by T A Williams
‘One good thing about this place is that there aren’t any mosquitoes. Maybe we’re too high up above the river, but, whatever the reason, we’re fine here.’ He refilled their glasses and took a deep breath. ‘I owe you an apology, Katie.’ She looked up in surprise. ‘When I first heard you were at the Chalker-Pyne villa, it came as a hell of a shock and I overreacted. You see, I didn’t get on well with old Sir Algernon. Not well at all.’
Katie could see that he was embarrassed and she did her best to help him. ‘Paul, Marco told me about your mum…and what happened.’ She saw relief on his face.
‘He told you that, did he? And he told you about the old man’s cancer and dumping my mum, and her death?’
Katie nodded. ‘The whole thing. Coupled with the way he locked his daughter up for twenty-five years, he must have been a right bloody nutcase.’ To her surprise, he burst out laughing.
‘It’s no laughing matter, I know, but I so rarely speak English to English people these days, I don’t often hear words like nutcase.’ His tone became more serious. ‘But you’re right. He certainly was a nutcase. Anyway, I just wanted to apologise for being a bit offhand with you. And I intend to apologise to Victoria in person next time I see her.’
‘So is that why you disappeared from Marco’s party the other night?’ He nodded his head. Now it was her turn to take a deep breath. ‘Pity, I missed you.’
‘I missed you too.’ He picked up his wine and swallowed the remains of the glass. ‘More wine?’
She looked across at him and shook her head. The sun was just a red ball on the horizon now and the shadows under the loggia hid his face from sight. What she could see of him, his broad shoulders, his close-cropped hair and one strong arm illuminated by the last red rays of the sun, looked good, really good. Here in this spectacularly romantic place she knew that she could so easily fall for him. She sat in silence for a few moments while she processed her thoughts. He really could be The One. But she didn’t want to jump into another relationship. She had been adamant about that. Why should she risk complicating what was turning out to be the best time of her life? But, if this was the right man for her, then why wait? She reached out, took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
‘I’d better go. It’s been great seeing you, but I’d better head for home now.’ She pushed the chair away and stood up, hearing the dog jump to his feet beside her. ‘I’ve enjoyed this evening. I really have.’ She looked across at his shadowy shape. ‘I like you, Paul Taylor. I like you a lot.’
She felt his hand turn in hers and their fingers entwined. ‘And I like you too, Katherine Parr. A lot. You know where I live now. Come back and see me, please. I’m not going anywhere. Come whenever you like.’ Then he released her and stood up. ‘Do you want me to walk you home?’
She shook her head. ‘No, there’s no need. I’ve got my guard dog with me. Thanks a lot, Paul. I’ve enjoyed being with you. Goodnight.’ She leant up and kissed him softly on both cheeks. ‘Come on, Dante, we’re going home.’
Chapter Sixteen
Next morning they had two early visitors. The first came when it was still only around seven o’clock. Katie was woken by the sound of scratching, coming from downstairs. Although she was getting used to the house and no longer felt creeped out by the dustsheets and shadowy corridors, the noise had her wide awake in a flash. She tiptoed downstairs and was soon relieved to discover the source of the noise. Upon unlocking the back door she found none other than Dante the Labrador standing on the step, wagging his tail furiously.
‘So you managed to find a way in, did you?’ As she said it, she found herself wondering how a dog could get over a four-metre wall. Presumably he had some secret canine entrance. And how was it he knew they were staying in the villa? She scratched his head. ‘Come on in. It’s breakfast time.’
She put on the kettle and dug out the paper bag containing yesterday’s bread. She carved off a generous chunk and passed it down to him. He took it with his usual delicacy and sprawled out on the floor to eat it. As she made the tea, she spared a thought for Victoria, presumably still upstairs in bed.
Tom and Victoria had returned from their date the previous night just before midnight. Katie heard his car pull up outside the opera singer’s villa, but she tactfully stayed in the kitchen. Victoria came in a full ten minutes later looking like the cat that had got the cream.
‘Did you have a good evening?’ Katie could see the answer written all over Vicky’s face.
‘Fantastic, awesome.’
‘So, where did he take you? Are you sure you weren’t seen?’
Victoria smiled. ‘Quite safe. He took me on a picnic. There’s this amazing place on a hill, with views across to the towers of San Gimignano. There are just four umbrella pines up there, and nobody anywhere about.’ She caught Katie’s eye. ‘Nobody at all. We could have done anything, anything we wanted.’ She blushed.
‘And the food?’
‘Cold roast chicken and champagne, followed by strawberries. I can’t fault the man’s taste.’ She looked across at Katie. ‘He’s a very, very nice man, you know.’
‘So you think you might quite fancy him?’
‘I think I might even have the hots for him.’ Katie had beamed at the appropriate use of vocabulary by her star pupil.
Katie was brought back to the present by footsteps on the wooden floor of the corridor. Vicky was awake.
‘Hello, Dante. You’ve come for breakfast, have you?’ He thumped his tail on the ground but didn’t interrupt his meal. Victoria perched on the tabletop and looked across at Katie.
‘Morning, Katie. Sleep well?’
‘Yes, I did, as a matter of fact. The best night’s sleep I’ve had for weeks.’
At that moment, their second visitor of the day appeared. They were both surprised to hear the front door open. They looked at each other in surprise for a moment before Katie went out into the corridor to see what was happening. There, standing just inside the door was Paul Taylor, looking as astonished to see her as she was to see him. She glanced down at her T-shirt and shorts, rather regretting not having put on pants or a bra, such had been her haste to find the source of the mysterious scratching. Surreptitiously she let her fingers run down to her front. Luckily she had, at least, buttoned up her fly.
‘Well, well, well. And here’s me thinking the squatters had moved in.’ Paul walked down the corridor towards her. At the sound of his voice, Dante came running out of the kitchen to greet him. The big black dog stood up on his hind legs and licked his hands. Paul scratched the Labrador’s nose. ‘Ciao, bello.’
‘Hi, Paul. It’s good to see you.’ And it was. Before she could stop herself, Katie found herself adding, ‘It’s very good to see you.’ She restrained a sudden urge to kiss him and led him into the kitchen where she was amused to see Vicky desperately doing up the buttons of her stripy pyjamas.
‘Sorry if I’ve arrived at an awkward time, ladies. I’m afraid I didn’t realise anybody was in here. I drop in every now and then to check up on the place.’ He smiled at Katie. ‘But of course, you know that. That’s how we met the other day, after all. So this is where you girls are hiding out. What a good idea. It never occurred to me last night to ask you, Katie.’
She smiled back at him, really pleased to see him again so soon. ‘I could have told you myself, but I got sidetracked. I’m afraid I quite forgot to let you know.’ Minor details like where she was now living hadn’t even crossed her mind the previous night as the sun went down over the River Arno and the shadows lengthened across his handsome face.
‘I wondered how you were going to avoid all the newsmen and photographers and this is the perfect place.’ Paul turned to Victoria. ‘I’m very sorry about all the publicity. I’m afraid it must have been somebody at Marco’s party the other night who passed on the photos. I’ve been doing my best to think who it might have been, and although there are a couple of possible culprits, so far I’ve had no success.’
Victori
a gave him a smile. ‘Don’t worry about it. Sooner or later it would have come out.’ She glanced across at Katie. ‘The papers seem fascinated by the story. I suppose I’m a bit of a queer fish, after all. The “reclusive millionairess” thing wasn’t of my making. I’m afraid it was my father’s doing.’ Unaware of Paul’s connection with her father she explained. ‘He was a strange man.’
A shadow passed across Paul Taylor’s face and disappeared without trace. He caught her eye and smiled back at her. ‘You can say that again. We’ll have to have a talk about him one of these days.’
Katie had the teapot in her hand. ‘I’ve just made tea. Fancy a cup or does your Italian blood insist on coffee at this hour?’
‘I’d love a cup of tea, thanks. Just a drop of milk in it, no sugar.’
‘Well, take a seat. As you can see, we’ve made this our hiding place until the paparazzi go off in search of a juicier subject.’ She passed the cups of tea across the table.
‘No sign of that happening yet, I’m afraid. There’s a regular little favela set up down by your gates. Everybody who goes up or down the road gets photographed and interviewed.’
‘Have you been interviewed?’ Victoria sounded very interested.
‘Oh yes. I told them I heard you talking about a visit to Iceland to see the volcanoes. You never know, some of the more gullible ones may have bought it.’
‘Well, thanks for trying. That was very kind.’ Katie reached for the bread and jam, conscious of the dog’s eyes following her every move. In spite of herself, she smiled.
‘Breakfast, Paul?’
‘No thanks. I’ve got a banana in the truck. So how are you two passing the time while you are in purdah?’ Before they could comment, Paul revealed that he knew a good bit about what went on up there on his hillside. ‘My spies tell me a certain young lady was seen in a certain red Ferrari a few days ago. Now, I wonder which one of you that was?’
Victoria raised her hand. ‘That was me, Paul. Filippo took me out for lunch.’ Katie was delighted to glimpse what could have been a brief expression of relief on Paul’s face. She met his eyes for a second and what she saw confirmed her feeling. He had a thought.
‘I forgot to give you girls my phone number. If Victoria goes off again, Katie, and you’re left on your own, give me a call. I’ll look after you.’ He pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and tore off a piece of the paper bag that had contained the bread. ‘Here’s my mobile number.’ He scribbled it down and the girls gave him their numbers in return.
Paul scooped both pieces of paper up and put them carefully in his shirt pocket, along with the pen. As he did so, a thought struck him. ‘What day are we today? Wednesday, isn’t it? Well, I’ve got to go down to a big olive grower by the coast tomorrow. If you like, I could call and pick you up and see that you get a day on the beach. You’ll be far enough away from the paparazzi not to have to worry about sneaking around. It’s a lovely place, near Populonia, full of Etruscan remains and with a phenomenal sandy beach. Interested?’
‘That sounds marvellous.’ Vicky sounded dead keen. Katie was quick to add her agreement. A day on the beach would be very nice. And it should, hopefully, result in Paul Taylor taking his shirt off!
‘Fine. That’s a date, then. I’ll call by and pick you up at eight, if that’s not too early.’ He glanced at his watch, finished his tea and stood up. ‘Thank you for the tea. I’ve got to be off. I’ve got all sorts of things that need doing today. I’ll let myself out.’ He turned and went off, leaving Katie wondering if she should have jumped up and kissed him.
No sooner had Paul let himself out of the front door than a bleep announced the arrival of a text on Vicky’s phone. She glanced at the caller ID and gave a little squeal. ‘It’s Filippo.’ She read the message and looked across at Katie. ‘He’s invited me to go to his house for lunch and a swim. This time I’ll remember to take my bikini. He says he can come and pick me up from wherever we’re hiding, but I can just walk down to his house, can’t I?’
Katie thought about it for a moment. On the one hand, Victoria would normally be less conspicuous in a car, but a throaty, snorting, bright red Ferrari driven by a flashy, long-haired aristocrat was anything but inconspicuous. Walking would definitely be safer, but some form of disguise, a bit better than a headscarf, was essential. She looked across at Vicky. ‘Definitely walking is the answer, but we need to get you dressed up a bit. Without going the whole hog and sticking you in a burka, some sort of disguise is essential. Wait a minute, I think I’ve got it. We’ll turn you into a man.’
‘A man?’ Victoria sounded surprised, but not unwilling. ‘Ooh, I’ve always loved dressing up. But where can we find men’s clothes?’ Katie had already thought of that.
‘There’s a huge cupboard at the end of the upstairs corridor. I was snooping around yesterday and I saw that it’s full of men’s clothes. Come on, let’s see what we can find.’
They left a bemused Labrador in the kitchen as they disappeared upstairs, giggling like schoolgirls. He waited for a while and then nosed the back door open and disappeared back to Rosina’s kitchen. There was always the chance of a second breakfast.
A bit later on, it occurred to Katie, as they were experimenting with disguises for Victoria, that of the two of them, Vicky’s was the only face to have appeared in the newspapers. As far as the paparazzi were concerned, Katie was an unknown quantity. She mentioned it to Vicky.
‘In fact, I haven’t seen my name mentioned anywhere. It’s only you they’re onto.’
Vicky nodded. ‘You’re right. You should be able to walk around untroubled.’ Following on from that thought, she had an idea. ‘Why don’t you go into Florence and rent us an anonymous-looking little car. That way we can have transport that’s a bit less recognisable than the BMW.’
‘Terrific idea. I tell you what. Once we’ve got you dressed up as a man, I’ll accompany you down to Filippo’s house and then I’ll walk on down to the station. From there I can take the train into Florence and pick up a car.’
While Vicky continued trying on men’s clothes, Katie dug out her computer and booked a car. She deliberately chose a little Fiat as it should blend in easily among all the others on the Italian roads. Job done, she put the computer away and returned to Vicky’s room to inspect progress. She stopped at the doorway to her room and gawped. It was an amazing transformation.
‘Hello, mate. How’s it going?’ Vicky even managed to get the voice right.
‘Oh, yes, sorry. I was looking for a young lady called Victoria.’
‘No girls in here, mate. My name’s Vic.’ Vicky giggled and returned to her normal voice. ‘So, do you think this’ll do? Am I convincing enough?’
She had found a pair of brown cord trousers and a baggy jacket that completely concealed her shape. She was wearing a pair of enormous Wellington boots and on her head she had bundled her hair into a scruffy old straw hat. The pièce de résistance, however, was the moustache and the unshaven jowls. She explained. ‘In the little cupboard out in the corridor I found the old lady’s painting set, complete with charcoal. As long as I don’t touch it, this should be convincing enough, at least as long as I don’t get too near anybody.’
‘Somehow, I think Filippo may be in for a surprise when he sees you.’
‘That’s if I make it down the road. I’ve had to stuff so many newspapers down these boots, I’m not sure I can feel my feet.’ She clomped around a bit to make her point.
In the end she did manage to make it to Filippo’s house, but she was complaining by the time she got there. As it happened, they encountered nobody on their way down, but both agreed it had been better to be safe than sorry. Katie left her with the words. ‘Don’t let Filippo bring you home in the Ferrari. It’s too conspicuous. Just call me when you’re ready, and I’ll come and pick you up in the hire car.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I should be home by three or four, maybe even earlier.’
After Vicky had disappeared through the gate into the co
unt’s house, Katie walked on down the road. As she passed the gates to the Chalker-Pyne villa, she saw only a handful of people lingering around the entrance. Compared to the scrum of previous days, this was good news. Maybe all the fuss would have died down before too long. As it was, nobody spared her a second glance, apart from one younger man who was probably just making a conditioned Italian response to a woman in shorts. He raised his fingers to his lips and blew her a kiss. She had spent long enough in Italy to know that the only sensible reaction to that was to ignore it, totally.
The train trip was quickly accomplished and she found herself at Florence main station by one o’clock. As ever, it was heaving with people and it was a struggle to fight her way through the crowds. Conscious that she had passport, driving licence and purse all in her bag, she hugged it to her, particularly when a gang of noisy, poorly-dressed little children surrounded her. She gripped the bag tightly and pushed her way through and down the steps into the sunshine. Even the kids weren’t silly enough to go out in the noonday heat, so she gave a sigh of relief and escaped. It was only when she was already in Borgo Ognissanti, searching for the car rental agency, that she realised that her phone, that had been in her shorts pocket, was no longer there.
‘Bugger, bugger, bugger!’ A couple of people gave her curious looks, but she hardly noticed. She was furious, mainly with herself for being so stupid. She had lived for a whole year in Florence without losing anything and now, on only her second visit to the city in a short time, she had lost her phone. And, with it, she had lost her SIM card and all her contacts. With a heavy heart, she realised that the first thing she should do was to report the theft to the police. She went back up the steps into the station, unsurprised to notice that the gang of kids had disappeared. No doubt they were at a safe distance, negotiating the sale of her phone to some adult.
