Kidnapped and a Daring Escape

by Gian Bordin

  Bianca looks at André, as if appealing for help.

  "I think it will become abundantly clear before the day is over," he remarks caustically.

  "I can’t wait to see that. I never understood what you saw in that pompous man."

  "To tell you the truth, I can’t understand it either."

  "You know he only arrived yesterday and already asked papà for a loan of 200,000 euros."

  André senses that Bianca is on the verge of disclosing more than he wants, so he quickly interjects: "Did he say what for?"

  "My father said something about urgent repairs to the Visconti’s castle."

  "I guess he wants to prepare the bridal suit for the wedding night."

  Gabriela laughs, gasping: "Probably," while Bianca elbows his ribs.

  "Are you spoiling for a wrestling match, my beautiful Amazon? I’m afraid it will have to wait until we are in bed tonight."

  "Oh, oh, I see," Gabriela cuts in, laughing again. "I should have guessed that it has already reached that stage. How did you two meet or did you only meet after you were taken hostage?"

  Bianca tells her. When her sister asks about the rescue, she replies that she will tell her in detail later, that it will take too long to do it justice now. Gabriela gives her the latest gossip on friends and acquaintances.

  The limousine is climbing into the hills south of Rome. André gets a glimpse of Lago Albano and the Pope’s summer residence, Castel Gandolfo. A few minutes later they drive through an ornate metal gate into a large circular area fronting a sizable, late 19th century-style mansion. Two sets of steps curve up to a terrace and the wide double-door entrance. André guesses that eighty to a hundred people are assembled on the terrace, all in festive attire. Most turn to watch the car come to a halt in front of the steps. Many are holding champagne flutes. Several white-livered waiters with trays circulate, offering full glasses to others. There is a television crew on the terrace itself, a bit to the side but in front of the crowd, and another on the level of the car. Both are filming.

  "Here we go, Bianca," André murmurs, as he gets out of the car and holds out a hand for her, giving her an encouraging smile. Gabriela is already sauntering up the stairs. When Bianca seems to hesitate, he murmurs: "Go, hug your parents."

  She gives him a grateful look and also runs up the stairs. On top, she first hugs her father, who pats her back, and then she briefly embraces her mother. From the voice on the phone, André imagined Bianca’s mother to be a somewhat plump woman in her late forties. Instead, she looks much younger, a good figure, elegant in her well-tailored dress and high heels. Is that what Bianca will look like twenty years from now? he wonders.

  He sees Franco take a step forward, expecting to be next, but Bianca goes to the other side to an elderly couple — one of her grandparents, he guesses. The old woman is crying and repeatedly hugs her.

  As he walks up the steps, he notices that the driver only removes Bianca’s suitcase. So, I’m to be driven back to Rome, he reckons. At the top of the stair he is only three or four feet away from Franco. He watches the man’s face change from a forced smile to a squinting frown. He goes past him, coming to a halt in front of Bianca’s father.

  Bianca rushes back. "Papà, this is André Villier, my rescuer."

  "Honored to meet you, signore," André says, and offers his hand.

  Mr. Pacelli shakes André’s hand, but his face shows that he is puzzled. He turns to Bianca. "I … the TV coverage of your arrival said that Signor Villier was deaf-mute."

  "André was just pretending. He didn’t want to be bothered by the reporters. He loves playing jokes on people. His hearing is better than mine, and his speech is very articulate."

  Her father turns back to André, releasing his hand. "Please, accept my apologies, Signor Villier, I could not know."

  "Signore, I should apologize for causing the confusion."

  Her father now introduces his wife and Bianca’s paternal grandparents, and then turns to Franco. The man has armored himself again with a dignified expression.

  "And this is Professore Visconti from the University of Rome. He is my daughter’s fiancé." He speaks with visible pride.

  "We have already met, signore," answers André. He notices that Franco does not offer his hand, nor would he have taken it if he had. The man only bows his head a bit — the smallest of acknowledgments. Mr. Pacelli looks from one to the other and back, seemingly surprised, and then says: "Bianca, I’m sure you can hardly wait to receive a kiss from Franco."

  The moment has come, muses André, how will she react? He feels for her. But to his surprise, she is prepared.

  "That can wait for a more private moment, papà." Then she glances briefly at Franco, her face revealing nothing, and simply says: "Hello Franco." She remains at André’s side.

  This time her father shows his surprise by creasing his eyebrows deeply. "I don’t understand." He first looks at Franco, then at her. "Have you two had a quarrel? … I would have thought, Bianca, that after your horrible experiences you should be glad to see Franco."

  Franco intervenes: "Signor Pacelli, poor Bianca’s reaction is completely understandable. I think we should all show infinite patience toward her. The trauma she suffered takes weeks, even months to heal."

  Bianca again ignores him and replies to her father: "No, papà, we did not quarrel, and explanations can wait a bit longer."

  Her father once more glances from one to the other, shaking his head in dismay. Getting no further reaction from either, he turns back to André.

  "Signor Villier, I have only seen a brief newspaper report on the rescue of my daughter from these horrible communist rebels. So I don’t really know how you managed to do this. But, however you did it, I would like to express the heartfelt thanks of a father. I am sure I speak for all people present here, our many friends and acquaintances, the Pacelli family and the illustrious family of Professore Visconti."

  He again shakes André’s hand. The latter lets the accusation against FARC go unchallenged.

  Mr. Pacelli now beckons to a waiter nearby who is carrying a tray full of champagne glasses. The members of the immediate family each take one. Mr. Pacelli offered a glass to André and Bianca and says with a full voice: "Let us drink in celebration of my beloved daughter’s safe return."

  He raises his glass, taking a sip. Everybody follows suit. Once more he signals. A man in a butler’s uniform approaches, holding a tray with an envelope. A sudden wind gust almost blows it off. He just manages to put his hand on top at the last moment. Mr. Pacelli removes a paper from the envelope, while the man takes two steps back. Ah, here comes the check Bianca promised, reflects André. The whole thing seems to be staged to the last detail, with the television crew recording every second of it.

  Mr. Pacelli holds it up and says, loud enough for everybody to hear: "Signor Villier, as an expression of gratitude for your deed, I wish to give you a modest reward of fifty thousand euros."

  The people respond with subdued applause. He hands the check to André. "Please, accept this."

  "Thank you, signore. There is really no need for this gesture. I did no more than what my conscience and my heart dictated me to do."

  "These are indeed worthy expressions of human values."

  It is now André’s turn to beckon the man with the tray. He puts his almost full glass on it, and whispered in his ear: "Signore, do you have matches or a cigarette lighter?"

  The man nods and hands him a lighter. Ignoring Mr. Pacelli’s perplexed expression, André flicks it on and holds the flame to a corner of the paper. In the bright sun, the flame can only be guessed, but a second later, a black spot appears and quickly spreads. The bystanders respond with an audible gasp. A barely suppressed giggle escapes Gabriela.

  "Signore, what are you doing," cries Mr. Pacelli.

  While the flames consume the check, André holds it in front of him until only a piece the size of a coin remains and then lets it float to the marble floor, where the flame die
s, leaving only a few scattered ashes. "As I said, there was no need for that, signore. But thank you for the thought."

  "Do you consider that the amount is not enough?"

  "No, signore. I do not want a financial reward. In fact, I feel that I would debase myself accepting one."

  "So can I then be of help to you in another way? Do you need a job?"

  Bianca intervenes before André can answer. "André is a successful investigative journalist. His articles have appeared in all major European newspapers."

  "If it is not money or a job, then tell me, Signor Villier, what I can do for you."

  André smiles, takes Bianca’s hand and says: "Bianca and I intend to get married. You could give us your blessing."

  This time, his words are met by a collective gasp, followed by total silence. Only the faint rustle of leaves in the wind and the chirping of a few sparrows can be heard. He meets Bianca’s gaze. Her face is beaming. Her eyes are radiant. Slowly a tear forms at the edge of her left eye and rolls down her cheek. He wipes it off gently.

  The silence is shattered by the cry of Bianca’s mother: "Oh, Madonna mia, I’m going to faint." She has a hand, finger’s outstretched, pressed to her bosom and her eyes dramatically turned to the sky. But André guesses that it is just theater. It is quickly followed by Gabriela clapping and shouting: "Bravo, bravo."

  Mr. Pacelli turns angrily to her and hisses: "Behave yourself." Then he looks at André and says: "Signor Villier, I must say I am shocked by your audacity —"

  Franco interrupts him, shouting at André, as he steps closer to be almost nose to nose with him: "How dare you take advantage of a vulnerable girl who has gone through a horrible trial. You are a most despicable vulture. I saw right through you already in Popayàn." He grabs Bianca’s wrist of the hand that is still holding the champagne flute, saying: "Come, my poor Bianca. I will protect you from this vile man. We will find the best psychiatric help there is to make you whole again."

  She drops the flute onto the marble floor, where it shatters, lets go of André’s hand, and attempts to pry her wrist from Franco’s grip. "Take your hand off me," she cries, as he continues pulling her away.

  When he fails to heed her call, André says without raising his voice: "Signor Visconti, Bianca asked you to remove your hand."

  Ignoring him, Franco continues pulling, saying: "Bianca, don’t you see that you need help urgently."

  "Oh, she will get it this second," André cuts in. He grasps Franco’s free arm, twists it up the man’s back and says: "I suggest you let go now, Signor Visconti."

  Franco yells out, more in outrage than in pain, and releases Bianca’s wrist.

  "André, please take me away," she cries, grabbing his hand and dragging him down the stairs to the car.

  "Bianca, come back," Mr. Pacelli shouts. "I order you to come back immediately … Bianca!"

  At the same time Franco’s ranting can be heard. "Signor Pacelli, you must restrain your daughter. Can’t you see that this man is dangerous? He assaulted me. He will abuse your daughter as he may already have done. Signor Pacelli, you must forbid her to see this man ever again."

  Bianca is already climbing into the backseat of the Mercedes. André sees Gabriela enter from the other side. Then he remembers Bianca’s suitcase at the top of the stairs. He quickly goes up, taking the steps two at a time. The television crews have stopped filming.

  "What do you want now?" shouts Mr. Pacelli, while most of the other reluctant spectators retreat a few steps.

  "Only Bianca’s suitcase, signore," André answers calmly, picking it up.

  Franco intervenes again. "Signor Pacelli, you must call the police and order your servants to restrain this man. He assaulted me. Don’t you see he is a grave danger to your daughter?"

  At that point, something snaps in André. Against his better judgment he says: "Signor Visconti, I rescued Bianca from certain death. Do I need to remind you of your own words in the Alcazar Bar, when Bequilà asked you what to do with the hostage after the ransom was paid?" He imitates Franco’s voice and speech perfectly. "‘Use her or make her disappear. How, I leave that up to you,’ you replied and then you laughed cynically."

  Franco goes white and shrinks back like bitten by a snake.

  "But don’t worry, signore," André continues, "Bequilà, the only witness who could testify against you, was shot dead in front of the Cipriano when he tried to capture Bianca a second time. So you’re safe. You are only 200,000 euros out of pocket."

  He turns to leave.

  "What’s this all about? What 200,000 euros?" shouts Mr. Pacelli.

  "How should I know," replies Franco. "This man is totally crazy. He is insane, can’t you see. His behavior this morning proves it. First, he pretends to be deaf-mute, then he burns your check of 50,000 euros, and claims he wants to marry your daughter. When I tried to protect my fiancée, he assaulted me, and now accuses me of I don’t know what."

  As André walks down the steps, he cannot help but admire the man’s quick recovery. He hands Antonio Bianca’s suitcase and also climbs into the backseat. As they drive away, he watches Mr. Pacelli talk on the cell phone, his hands gesticulating wildly.

  * * *

  Bianca’s hands are trembling when she takes André’s. She is still shaken by Franco grabbing her. It felt like an assault. André drapes an arm over her shoulder, hugging her and kissing her cheek.

  "It’s all right, love," he murmurs, "we have each other."

  She tries to respond with a smile, and cannot prevent tears rolling down her cheeks. She feels secure again. His reassuring presence slowly lets her gain back a measure of calm.

  "Oh, what fireworks," exclaims Gabriela. "I can’t wait until this hits the news. The biggest scandal of the year, ‘Tycoon defied by own daughter’, and all recorded on TV for posterity."

  "It is not funny," Bianca reproaches.

  "Not funny? It is the most hilarious soap opera I’ve ever seen. First, papà’s pompous speech, all staged for television, then your lover nonchalantly burning a fifty thousand euro check — not a thousand, nor a mere ten thousand, no, fifty thousand. Did you see the faces of our relatives? Their eyes almost popped out. But the real climax was you two holding hands like teenage lovers and André asking for papà’s blessing. You know, Bianca, you’ve never looked more beautiful as right then."

  "Yes, Bianca," André chuckles, "it was like a bright sun was radiating from inside you."

  "I was so proud of you when you asked papà for my hand," she murmurs.

  "Correction, sister. He didn’t ask for your hand. He stated quite unequivocally that you are getting married and only asked papà’s blessing."

  "Same thing." Why does she always have to argue about fine nuances in meaning, she reflects, irritated.

  "Oh, no. It’s intended effect was quite different. André did not give papà choice about you getting married; he only gave him a choice about showing or withholding his approval. Papà is not used not to be the one who calls the shots."

  She is right on that last bit, muses Bianca. But, right at this moment, all she wants is to forget the whole ugly scene and simply be with André.

  14

  "Where is Antonio taking us?" Bianca asks Gabriela.

  "To the Hotel Metronome on Via Caver. Papà has booked a room for André for two nights."

  "We’re not going there," André remarks emphatically. He bends forward and tells the driver. "Signore, please, take us to Campo de’Fiori." Turning back to Bianca, he adds: "I know a cute little pensione off the piazza, nice, clean, a charming couple running it, and utterly affordable."

  "I thought you would be independently rich," comments Gabriela, "the way you throw away money."

  "No, I’m a starving journalist, but right now we still have a few thousand dollars of that loot."

  "So you didn’t give all of it away then?"

  "No, we kept about twelve thousand dollars to tide us over for the next few weeks."

  "Are you really
serious about getting married? Why don’t you simply live together?"

  "Because I’m an old-fashioned man and because I’m fully committed to Bianca —"

  "— and I know André is the man I want to spend my life with," Bianca adds. "Why are you grinning?"

  "I just remembered the professor’s face when André said you were getting married, and he saw all that money slipping away from him."

  "What money?" Bianca asked.

  "The extra large dowry papà promised, not to speak of your inheritance. Did you really think that this was not his only motive for wanting to marry you? Were you that naive?"

  "Gabriela, you are unfair to Bianca. Love or the believe in love is a strange thing. And besides, Franco is a good-looking man. He bears himself well. All right, he is a bit pompous, but maybe that is just a defensive veneer, and he may well be able to enthuse his students with his archaeological expertise. So, I can easily see that some of them fall for him."

  "Thank you, André," Bianca murmurs.

  "And many a young and not so young woman has fallen for him, the gossip goes, not to mention the fact that he belongs to the old aristocracy."

  "You are mean," Bianca exclaims.

  "I call a spade a spade, sister. Would you rather I were a diligent copy of our mother?"

  André laughs. "No, I think I like you the way you are. But don’t expect us to spare you if we judge the men in your life with equal savvy."

  "Point taken, future brother-in-law," she responds laughing. "I think I like you. Sister, if you get tired of him, let me know."

  "You are in for a long wait, Gabriela," André chuckles, "but then an enterprising young woman like you will find other means to amuse herself."

  "You bet. But isn’t it a bit early to judge that it will take long?"

  "Pretty girl, you are too cynical for your own good."

  "Am I? How long have you known each other?"

  "Exactly … let me see, fourteen times twenty-four plus, say, another fourteen hours that makes … 350 hours. But, future sister-in-law, it feels much much longer. I think we got to know each other under the most trying circumstances, when both of us were vulnerable."