The Sweet Life (14 page)

x X Janey G X x

There was a long pause. Janey refreshed her page a few times. When nothing new appeared, she thought, with relief, that maybe Fellini was logging out. But one click later, she saw:

Lets just say I
know
what u did yesterday & Im keeping MY I on U.

Fellini

Janey leapt away from the screen as if someone had doused her with a bucket of iced water. She scanned the study as if Fellini had somehow managed to plant a camera in there with her.

She sat back down slowly. Her stomach did a double backflip when she refeshed her page again and read:

Every breath U take every move U make baby.

Fellini

Chilled to the core, Janey hurriedly shut down. She threw on the orange tank and white shorts, grabbed her rucksack and fled into another bright, hot and lazy Roman afternoon feeling as if Fellini was right behind her and breathing down her neck.

Almost unconsciously, Janey headed away from her aunt’s villa in an unfamiliar direction, wanting to lose herself in some obscure but busy corner of town where Fellini couldn’t
possibly
be.

So she cut through the historical centre of Rome, heading across the River Tiber to a district called Trastevere.

Trastevere didn’t have a whole lot of obvious tourist destinations, but her guidebook indicated it was still one of the most happening areas of Rome. It was a picture-book old quarter of the city where real Romans still lived, packed with bars, cafés, hip shopping spots, and atmospheric public squares. It was also riddled with narrow cobbled streets, making it a great place to get lost in the crowd, which was exactly what Janey needed. To lose that horrible feeling of being watched by unseen eyes. She needed time to just think and
chill
.

By the time she crossed the Ponte Sisto into Trastevere, the breezy outfit she’d thrown on just over an hour before was plastered to her willowy frame but her usual positivity had returned. As she looked around, she saw hundreds of people of almost as many nationalities and Janey could feel herself relaxing a little. Fellini – whoever he was – couldn’t possibly
be
here in Rome actually tailing her around. He was probably some spotty twelve-year-old moron from Florida or somewhere.

Janey followed the swell of people ducking into and out of the medieval churches, marvelling at the ancient mosaics and astonishing domes, sculptures and icons that featured on almost every building. In between, she browsed the leather goods stores, specialty paper shops and museums that seemed to occupy every street corner. She kept herself hydrated with slices of fresh watermelon, and one sweet and icy grattachecca after another.

Trastevere was the perfect antidote to the poisonous situations she’d been experiencing with her aunt. The streets were crooked and crowded with ancient apartment buildings and villas that seemed to lean into one another. High above her head, the lines of colourful washing that stretched across from building to building just added to the festive air of the place. Through the shutter-framed windows of their abodes, Romans could be glimpsed talking on the telephone, preparing food, chasing their children and just generally going about their business.

Family’s so important
, Janey thought, determined to try and explain her side of the story to Celia the next chance she got. Celia really seemed to care about her, though she was willing to leap to the most awful conclusions about her character! And that hurt. A lot.

After an overload of ancient history, Janey headed for the busy café scene that centred on the Piazza di Santa Maria in Trastevere, its radiating laneways crowded with eateries. She’d just ordered a late afternoon tea at the bustling Sabatini, and was enjoying her coffee, when her mobile phone buzzed loudly. Janey dug through her bag with a smile on her face, thinking it had to be Luca texting to find out how her day had been. But she recoiled as she read the message in her inbox and suddenly felt ill.

Nver liked Trastevere in
summer. Too many tourists,
dont u think?

With a chill, she realised immediately who the text was from. Fellini!

The accompanying mobile number was a local Italian number that Janey didn’t recognise. It didn’t tally with any of the preprogrammed numbers in her phone for Celia, Luca, Freddy or Brandon. Signalling frantically to her waiter, Janey hastily cancelled her food order, fumbled out the right amount of change for the coffee and almost ran out of the piazza. As she hurried back towards the Ponte Sisto, she searched the faces of the people passing, wondering fearfully if any of them might be
him
. Because how would he know where she was unless
he
was somewhere nearby?

Once she’d crossed back over the bridge, she picked up her pace, because to get back to the Via Veneto area of Rome – which was the closest area of the old city to Celia’s apartment – she still had to cut through the Campo dei Fiori, Piazza della Rotonda and Quirinal districts. Suddenly, her aunt’s apartment seemed like a haven she couldn’t reach fast enough and she cursed herself for heading out at all that afternoon and foolishly believing Fellini didn’t pose a real threat!

She still had almost an hour of walking left when she came across a huge protest going on in the piazza she’d intended to take a short cut through on the Quirinal Hill. There were hundreds of people milling about in the square, holding placards she couldn’t decipher. The road blockades and heavy police presence meant that she, as well as about a thousand other tourists, was being redirected through surrounding laneways. Janey realised with frustration that this would take her well out of her way and back into the Piazza di Spagna tourist district, a place choked with people and impossibly hilly.

If I don’t see another hill in this lifetime
, thought Janey – trying to puzzle out where she’d ended up, with the help of her guidebook –
that would be too soon
.

She found herself shuffling slowly up a street whose name she didn’t know, which was crawling with overheated and annoyed tourists and locals. She almost screamed out loud when someone grabbed at the back of her tank top.

‘Sorry! Tripped,’ said a woman in an English accent, before letting go of her hold on Janey.

Janey threw the woman a tight smile and threaded her way quickly to another part of the slowly moving throng, just in case she wasn’t someone fully random and harmless. Janey had just stopped by a newsvendor’s booth to take her sunglasses off and put her guidebook away when she saw something on a nearby side street – one that cut across the lane she was on – that sent a thrill of sudden irrational fear up her spine.

She saw
Luca
, in the embassy car, tooting his horn at the passing press of people, who wouldn’t let him through.

Janey, feeling chilled, watched as Luca finally slid the vehicle through a break in the crowd. He hadn’t even looked her way or shown any sign that he knew she was there, but it had to be the weirdest, most unbelievable coincidence that both of them were in this obscure corner of the city
at the same time
.

With a pounding heart, Janey pushed her way back into the mass of people slowly making their way up the street, weaving her way forward as fast as she could. She was usually the politest person around – one who’d rather hang back than act pushy – but seeing Luca out here had had the impact of an electric shock. It was suddenly even more vital to get back to Celia’s as quickly as possible.

But as Janey was finally pushed out into the Piazza di Spagna with a torrent of other people, she noticed Freddy’s friend Brandon coming out of the nearby Burberry store, carrying a loaded shopping bag!

Janey stopped in her tracks as though she’d been hit by lightning. What were the chances of seeing someone
else
she knew in Rome within the space of such a short time? She looked about in panic for somewhere to hide. It was suddenly really important that he not see her.

She abruptly changed direction and made for a leather goods shop back in the direction she’d just come from. Brandon didn’t seem to have seen her, she thought wildly. So if he
didn’t
follow her into the store, he couldn’t possibly be the malevolent presence that had been following her around Rome all afternoon. If he
did
find her, well, he might be the one behind that text message!

Janey scrambled into the ritzy showroom of Sermoneta Gloves, despairing of ever reaching Celia’s. The shop was deserted at this hour of the day because the thermostat was probably pushing forty degrees outside and no one in their right mind was looking at buying fur-lined leather gloves right now, but it was the closest place to hide.

She headed straight for a display at the back of the store that was packed with hand-made luxury golf gloves and hovered there, looking nervously out the front windows.

The elegant saleswoman started to say, ‘May I help—’ when Janey gave a small shriek and hissed, ‘Is there a back entrance I can use?’

The woman shook her head in confusion as, like a heat-seeking missile, Brandon’s head of wind-ruffled blond hair could be seen bobbing up the main staircase to the showroom. He’d
found
her.

Janey just stared as Brandon strolled into the glove shop as if he did this every day, and said amusedly, ‘Janey Gordon! It
is
you. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were trying to hide from me. You changed direction like one of those ducks you see in a carnival shooting parlour.’

Janey just gaped at him.
Ducks?

He put his arm through hers and led her out of the store, when something inside Janey seemed to snap and she pushed him away before spinning on her heel to run.

‘Janey!’ Brandon said, catching at her arm. ‘What on earth’s the matter? Aren’t you glad to see me?’

Janey couldn’t meet his eyes. She was so freaked by everything, she needed to get away.

‘L-look,’ she stammered in a strained voice, ‘this might sound kind of crazy, but there is some kind of, of . . . cyber stalker trying to do a number on me today, and in case it’s you (sorry, but it very well could be), I’d really like to get back to Freddy’s place now, so if you don’t mind . . .’

Brandon’s expression was one of baffled astonishment.

‘Don’t take it the wrong way, Brandon, but I’m trying to shake you off and you’re not even remotely co-operating. So if you go that way,’ Janey waved him back in the direction of the swanky designer stores on the Via Condotti, ‘and I go that way,’ she pointed up the seemingly endless marble steps that led away from the Piazza di Spagna towards the Villa Borghese gardens and home, ‘that would be a
huge
load off my mind.’

Brandon led her, protesting, towards the Spanish Steps that gave the piazza its name.

‘Sit down,’ he ordered. ‘And tell me exactly what you mean by
cyber stalker
. You lost me right about there.’

Janey slumped in sudden exhaustion, her backpack between her feet as Brandon settled beside her. ‘It would be easier to just show you,’ she said slowly. She wasn’t sure if she could trust him, but maybe just showing him Fellini’s message would tell her whether or not Brandon knew anything about it. She was a pretty good reader of people.