Kidnapped and a Daring Escape

by Gian Bordin

  "You vulnerable?" cries Bianca. "You don’t even know what that means. You were always positive, even when things looked frightening and hopeless. That’s what kept me going. Oh, André, I wouldn’t be alive anymore except for you."

  He hugs her more tightly.

  "Was it really that serious? I mean, wouldn’t you have been released once papà coughed up the tidy sum of five million euros?"

  "It was serious. André came just as a man was going to rape me, and they had no intention of setting me free."

  "Oh, I didn’t know," Gabriela utters, growing crimson. "How terrible! … But how do you know they were not going to free you?"

  "André overheard them talking about it."

  "I’m sorry, Bianca. I didn’t want to be flippant. But seeing you two, it’s hard to believe that you haven’t simply returned from a trip of romance."

  "Yes, I am amazed how resilient Bianca was throughout the ordeal. It made getting away that much easier," remarks André.

  "You gave me strength and courage."

  "That was only a small part. No, the strength came from within you."

  "Oh, André, you are so sweet to say that, even if it isn’t true."

  "But it is."

  * * *

  Antonio drops them off on Campo de’Fiori at the corner of Via del Pellegrino.

  "Where is that hotel?" asks Bianca, waving goodbye to Antonio.

  "Patience. Let’s first wait for Antonio to disappear. I don’t necessarily want your father to appear at our door with a bevy of carabinieri within the next hour or so."

  Yes, if he is irate enough, he might well do this, she reflects, and then whispers to her sister: "André is the most circumspect person I know when it come to planning ahead, but then is reckless when it comes to quick action."

  When the Mercedes turns right into Corso Vittorio Emanuele, he says: "Let’s go," and walks across the campo to Via dei Cappellari. Fifty meters down the narrow street is a discrete sign ‘Pensione de’Fiori’. The building looks like it was recently renovated. André rings the bell on the little counter inside the door. A moment later, a gray-haired gentleman with a stiff moustache appears from the private quarters behind the desk.

  "Ah, it’s Signor Andrea," he greets André exuberantly. "Welcome. It has been a few months since you last visited us. And welcome to you too, signorine. You want a room? With bath? The usual one? It is free. I always keep if for you, just in the hope that you will honor us with your presence." He winks and then laughs heartily.

  "Yes, Carlo, I would like that room."

  "For how long?"

  "A week, two weeks? Who knows?"

  "It was you on TV this morning, wasn’t it? Pretending to be deaf-mute, always the joker."

  "Yes, it was the easiest way to get rid of the vultures."

  "But you are one of them too."

  "Never a vulture. I don’t go for cheap sensationalism."

  "I really didn’t follow what it was all about, and I guess you are not alone this time. Is it all three of you?"

  Bianca wants to protest, but André preempts her.

  "No, just Miss Pacelli and me. We are going to get married soon."

  It feels good that he is not shy proclaiming it, she muses.

  "Oh, congratulations." He shakes hands with André and her. "But I must tell Maria. She always said that it was high time for you to become serious and settle down." He quickly opens a door and calls: "Maria, quick, Signor Andrea is here." He turns back to Bianca with a puzzled expression. "Miss Pacelli? … Are you the girl that was kidnapped in Colombia? I read about it last week in La Repubblica."

  "Yes, André rescued me."

  "Did he? I’m not surprised. He is always a bit on the wild side, aren’t you, Signor Andrea?"

  "If you say so."

  At that point, a small woman, looking young and full of life in spite of her silver gray hair, bursts through the door. Seeing André, she rushes to him and hugs him like a lost son. "Oh, here you are. You have neglected us lately, you naughty boy. But always the same handsome one who turns the head of all maidens."

  Bianca is surprised at the warm reception André first got from Carlo and now from his wife.

  "But he is getting married," exclaims Carlo. "This young lady here is his fidanzata."

  Maria turns to Bianca. She sees critical eyes assessing her, not like from a simple acquaintance of André, more like from a mother.

  "Congratulations, cara mia." Maria says, a warm smile softening her gaze, making her pretty.

  I passed muster, Bianca reflects, relieved. She does not quite know why it is important for her to be accepted by André’s friends.

  "You don’t know how lucky you are getting married to Signor Andrea," Maria adds and then looks at André like a proud mother. Bianca immediately warms to the woman.

  "I think Bianca realizes that," interjects André, winking.

  Maria bends close to her ear and whispers: "Beware, cara, he is so conceited."

  "Now, now, Maria, I heard that. Don’t you turn my future wife against me before we’re even married."

  Maria laughs, enjoying it, and boxes him playfully in the arm. "But I see, your taste in women is still impeccable."

  He responds with a smile, while Gabriela interjects smiling: "Thank you, signora. I take it that compliment also applies to me."

  Maria laughs. "Si, you are included."

  Carlo now takes them up three steep, narrow stairs to the third floor. The room is fair size for Roman standards. It has a white ceiling, contrasting sharply with the dark paneled wood walls. Its sparse furniture is tastefully classic. Bianca likes the room and comments on it, which pleases Carlo. There is a little cubicle built into one corner. A basin, a toilet and a shower are crammed into it.

  Gabriela looks out the large window. "Look, Bianca. The street!"

  She joins her. "André, did you come here often?" she asks, turning to him.

  "Yes, several times a year for a couple of days or so."

  "I always wanted to live in the city center, rather than out in the country," she comments. "Be part of the life of the city, rather than just a visitor."

  "Well, over the next few months, while you finish your degree, you will have plenty of time to be part of the city."

  "You still plan to go back to university?" Gabriela asks, clearly surprised. "But what about getting married?"

  "I can do both."

  "But how will you live? Papà is going to cut you off. I bet he will cancel your credit card first thing Monday morning, unless you return home, tail between your legs."

  Bianca looks at André. He takes her into his arms and says smiling: "We don’t need your father’s money. We will survive." It feels good.

  "No more margaritas at Bocelli’s then," Gabriela mocks.

  "No, but Camparis and Cinzanos at places where real people meet, not bored snobs."

  She laughs. "You’re rather cynical about the likes of us."

  "What I’ve seen of Bianca tells me that she belongs to the real people too, and so can you if you shed yourself of that sad lot."

  "Ouch, you have a sharp tongue, signore. So when will you introduce us to these places where real people meet?"

  "Why don’t we start with lunch to begin with?"

  "Excellent idea, I wondered how long it would take you to suggest that."

  André is still holding Bianca. He nuzzles her nose. "Is she always that fresh, my love?"

  "Most of the time, but I think she has met her match. So far she hasn’t scored a single point."

  "You just wait," mocks Gabriela. "One of these hours I will pierce his armor." She goes to the door. "Coming? I’m hungry."

  "No," exclaims Bianca, "I want to change first."

  She quickly changes into the Timbio outfit and sandals and puts on the large silver earrings they bought in Bogotà. Then she pirouettes slowly in front of Gabriela. "And what do you say to that? André bought it for me."

  Her sister eyes her critically
and fingers the material of the jacket. "It’s fabulous. Which fashion house? Laura Biagiotti? No, it’s a Krizia, right? Must have cost a fortune."

  Bianca hears André’s chuckle, and winks.

  "No, it’s an Armani," he replies.

  "Armani?"

  "Yes, didn’t you know that Armani has launched into women’s fashion?"

  "You almost fooled me, but not quite."

  "I warned you," interjects Bianca. "It actually comes from a small shop in Timbio. That’s a little town near Popayàn, and it cost less than two hundred euros."

  "It’s almost worth going there just for that," Gabriela pouts. "But it’s unfair that you should wear that outfit with everybody trying to guess the fashion house while they’ll immediately know that I’m only wearing a Galliano."

  "I may outshine you for once, dear sister." She turns to André. "Where do we go?"

  "To a little taverna, hidden from the tourist crowd behind Piazza Navona. So, Gabriela, nobody there will even think about which fashion house your dress comes from."

  As at the pensione, the taverna owner greets André with effuse cordiality and ushers them to one of two alcoves at the back of the tavern. She hasn’t expected that he knew the city so well and that people would welcome him that warmly. There she thought that she would show him Rome, and now it is the other way round, except he is showing her a Rome she never even knew existed.

  "Signor Crivelli comes from Milan," explains André, "and serves a piccata milanese like you have never tasted, mouth watering. Are you game?"

  The man beams. "With risotto ai funghi, your usual, Signor Andrea?"

  André looks at the sisters, questioning. They both nod.

  "And a fresh green salad?" the host suggests.

  "Oh, yes, and a bottle of your special Frascati bianco, and maybe some coppa to start with."

  "Certainly, Signor Andrea." He rushes to the kitchen, which is partially visible to the side.

  "Why do they all call you Andrea?" she queries.

  "They find Villier difficult. I usually end up being called ‘Vigliere’, and André simply sounds wrong to them. So it’s Andrea. That’s in fact what my mother wanted to call me, but my father insisted it had to be French."

  "André is Swiss," she explains to Gabriela, "French speaking father, mother from the Ticino."

  "Now I get it why you speak Italian with such an atrocious accent," Gabriela throws in mockingly.

  Imitating Franco’s accent, he replies: "Would you rather that I lecture you with aristocratic refinement for prosaic occurrences of inconsequential import?" He creases his eyebrows, fills his chest, puts forward his chin and says: "We now must judiciously weigh the various factors that will guide us to an aesthetically pleasing choice for the most appropriate vintage in view of the mutually interacting elements that define the current weather conditions, to wit, a temperature of ten point three degrees Celsius in the shade and a chill factor of a five-knot wind from the north, give or take a directional deviation of up to ten degrees, and most importantly the prevailing weather conditions during the last two weeks of the maturing grapes on the vines of the vintage in contention for selection, which regretfully has not been certified on the bottle."

  She explodes laughing.

  "Bravo!" cries Gabriela.

  "Yes, that’s only a slight exaggeration of how he sounded, even when he spoke to me about everyday things," she chips in.

  "Was he in fact capable of speaking about everyday things? I would have thought that it would have been below his dignity to bother with such trivialities."

  "Rarely. He loved to turn everything into a lecture. And I admit that was what attracted me initially. He captured my imagination with his knowledge and the erudite way of presenting it."

  The wine arrives. André pours and they clink glasses, saying: "Cin cin’. He locks eyes with her and adds: "To our love."

  "Yes, André, to our love." It’s the only thing that counts, flashes through her mind.

  "You two behave like two teenage lovebirds. It’s embarrassing," Gabriela mocks.

  She doesn’t care. She is just happy and replies: "Jealous already, sister."

  Gabriela makes a face and sticks out her tongue, and then laughs. "No, I’m actually glad that you tossed Franco aside."

  Crivelli serves the food. Bianca has to admit that it is the best piccata she has ever eaten.

  After the meal, Gabriela takes leave. "I must now go to Bocelli’s to learn what my unreal, bored snobs of friends make of today’s events." She winks and then kisses Bianca’s and André’s cheeks.

  "Gabriela," he calls after her, "please, don’t disclose our lodgings to anybody." He turns to her. "I don’t want any visitors, and right now I’m for a siesta. Will you join me, love?"

  "Yes, I was hoping that this would be our activity this afternoon."

  "Right," he responds, chuckling and kisses her on the mouth.

  A workman on the scaffolding of a nearby construction site whistles. She waves to him.

  Back at the pensione, André calls his parents, and talks for twenty minutes to his mother. As he told her, his parents knew nothing of the kidnapping. She is pleased that he tells them about her and that they plan to get married as soon as possible. After hanging up, he says: "She wants to meet you. She said we should come and visit as quickly as possible."

  * * *

  They watch the evening news in the lounge of the pensione with their hosts, Maria and Carlo. About halfway through the bulletin, the presenter announces: "And now some startling further development in the kidnap saga of Bianca Pacelli. As reported in yesterday’s bulletin, Miss Pacelli was kidnapped by criminal elements while on a study tour in Colombia and reported to have been rescued by André Villier, a well-known Swiss freelance journalist. Our research indicates that his articles have appeared in most leading European journals, including the Italian press. Miss Pacelli and Mr. Villier flew in this morning from Colombia. He fooled the waiting reporters at Fumicino by pretending to be deaf-mute."

  The screen replays their arrival and then the welcome at the Pacelli mansion, commented on by the announcer, ending with showing André burn the check. The camera zooms in as the flames eat into the number 50,000, written in elegant handwriting. The presenter continues: "According to our reckoning, in the last three days Mr. Villier refused to accept or donated to charity the equivalent of one hundred and twenty thousand euros. After burning the check Mr. Villier announced that he and Miss Pacelli were going to get married and asked for Mr. Pacelli’s blessing."

  The screen shows André and Bianca standing hand in hand in front of Mr. Pacelli.

  "O, che carina," cries Maria, "Bianca — may I call you Bianca — you look like the happiest girl in the world. I get tears just watching you." She actually wipes the edge of her eyes.

  Bianca has to admit that André was right. Her face shone as if illuminated by a light from inside, and she can again feel how touched she was when he asked for her father’s blessing. She tries to banish the ugly scene that followed, fortunately not shown on television.

  The hosts have lost interest in the news and want to know more about the kidnapping. André fobs them off. It is too long a story to tell.

  "You know, Signor Andrea," remarks Carlo, as she and André get ready to leave, "you are a strange man, throwing away that kind of money."

  "The money I accept, dear Carlo, has to feel right. That money didn’t."

  Yes, muses Bianca, that is exactly how it was. She was first flabbergasted when he lit the check. Then seeing the hint of satisfaction in his face as it burned, she was barely able to suppress a giggle, and when the ashes dropped to the marble floor, she suddenly felt glad and proud that he had done it. It proved that he wanted her, not her money.

  * * *

  Gabriela visits them again Sunday morning while they are having a late breakfast. She joins them, eating a croissant and drinking a cup of coffee, claiming that this is spiritually more uplifting than accompanying h
er mother to mass. She reports on what happened at home.

  "Papà is wild. He accuses both of you of humiliating him in front of his friends and relatives, not to speak in front of the TV audience. Did you watch the coverage last night? It was so beautiful to see that check burn once more. He obviously wanted to know where you are staying. I told him I didn’t know, that I left you after Antonio had driven away and did not see where you went. He says he will cut you off if you don’t come home by tonight and apologize."

  Bianca simply shrugs, saying: "I won’t." She notices André eyeing her pensively.

  "My chambermaid said that after our departure there was pandemonium. Mother had one of her hysterical episodes where she threatened to die on the spot. She only calmed down a bit after Doctor Zanni gave her sedatives and recommended a horizontal position. Most of the guests departed shortly afterward. Imagine, leaving all that food for the celebration luncheon. I don’t know who’s going to eat it." She turns to André. "What happened when you went back up to fetch Bianca’s suitcase? You must have said something that caused a row between papà and Franco. Apparently Franco left shortly afterward in a huff."

  Bianca looks at him. "Tell us what you said," she begs.

  "Franco was ranting that I assaulted him, that I was a danger to you. So I reminded him of what he said in the Alcazar Bar about what they should do with you once the ransom had been paid."

  "No … you did?" She feels a sudden bout of fear.

  "Yes, something snapped and it just burst out."

  "But wasn’t that unwise?"

  "Yes, I realized that a bit too late, but I assured him that the only witness who could identify him was shot dead in front of the Cipriano."

  "What are you two talking about?" Gabriela buts in. "Where is this Alcazar Bar? Who got shot?"

  "André overheard a conversation in a shady bar in Popayàn. We believe it was between Franco and the kidnappers."

  Gabriela looks accusingly at André. "You knew Bianca was going to be kidnapped and didn’t prevent it?"

  Bianca sees that André is not going to defend himself. "No, Gabriela, at that time, André hadn’t even met me or Franco. He had no idea about whom these two men were talking."