Angels of the Flood (38 page)

‘But she was your friend!’ Simona sounded horrified at the criticism.

‘Yes, I know, and I loved her. But in the real world, Simona, even your closest friends aren’t perfect.’

Something about the way Simona was looking at her made Kate uneasy. ‘I’m swimming back,’ she said, launching herself into the deeper part of the water.

‘Did you really love her?’ Simona splashed in after her.

‘Of course I bloody did!’

It must have been an instinct to escape from Simona’s crazed questions that made Kate go out into the centre of the river where the current was strongest.

‘Watch out!’ yelled Simona. ‘Stay over this side!’

‘I’m fine!’ shouted Kate, savouring the tug of the river as it bore her downstream. The next moment, as the current caught her, she realized she was far from fine. She struck out strongly for the bank where she’d left her clothes, but the river spun her past.

‘Kate!’ Simona’s voice was following her. ‘Swim to the other side and catch the branch! I’m coming too!’

Kate was being carried along by the water and almost missed it, but just in time she saw the low branch up ahead and caught hold of it, nearly wrenching her arms out of their sockets as the water tried to carry her further downstream.

‘Now work your way towards the shore!’ yelled Simona.

Kate did what she was told and within moments she was in the gloomy shadows where the water was dark and tranquil. Simona had flung herself into the current after Kate, but with the confidence of long practice she caught hold of the overhanging branch easily and handed herself along to join Kate in the shadows.

‘Now what?’ asked Kate. Her teeth were chattering.

‘Did you really love her?’

‘I already told you, didn’t I?’ said Kate angrily. The shock of losing control in the river had left her feeling raw and exposed.

‘Even though she was a pain in the butt?’ asked Simona, her eyes shining.

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, all my best friends are pains in the butt. Do you mind telling me how we get back to the other side?’

‘It was a good time, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes. It was magic’

Simona had worked her way very close to her in the gloom under the overhanging tree. Her hair was plastered against her skull and her skin was glistening with water, making her look sleek and glossy as an otter, her long eyes accentuated in the dappled light. She said, ‘It’s true, isn’t it, Kate? You remember it too. Those weeks in Florence were the best weeks of my life.’

‘You mean Francesca’s life,’ corrected Kate automatically, and then the realization hit her with such force that she nearly let go of the branch. She stopped speaking.

And stared.

The woman’s face so close to her own in the dappled light, the woman with the features of Simona, so similar to Francesca’s and yet so subtly different, blurred over. In the fuzzy gloom of half-seeing, Simona’s remembered face dissolved and reformed. Now it was Francesca’s eyes staring back at her, Francesca’s mouth drawn back in that hesitant smile. Older by many years, but aged as only Francesca could have aged.

‘The best weeks of
my
life,’ the woman said again.

Kate’s limbs went numb with shock. This time she let go of the branch and would have floated back into the current if the other woman hadn’t caught her by the arm. ‘Careful, Kate,’ she said in a voice that had never been Simona’s. ‘Drowning’s all right, but it’s not like the real thing.’

Kate struggled back to grab onto the branch. ‘Francesca?’ The question came out as barely more than a croak.

She nodded. ‘You do recognize me, don’t you, Kate?’ And then, when Kate didn’t answer, her eyes darkened and she said urgently, ‘Tell me you know it’s me! Please, just say you know who I am!’

‘Jesus!’ breathed Kate, too winded to say anything more.

‘Please, Kate.’ The woman’s words were choked with sobs. ‘I’ve held on to this so long it’s driven me halfway to crazy and back, but if
you
believe me… just say my name. Please.’

Kate was clinging on to the branch as if her life depended on it. Suddenly that few feet of smooth bark seemed like the only sure thing in the world. She blinked and tried to return to the reality she’d been living in until a minute ago, but it was impossible. That world had vanished, raced away in the strong current of the river. There was only one person she’d ever known who looked and sounded like the woman in the water beside her.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You’re Francesca.’ Her teeth were chattering. ‘Oh my God, I don’t believe it!’ And then, seeing the other woman’s horrified expression she said quickly, ‘But I do believe you. It’s okay, Francesca, deep down I think perhaps I’ve known all along.’

What was she saying? She tried to cling onto the familiar and asked in a shaking voice, ‘Now, Francesca, would you please tell me how we get back to our clothes?’

B
Y THE TIME THEY’D
looked over Bella Vista and were headed towards a converted school house in a nearby village, David and Mario were discovering they enjoyed each other’s company after all. They were in no rush to return to La Rocca, so they stopped for a leisurely drink in the village square.

The beer was cool and refreshing. David, sitting at a table in the shade, watched two old ladies with aprons tied round their enormous hips, loaves of freshly baked bread poking out of their baskets, who were catching up on the day’s gossip. An old man walked slowly down the street with his grandson, stopping to exchange a few words with everyone they passed. There was a sense of rhythm and dignity to the lives he was glimpsing, and to an outsider like David it seemed a rich and satisfying life. A future was forming itself in his mind, a future in which he created beauty from old stones and terraced walks, where he was greeted daily by the local shopkeepers, ate in the shade of a well-grown vine and gained a reputation for lavish hospitality with his daughters and friends.

He drank his beer, then said, ‘You could make a damn good life in a place like this.’

‘Yes.’ Mario looked around at the activity of the square. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see what David saw, then said quietly, ‘I envy you, David.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you have the chance to make a new start when most people are thinking about retirement and growing old.’

‘Would you like to start afresh somewhere else? What could be better than the life you have?’

Mario didn’t answer right away. He was looking thoughtful, then he grinned suddenly and said, ‘Canada. If I could choose, I would go to live in Canada.’

‘Are you out of your mind?’ David assumed he was joking. ‘Have you any idea what the climate’s like there? And what on earth has Canada got over a place like this?’

Mario shrugged. ‘A new beginning,’ he said.

‘But…’ David was temporarily lost for words.

‘Do you think Kate would like to live here too?’

‘We’d have to ask her.’

‘You’re right. No point trying to guess what women want. There is another place you might like to see, but it’s quite a way from here,’ said Mario. ‘If you’re serious, we could have lunch there too.’

‘I don’t know. We told them we’d get back by noon.’ David was already feeling bad about leaving Kate in the lurch so long after she’d made it clear she didn’t want to be there on her own. He’d been angry about the row, but knew he had to take some of the blame for it himself. He always said things he regretted after too many drinks.

‘We’d be back by three,’ said Mario. ‘Plenty of time for you and Kate to get back to Florence by evening.’

‘Okay then,’ said David. After all, where was the harm? And he really was beginning to think he might to settle in a place like this.

‘You know,’ said Mario as they began walking back to the car, ‘I envy you because of Kate, too. It’s not often you get a second chance with someone.’

David nodded; ‘Kate’s pretty special. I hope I don’t blow it this time. What about you and Simona?’ he asked. He liked knowing how people fitted together and he’d been puzzled by their obvious closeness. Even their antagonism was like the antagonism of a long-married couple.

‘We are… it is hard to explain. I was married but… Simona has always been the most important person for me…’ Mario hesitated. Their discussion was moving beyond the usual conventions of acquaintances and into territory he’d never yet discussed with anyone.

‘She doesn’t feel the same way?’

Mario paused, his hand on the roof of his car. He said quietly, ‘Years back, I did her an injury,’ he said. ‘I think, the way she looks at it, I betrayed her. What happened has tied us together, so that neither of us could ever really break free, but also it put a barrier between us. That barrier has never gone away.’

David assumed he was talking about sexual infidelity. He said, ‘Hell, Mario, no one’s perfect. Even Simona can’t hold a grudge for ever.’ Though in David’s opinion Simona was a neurotic lady and the only real question in his mind was why Mario had stuck by her for so long.

‘Your door’s not locked,’ said Mario, opening his car. ‘A nonexistent crime rate is another advantage of these sleepy little villages.’ When they were both seated and Mario had switched on the ignition, he asked casually, ‘So what was your real reason for coming here with Kate?’

‘Didn’t she tell you?’ asked David, without thinking. ‘Simona sent her some pictures to be restored. They arrived via a Florentine dealer, so in theory they were anonymous. But Simona had added coded messages to each one. Ingenious, in their way—or devious, depending on how you look at it. Anyway, Kate realized where they must be coming from, so she decided to come over and find out what was going on.’ While he was talking, David felt a twinge of unease, remembering Kate had told him not to mention this to anyone. He dismissed his anxiety—there couldn’t be any harm in Mario knowing.

‘What kind of messages?’ Mario still had his hand on the ignition.

Something in his tone made David wary of further indiscretion. He said vaguely, ‘Oh, I can’t remember the details now. I don’t suppose they meant anything.’

Mario glanced at his watch. ‘David, I apologize. I have run out of time. I just remembered a junior colleague is phoning me at one o’clock about a patient who’s due to be discharged. We will have to drive back to La Rocca at once.’

‘W
HY?’ ASKED KATE AS
they emerged from the river onto the shingle bank where they’d left their clothes. ‘And what happened to Simona?’

‘She was killed in the accident,’ said Francesca, helping Kate to her feet and giving her a towel. Now that she’d taken the plunge, she wanted to pour her story out, and not stop for breath until every last word was spoken; she wanted to shout it to the heavens and paint it in gold letters on the sky, but she could tell that Kate was still dazed with the shock of first hearing. It was vital to tread carefully so as not to overwhelm her precious audience. Her catcher.

‘Why the pretence?’ asked Kate, pulling the towel over her bare shoulders. She sat, shivering and baffled, looking out over the river. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Because of my uncle’s inheritance, of course. It turned out he’d left everything to Simona. He gave up on me when I went to Florence after the flood. It was so weird: he didn’t mind when I attacked him—in some creepy kind of way, he seemed to think that brought us closer together—but he couldn’t bear it when I started to make a life away from my family. By the terms of his will, if anything happened to Simona, my cousin Dario would have inherited the lot.’ She paused, then corrected herself.
‘When
Simona died, my cousin Dario
should
have inherited the lot. The Fondazione has been created on the most almighty fraud, but at least I’ve had the satisfaction of knowing I put the money to better use than Dario would’ve done. On his twenty-first birthday, I made my parents settle a part of my uncle’s fortune on him—a small Rubens’ worth,’ she added with a smile, ‘but he blew the lot in about five years. Most of it on drugs. I’ve been keeping him in rehab ever since.’

‘But your uncle must have realized it was Simona—’

Francesca shook her head. ‘No one knew how much he’d taken in, because he had a stroke when he heard about the accident. My mother had to tell him and… it was too much for him. The old bastard must have had a heart after all. He hung on for several weeks, but he never really recovered.’

‘It seems impossible,’ said Kate, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘How on earth did you get away with it?’

‘More easily than you’d think. People see what they want to see—or, sometimes, what they’re paid to see—just as you have done over the past few days.’

‘But I hadn’t seen you in years.’

Francesca hesitated. She was so desperate for Kate to understand the whole story, it was hard to know where to begin. She said, ‘Imagine how it must have been in that first week, Kate, the week when you were in hospital. Everyone was stunned by the news: not just of the accident, but my uncle’s stroke all in the same day. After a double tragedy like that, people just wanted to be supportive—and when my parents said they needed to be left alone to grieve in private, my guess is their acquaintances were relieved to have an excuse to stay away. That kind of huge disaster frightens people. No one ever thought it was odd. My parents didn’t have any real friends and they had always tried to stop me and Simona from mixing too.’ She frowned, then said carefully, ‘I’ve spent years trying to figure it all out, Kate. They say families with secrets put up a barrier between themselves and the outside world. Our secret had always been our poverty and debts: our well-heeled facade was totally fake. It was feast or famine, depending on whether my uncle chose to foot the bill or not. That’s why we never even went to school but had a succession of useless tutors at home. And because I’d been in America for three years, it was a long time since anyone had seen me and Simona together. Apart from you.’

‘So that’s why we weren’t wanted at the funeral.’

‘The funeral, yes.’ Francesca was silent for a few moments, then she said quietly, ‘I went to my own funeral. Can you imagine what that’s like? Seeing all those people weeping for me, seeing my own coffin covered in flowers. Seeing everything through that thick black veil, so convenient for the deception. For years it seemed as though I only ever saw the world through a black veil.’