felt strange to be back in her own clothes after the shapeless hospital gowns she’d been wearing for nearly a week. Her head hardly hurt at all any more but the back of her neck was stiff and her legs felt as if the bones had turned to water. She had that convalescent feebleness which made her feel as though a small thing would be enough to make her cry.

Visiting hours were strict, but Mario, being a doctor, was permitted to come in after the morning rounds. He was wearing a rumpled suit and there were dark shadows under his eyes. The nuns fussed over
Il dottore
and brought him a chair.

‘Hello, Kate.’ He pulled the metal chair further away from her bed and sat down.

‘Hello, Mario.’ The words came out more as a sob of relief. Such love was welling up inside her, it seemed as if nothing else mattered, not even Francesca’s death, so long as they had each other.

He avoided her eye. Something was wrong: Kate felt a chill of fear as he asked coolly, ‘You go to England tomorrow?’

‘This afternoon.’

‘Is good you go home. Better for you.’ His manner was all wrong. Kate had waited nearly a week to see him, but this cold, distant man was not the person she’d been yearning for. How could someone change so much in just a few days?

‘Why didn’t you come earlier? I was afraid you’d been injured too and no one would tell me.’

‘I am very busy man, Kate.’ His voice was reproachful, as though she had no right to make any demands on him. ‘Is not possible to make visit before.’

A whole week? And not a moment when he could have visited? Kate didn’t believe him, and the knowledge that Mario was lying made her heart ache with a new kind of pain. She shivered. His hair, she noticed, was cut very short, as it had been when she met him first.

‘What is it, Mario? What’s happened?’

He must have thought she was referring to Francesca. He sighed, more a groan than a sigh, and said, ‘Is terrible. Big tragedy for the family. Terrible, terrible.’

Of course, she told herself, relief flooding through her body, that must be the reason why he hadn’t been in to see her until now: it was only natural that the Bertonis and their tragedy had taken up all his time. Francesca’s grieving relatives needed his support much more than she did.

‘How are the family?’

He made a gesture with his hands as though to say, what did she expect? He said, ‘Is hard, very hard. They are brave people but… to lose a daughter. And in such a way…’

‘Have they had the funeral?’

‘Yesterday. It was most beautiful funeral. So many flowers.’

‘Signora Bertoni didn’t want any of Francesca’s friends to go.’

He shrugged. ‘Is bad time for family. You must try to understand…’

‘I do try, but it’s hard. Did you know Francesca’s mother came to visit me?’

‘Yes, she said you remember nothing. Is true?’

‘I remember the fight in the hallway, Francesca’s mother hitting her and everyone yelling and screaming. Then I remember us going down to the car and driving away, but after that, no. I don’t remember a thing.’

‘Is better that way. Is terrible thing to see. I am a doctor, I see many bad things, but nothing so bad as how she die… the pictures never go out from my mind.’

‘Francesca’s mother said…’ Kate hesitated, but she had to unburden herself to someone, and who else would ever understand? ‘She said that it was my fault, all of it.’

He raised his head, looking directly at her for the first time. ‘Is not true, Kate,’ he told her gently.

‘I know, but…’

‘She saw her daughter’s death. I think maybe that make her go a little bit crazy. Is terrible thing for mother to see. And poor Simona too.’

‘Simona saw?’

‘Certo.
She was on Vespa also. She see everything.’

‘But I thought it was just Francesca and…’ Kate’s head was beginning to thump, the pain of forgetting and that black cloud where memory should be. ‘Mario, tell me what happened.’

‘You know already.’

‘All I know is that Francesca was thrown off the Vespa, and it fell on top of her, cutting through her… through her…’ Kate couldn’t finish the sentence. ‘No one said Simona was there too. You have to tell me,’ she said.

‘Why you want to know?’

‘I don’t
want
to but… I
have
to. Or else it’s going to haunt me for ever.’ Even as she said those last words she thought, what was she saying? This horror was never going to go away. ‘Please, Mario, tell me what happened.’

‘Okay. I tell you and then I go. You are well now and you are going home to England. With your family—that is best. And Francesca she is dead, dead for always.’ He closed his eyes in pain, then opened them again and said, ‘You and I, we drive in the Topolino, but Francesca and Simona, they come after us. And then Signora Bertoni follows in the Mercedes, but I do not see the Mercedes until after. Francesca tries to overtake, but there is not room enough on the road, so I pull to the right, like so, to make space, that is why the Topolino goes into the ditch and you have injury to your head. But is no help. The Vespa hit my car in back, Francesca and Simona fall off, Vespa come down on Francesca. Is very quick. Is over when Signora Bertoni see.’

‘Was Simona hurt too?’

‘Simona? Poor Simona…’ An expression of real grief shadowed his face, then he said briskly, ‘Not in her body, just bruises, no broken bones, but she see… everything.’

‘Oh God, that’s so terrible. Poor Simona. Is there anything I can do?’

He didn’t answer right away. Then he said quietly, ‘Yes, Kate, is one thing you can do which help all Francesca’s family.’

‘Yes, tell me. Anything.’

He rose to his feet and looked down at her, his face impassive. ‘Go back to England, Kate. Don’t come back here, not ever. Stay away from this family. Always.’

It was like a blow to the stomach. ‘Why? What have I done? It sounds like you blame me too!’

‘Is better this way.’

‘And what about you, Mario? Don’t you want to see me again either?’

‘No. Is finish for us.’

She said, ‘We didn’t kill her, Mario. It wasn’t our fault she died.’

He shrugged. ‘I know, but… I go now,’ he said.

‘Wait, Mario, please wait. There’s just one more thing I need to know… that last night… at the Villa Beatrice… even if we never see each other again… I need to know… that it meant something to you as well.’ She could hear the pleading in her voice but she was powerless to stop it.

‘Is because it was special time for you, but for me…’ He sighed. ‘For me, I regret, Kate, it was… nothing.’

She didn’t believe him. She said, ‘Don’t lie to me, Mario, please. I can bear it if we never see each other again. I’ll have to, somehow. But I can’t bear it if you lie to me. I thought you loved me, just a bit and—’

‘No, Kate. Was just big dream. I am not man for love you.’

He turned, as though he was intending to walk away without another word.

‘Mario, stop! Won’t you even say goodbye?’

He had his back to her. She saw his hands clench and unclench, his shoulders loosen. He turned again and stooped, took her hand and raised it to his lips.

‘Goodbye, my lovely Kate.’ His voice was breaking. ‘Be well soon and be happy with your life.’

His face was shining with tears and with something else besides, something that looked to Kate almost like love.

‘Goodbye, Mario.’

He held her hand a moment longer, then nodded briefly as he set it back in her lap. Quickly he turned from her and walked out of the ward without a backward glance.

B
Y THE SUMMER OF
1967 Florence was welcoming tourists again. Most of the major roads were repaired, the galleries and museums opened their doors once again, shops were rebuilt on the Ponte Vecchio. Some evidence of the devastation remained, but as a curiosity for visitors, no longer a barrier. Even today, in places, you can see the black tideline where the filthy floodwater reached up to twenty feet on the night of the fourth of November, 1966. The ravaged crucifix by Cimabue became a permanent symbol of all that could never be repaired. Several reputations were ruined also. In the aftermath of the flood it was discovered that eight hours before the Arno burst its banks, water was released from the hydroelectric dam near Montevarchi. In order to protect their generating equipment, the duty officer had acted according to the letter of his responsibilities, but at the time it was widely believed that this contributed to the flood. Now, it is generally agreed that his actions had little effect on the severity of the flood.

Similarly, it emerged that the Prefect of Florence had ample warning that a disastrous flood was approaching. He chose not to warn the city’s inhabitants or to make the emergency services ready, so that two weeks after the flood half the fire stations were still underwater and inoperable. His inaction was widely criticized. In his defence he pointed out that if he’d issued a warning there could have been widespread panic and that citizens fleeing the city in cars would have been at far greater risk from the rising waters than those who remained in their homes. The minimal loss of life supports this claim.