Angels of the Flood

by Joanna Hines

  At precisely the same time, Mario was also using a public phone.

  ‘Signor Bertoni?’ he said in Italian. ‘Mario Bassano here. I’ve been talking to Francesca. Yes, she’s well. No, I promised her I wouldn’t say where she was, but… I know, I know it’s difficult for you. Listen, I’ve persuaded her to visit the Villa Beatrice at the weekend… yes… the only problem is, she’s planning to go down on the Friday night and take some of her friends… yes, she has new friends now. The thing is, she may not stay till Sunday, you know how unpredictable she is. Of course, she’s eager to see Simona… how is Simona? Good, excellent. I was just thinking, if you were to go to the villa a day early, on Saturday, maybe, instead of Sunday. You’d be sure to see her. Yes, I thought you’d see it that way. No. No, it’s no trouble at all. I’m glad to be able to help. I know how important it is for you right now. Okay. I’ll see you then.’

  Mario put down the phone. There was a queasy feeling at the pit of his stomach. Sometimes, when you did the right thing, it felt uncomfortably close to betrayal. All he wanted was what was best for Francesca, but would she see it that way? He had to be wise for both of them.

  He sighed. He’d been intending to go straight home, but instead he went to the bar and ordered a grappa. The fiery liquid burned his throat. He hoped Francesca never discovered what he’d just done.

  Still half asleep, Kate padded along the corridor to the bathroom. She had no idea what time it was—maybe around two or three in the morning. The door was open about an inch, with light shining through. Someone must have left the light on by mistake.

  ‘Hello? Is anybody in there?’

  No reply. Kate put her hand against the door, then stopped. There was a faint groaning noise, then the unmistakable sound of retching.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked the unseen sufferer.

  ‘Kate?’

  Faint, but it was Francesca’s voice. Kate pushed open the door and saw Francesca crouched by the lavatory. In the harsh light from the single overhead bulb, she looked grim, her face a sickly greenish-grey, strands of hair plastered across her forehead.

  Kate knelt down beside her and put an arm across her shoulders. ‘Is it something you ate?’

  Francesca shook her head. ‘I couldn’t sleep. I started worrying… about… tomorrow.’

  ‘What? Going to your uncle’s place?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about that,’ said Kate, relieved that Francesca’s problems were so straightforward. She knew what it was like to suffer nerves before giving a party. ‘Everyone will have a great time,’ she said reassuringly. ‘You won’t have to do anything except be there and—’

  ‘No. You don’t understand. It’s not that. It’s… the place. And my uncle. Him most of all.’

  ‘Why? He can’t be that bad. And the villa sounds fabulous.’

  Francesca turned away. ‘You don’t understand,’ she said again.

  This was obviously true. Kate decided to concentrate on practicalities. ‘Are you finished being sick? I’ll get you a towel. You’ll feel better when you’re cleaned up.’ Kate went back to the room they shared with Anna and returned a couple of minutes later with towel, flannel and cologne. Francesca was passive while Kate gently cleaned her face and hands, then sprinkled cologne on the towel and patted her dry.

  ‘Mm, that feels good. Thank you, Kate.’

  Kate yawned. ‘Let’s go back to bed. You’ll feel okay in the morning.’

  ‘No. Wait, I still feel… so ill, I…’ Francesca gripped Kate’s hand as she turned towards the lavatory bowl. A dry retching was all she achieved: her stomach was empty.

  ‘What’s the problem, Francesca? How can your uncle be so terrible? Or the house? I don’t get it.’

  Francesca grabbed the towel and wiped her mouth, then leaned her head back against the bathroom wall. Her eyes were closed. She opened them slowly. ‘Believe me, Kate. He’s bad.’

  ‘Did he mistreat you?’

  ‘Oh, no. I was always his favourite. He always made a fuss of me, gave me anything I wanted. My mother used to tell me what to ask for. But I never liked being with him. Even when I was a little kid I knew there was something creepy about him.’

  Kate could guess what was coming. When the silence had gone on too long she prompted, ‘What was it?’

  ‘It was…’ Francesca hesitated. Then she said, ‘Oh, it was nothing. I just didn’t get along with him, that’s all. I guess we were incompatible or something.’

  Clearly there was a lot Francesca wasn’t saying. Kate debated whether to prompt her further, but she was feeling cold and stiff and longing to return to her warm bed. There’d be plenty of time for confidences another day. She said, ‘Anyway, its not as if you’ll have to see him much. And there’ll be a whole crowd of us there with you.’

  ‘Yes, you will be there. I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t for you, Kate. I’m okay when I’m with you.’

  Kate smiled. She was flattered. ‘That’s right. We’ll have a great time, you’ll see.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I’m sure of it.’

  ‘You saved my life that night on the bridge, you know that.’

  ‘Well, maybe. Let’s go back to bed, shall we? I’m pooped.’

  ‘Okay.’ Francesca allowed herself to be helped to her feet. She leaned against Kate as they shuffled out of the bathroom and started down the corridor. ‘I trust you, Kate,’ she said, sniffling slightly. ‘No one has ever—’

  But suddenly Kate didn’t want to hear the end of Francesca’s sentence. It was flattering, yes, but their intimacy was becoming burdensome, like a responsibility that was too heavy to bear. She wasn’t ready for the weight Francesca was shifting onto her shoulders. ‘Oh, nonsense. Anyone would have done the same,’ she said briskly. ‘It wasn’t that special, you know.’

  Francesca was not to be deterred. ‘It was to me,’ she said firmly. ‘It changed my whole life.’

  Kate didn’t know what to say. Why did Francesca always have to spoil things by being melodramatic, she thought as she got into bed and wriggled down under the bedclothes. All they were doing was going to her uncle’s house for a party. It wasn’t such a big deal.

  Chapter 20

  A Bird in the Hand

  CROUCHED IN THE DITCH, out of sight of oncoming cars, David observed the two girls’ technique. Kate bent over to hook up the cuff of her jeans in a parody of the provocative hitch-hiker, then turned into the wind, so her dark hair blew off her face. Francesca stuck out her thumb and wiggled her hips at every passing car. Even though they were now on a quiet road David estimated it wouldn’t be long before they got a lift since either of them was guaranteed to stop any male motorist at a hundred yards.

  David was hopeful that this weekend would see some progress with either Kate or Francesca. This villa they were going to sounded like the ideal place for things to get serious. He must be in love with both of them, because he didn’t care which one he ended up with, so long as he made it with one of them. A bird in the hand… as his granny used to say. He had an idea Francesca might spell trouble if they were to embark on a serious relationship, but what the hell, he was going back to England in a week or two, he’d probably never even see her again, and she was the most fascinating woman he’d met so far. And the way she’d been acting since they left Florence after lunch, well, it certainly didn’t fit with Ross’s verdict that she was frigid. Kate might be a better long-term prospect, since they had a lot in common and he could see her again when they got back to England, but right now, long-term prospects were not what was bothering him. Sexual frustration was. He wanted to get laid this weekend. He wanted it badly.

  A car not much bigger than a garden wheelbarrow was trundling down the road towards them. Kate flaunted her ankle and Francesca whirled an imaginary hula hoop round her waist and the little car puttered to a halt. David remained crouched in the ditch while Francesca leaned over and talked to the driver, then, as she pulled ope
n the door, he stood up and walked towards the car. The driver’s face, which was pink with lust at the prospect of two such good-looking women sharing his car with him, fell at the sight of David, five foot eleven and built like a centre forward, but he accepted him with good grace, only insisting that Kate sit beside him in the front.

  David obligingly clambered into the back beside Francesca. The car had obviously been designed for pygmies and the rear seat was about the size of the average bathroom shelf. It meant he had to sit practically on top of Francesca, but she was giving the impression she liked being this close. Unfortunately he was too contorted to take advantage of the situation. His knees were grazing his chin. Still, it could have been worse. Their last lift had been in a pickup truck: while Kate and Francesca sat in the front with the driver, he’d been put in the back with two dogs and a can of kerosene, and a pile of logs that rolled onto his legs at every sharp corner.

  ‘What an amazing car,’ said Kate. ‘Makes a Morris Minor seem like a Rolls Royce.’

  ‘It’s a Fiat 500,’ said David. ‘A Topolino.’

  The driver grinned and nodded.

  ‘It means “little mouse”,’ said Francesca.

  Kate was delighted with the idea. ‘A little mouse of a car,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that brilliant? Do you think it gets put away in a matchbox at night? And if cars are phallic symbols, what does this one say about our driver?’

  Francesca giggled. ‘Mario has one.’

  ‘Who’s Mario?’ asked David.

  ‘I like little mouse cars,’ said Kate.

  ‘Try sitting in the back, then,’ said David. Already he was so stiff he thought they might have to take the car apart around him, just to let him out.

  ‘Now what?’

  ‘We’ll never get a lift here.’

  At Francesca’s instructions, the driver of the Topolino had deposited them on an empty stretch of road in the most sparsely inhabited countryside they’d yet seen. They had just driven over a small stone bridge which looked as though no one had used it for about two hundred years. Behind them a river flowed peaceably. Wooded hillsides rose steeply on either side. Not a house to be seen anywhere and no sound of cars or people. Somewhere far off, a donkey brayed.

  Kate was bowled over by the scene. ‘I didn’t know they made bits of Italy like this,’ she said.

  ‘We’re here,’ said Francesca, hoisting up her rucksack.

  ‘Here? Where?’

  ‘You’ll see. Come on.’

  Francesca started walking briskly down the road. Kate looked across at David and raised her eyebrows. He grinned back at her: like him, she must be feeling as if she’d been snatched up from their familiar world and plonked down in the middle of nowhere. With any luck it might bring them closer together. He looped his arm over her shoulders and together they followed Francesca along the road beside the river. After about a hundred yards, she turned off to the right, where a cement track led up the hillside at right angles to the road. She strode ahead for about a quarter of a mile, then waited for them to catch up where the track forked.

  ‘We’ll take this route,’ she said, indicating the left-hand path. ‘It’s slightly longer but you get the best view of the villa.’

  Kate looked wistfully at the right-hand route. ‘Maybe we can do the view thing later?’

  Francesca walked resolutely on. They followed. After about five minutes Kate said, ‘Why didn’t you get our mouse driver to bring us up here? He offered to take us to the door.’

  ‘It’s better to walk,’ said Francesca. And my uncle doesn’t like strange cars on his land.’

  Kate stopped in the middle of the road. ‘You mean all this is his?’

  Francesca nodded. ‘It’s all part of the estate.’

  ‘The whole mountain?’

  ‘Sure. It’s not a proper mountain, though. More a big hill. Well, several hills, actually.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Kate and David exchanged glances once more, then walked on in silence. Their footsteps crunched on the dry surface of the road. The air was country-sweet after the pollution of Florence. David tensed with anticipation. He’d been expecting a party in an empty house, that was all, but this place was special: he was entering a new and unknown world. A few birds were singing on the slopes of the hill. Now and then a turn in the road revealed a flash of the river ever further below them, then it was just trees again. Trees and stillness.

  ‘It’s like a whole different world,’ Kate said to David, echoing his thoughts.

  Francesca had stopped at the sharpest point of a hairpin bend. ‘Now look,’ she told them.

  David and Kate separated and went to stand on either side of her. Tilting back their heads, they saw a perfect white villa perched on top of a waterfall of rock. Above it were more trees, fingers of dark cypress and the shimmering grey-green leaves of holm oaks, and above those, a bare tooth of rock against the sky marked the summit.

  ‘Wow, it’s beautiful,’ said Kate.

  ‘Too much,’ said David. ‘Eighteenth century?’

  Francesca didn’t answer. She was looking up at the villa with a strange expression, almost as though she was reluctant to go on. She moved towards David and slipped her arm through his. He noticed that her hand was shaking. ‘I never expected to come back,’ she said in a quiet voice.

  Kate was staring up at the pale villa and hadn’t registered Francesca’s change. ‘Christ, if I had a house like this in my family I’d never leave!’

  The pressure of Francesca’s hand on David’s arm increased. It was strange, but she seemed scared. He put his arm round her waist and said as reassuringly as he could, ‘This is a great place for a party.’

  She looked at him. She really did have the most incredible eyes. And mouth, too, why hadn’t he noticed it before? ‘Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,’ she said. ‘Maybe we should go back to Florence.’

  ‘Francesca!’ Kate exclaimed. ‘You can’t rat out on us now. Everyone’s coming.’

  ‘They might change their minds.’

  ‘Are you kidding? They’ve been looking forward to it all week!’

  ‘Oh well… So long as the others make it.’ Francesca still sounded doubtful. ‘And it’s only for one night, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She turned to Kate and linked arms with her on her left. ‘That’s better,’ she said, and burst into exaggerated laughter. It sounded almost like the prelude to hysteria. ‘What do I have to worry about anyway? You two are my bodyguards, aren’t you? You can take care of me.’

  ‘Why do you need taking care of?’ asked Kate.

  But David liked the idea. Two beautiful women and a weekend of freedom ahead. With luck, he might end up being able to make a choice. Suddenly he felt enormously strong, as if he could protect Francesca from whatever fears this house inspired. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and look after her for ever. ‘Don’t worry, Francesca, Kate and I will keep you safe.’

  ‘They thought we were lesbians!’ Anna shook her long hair off her face. ‘Three guys in an Alfa Romeo picked us up and wanted to take us for a drink, but Dido started stroking my knee and told them we were “special friends”—amiche speciali—so they left us alone.’

  Dido grinned with satisfaction. Tall and short-haired, her neat face free of make-up, it was easy to see how the men had been fooled.

  ‘So what’s the problem now?’

  Francesca and the others had arrived to find the two girls sitting beside each other with their packs on the steps of the villa, the front door locked shut.

  ‘They won’t let us in,’ said Dido. ‘Maybe they already heard about us being special friends.’

  ‘Huh,’ said Anna petulantly. ‘Some stupid cow who acts as if she owns the place refuses to unlock the door. We told her you were coming but she wouldn’t listen. What’s going on?’

  Francesca showed no surprise. Detaching herself from David and Kate, she walked briskly up to the front door and knocked loudly, then shouted in fluent Itali
an. The door opened so quickly Kate guessed the woman must have been standing right behind it. Still issuing orders, Francesca turned to beckon the others to follow, then swept in. Kate watched fascinated. On the phone to her uncle, Francesca had adopted a little girl voice, but now, faced with an obstreperous servant, she was ordering her about to the manner born.

  She followed Francesca up the steps and entered the cool darkness of the hall. A heated argument was taking place between Francesca and a short stout woman in a shapeless black dress. She had only five visible teeth, but those five were works of art, huge and separate and flashing quantities of gold. The old woman’s protests continued while the unwelcome guests trooped past her into the hall, but Francesca was adamant and was clearly getting the upper hand. Kate guessed the toothy housekeeper would fight a continuous verbal rearguard action, but would do as she was told.

  Anna’s disappointment had turned to raptures the moment she saw the grandeur of the interior. ‘Wow, just wait till the others see this place! It’s incredible. Look at those pictures, and all the statues! I can’t believe it. This is the kind of villa Byron must have stayed in, or George Sand. Can’t you just imagine them? It’s the most fantastic place for a party I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Do you want to see round?’ asked Francesca, as they dumped their packs in the hall. She still seemed to be finding it hard to realize that her uncle’s house was of interest to anyone.

  They responded eagerly and she gave them a tour of the main rooms on the ground floor. ‘Wow!’ ‘Too much!’ ‘This place is fantastic!’ Her tour was punctuated with shouts of amazement. But in spite of their enthusiasm, there was something about the house that made it less than ideal as a party venue. It was too big, too imposing, too impersonal. All the rooms had titles that derived from their style rather than their function: the fresco room, the gilt room, the panelled room. The bedrooms were off-limits; on this point the housekeeper wouldn’t budge. If Francesca wanted her to open up the first floor, then she’d have to get authority from her uncle. Francesca looked surly, and told them they’d have to use the downstairs rooms.