by Joanna Hines
As the others arrived in dribs and drabs through the late afternoon, the villa seemed to swallow the numbers up. Jenny had hitched with Larry, who’d tried to engage an elderly banker who gave them a lift in a discussion about Pirandello and Marcuse. Aiden was hitching alone and still hadn’t turned up. Maybe when he arrived with his guitar the atmosphere would improve. Kate was feeling almost homesick for their crowded Florentine existence. This was a house that needed a hundred guests to make it festive, not the dozen or so who managed to hitch there from Florence. It was chilly, with that chill deep in the walls of a house that hasn’t been lived in for some time; the lighting was wrong and they hadn’t brought enough music. They set up the record player in a room where the walls were covered with frescoes of robust goddesses tossing garlands and silk scarves at each other. Francesca prised some bottles of wine from the clutches of the housekeeper, the inappropriately named Angelica, but there wasn’t much food around and no one had thought to bring any.
‘I can walk to the nearest village and get some bread and stuff,’ said David. But Francesca said the nearest village was five miles away and the shops would all be shut by now.
‘Why don’t you go and get something from your uncle?’ asked Anna. She’d already told Kate that she’d fallen in love with the place and wanted to see everything. ‘I’ll come with you if you like.’
‘No,’ said Francesca flatly.
‘Aren’t you going to see him at all?’ asked Kate. She remembered how anxious Mario had been that she pay a last visit to her dying uncle. She felt uneasy. Being the guest of an unknown host made her feel like a trespasser.
‘I might go up there tomorrow.’ Francesca was sounding like a surly little girl again. ‘It depends how I feel.’
‘How far is it to his place?’ asked Kate.
‘La Rocca? About ten minutes’ walk, further up the mountain.’
Anna was in raptures. ‘Imagine having a house like this and not even living in it.’
‘He used to.’ Francesca spoke dismissively, as if everybody’s uncle had two houses to choose from. ‘But it got too cold for him in the winter so he did up La Rocca as a place to hibernate. Then one spring he didn’t bother to move back. And now he’s dying. He won’t come here again.’ She looked thoughtful, before adding, ‘We’re safe now.’
What an odd way to talk about your uncle, thought Kate. She tried to catch David’s eye, but he was asking Francesca if she wanted to dance. He put his arm round her shoulder. Bob Dylan was croaking away on the turntable, not the best of music to dance to, but Francesca moved into his arms and he curled his body round her protectively. Kate felt obscurely annoyed.
An antique clanging through the whole house alerted them to a new arrival. ‘Oh good,’ said Francesca, breaking off from her dance. ‘That must be Aiden or Hugo.’
They were the only two who hadn’t arrived yet. Aiden looked so strange he was probably having a hard time getting lifts, and Hugo had been unable to get the day off from his work at the consulate so had to leave later than the others.
It wasn’t either Aiden or Hugo.
Kate felt a rush of pleasure when Mario stepped into the room. He was wearing jeans and a dark sweater: for the first time she realized he was really quite handsome.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Francesca.
‘You invited me,’ he said with a smile. ‘Have you forgotten?’
‘Who is this?’ David asked Kate.
‘Oh, just a friend of Francesca’s.’
‘Do you know him?’
Kate hesitated. ‘Not really,’ she said. And thought to herself, but I wouldn’t mind getting to know him better.
‘You can tell he’s never shovelled muck out of cellars or lobbed talcum powder at ancient walls,’ said David grouchily.
Kate was surprised. David normally liked people unless there was a good reason not to. ‘Are you jealous, by any chance?’ she asked.
‘What the hell would I be jealous of?’ he asked.
Why has he come, wondered Kate. Was it to keep an eye on Francesca? Or was it Kate herself he really wanted to see?
Chapter 21
Stranded
KATE WAS ENJOYING HERSELF. The party was turning out to be a success after all, and mainly thanks to Mario. Not only had he brought several large bottles of wine, he’d also brought bread and cheese, an obscene-looking salami which gave rise to much joking, and, most important of all, about two dozen records, mostly Beatles and the Everly Brothers, but by this stage in the evening no one was complaining. He also acted like a human tranquillizer on Angelica who grinned so broadly that two more gold teeth came into view on each side of her mouth and she entrusted him with olives and cheeses that had previously been hidden away.
Angelica wasn’t the only woman to be impressed by Mario.
Dido said appreciatively, ‘There’s nothing more attractive than a beautiful man who’s shy. Most of them are so full of themselves.’
Kate had never thought of Mario as beautiful before. She examined him with new interest. Larry was treating him to a squeaky lecture on the Laingian theory of schizophrenia. Mario listened politely, but it was obvious that he knew far more about the topic than Larry ever would and he soon excused himself and went to help Anna set out the food.
‘Why’s Francesca kept him hidden away for so long?’ Jenny wanted to know. ‘Do they have a thing going?’
‘They used to, but now they’re just friends,’ said Kate.
‘More fool her,’ said Dido. ‘Still, it’s nice to know he’s free.’ And she moved across the room to help him change the record on the little portable gramophone. At once, to Kate’s annoyance, Mario joined her in an animated debate about the comparative merits of the Rolling Stones and the Beatles. Kate wandered over.
‘I didn’t know you liked pop music,’ she said to him.
He smiled at her. ‘I like all music that is good,’ he said.
‘In that case,’ Dido asserted firmly, ‘you must prefer the Rolling Stones.’
Mario disagreed, but with such charm that Dido, always so dogmatic in her views, seemed on the verge of capitulating. Kate felt obscurely annoyed that he was as warm towards Dido, whom he had only met half an hour ago, as he was to her.
Aiden arrived just as it was getting dark. Larry and Jenny had been dancing together. Jenny was in her element on the dance floor, with an individual style of movement that was sinuous and deeply erotic. Larry was obviously excited by her dancing, but arousal only made him talk all the more and his dance movements were little more than jerky gestures to emphasize his words. When the song ended, Jenny went to say hello to Aiden and within a couple of minutes she was dancing with him while Larry watched with irritation. Aiden hardly moved at all when he was dancing, just enough to frame Jenny’s moves.
Mario was watching the dancers, a glass of wine in his hand. Kate wanted him to dance with her, but felt unexpectedly shy. Why didn’t he ask her?
She felt restless. The air was full of sexual tension.
‘Do you want to dance?’ Kate turned to David, who was nursing his glass of wine.
‘Sure.’
They went and joined Aiden and Jenny on the dance floor. As soon as the music started Kate realized it had been a mistake. She was a good dancer, by normal standards, but next to Jenny, even a good dancer looked awkward. Mario, like everyone else, had his eyes on Jenny’s gyrating hips. When he happened to catch Kate’s eye and smiled encouragingly, that somehow only made it all worse.
Their dancing was interrupted by a loud clanging that rang through the house, which turned out to be the telephone. The housekeeper, whom Dido had already nicknamed the Tooth Fairy, summoned Francesca to the hall. Kate, seeing Mario go after her, decided to follow as well. David was not far behind.
‘It’s Hugo,’ said Francesca, putting her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘He’s got as far as Dorabo but he had a bad experience with his last lift—apparently the guy tried to make him have sex or something
and he wants to know if we can get him a taxi. I’ll send Dino.’
‘No, I forbid,’ said Mario. ‘Dino’s drive is more bad than dog.’
‘Who’s Dino?’ asked Kate.
‘He’s got a licence,’ said Francesca.
‘Licence to kill someone,’ said Mario. ‘I will pick up your friend.’
‘Have it your way,’ said Francesca. She turned her attention back to the phone. ‘Where exactly are you? Okay, I know the cafe you mean. Mario will be with you in about twenty minutes.’
Suddenly Kate saw her chance to get Mario on his own. She wasn’t quite sure why that was so important, only that it was. ‘I’ll come and keep you company,’ she said.
‘I’ll come too,’ said David quickly, prowling round the hall like an angry bear.
‘You don’t have to,’ Kate told him.
Francesca put down the phone. ‘We’ll all go,’ she said.
‘Is small car,’ said Mario superfluously once they were outside and he was towering above his little Topolino. It was identical to the one they’d travelled in that afternoon.
To Kate’s relief, David backed away. ‘No thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ve had enough Chinese torture for one day. Stay here, Kate. You don’t know what it’s like in the back of one of those things.’
He reached out to take her arm but she took avoiding action and climbed into the back.
‘I’ll drive,’ said Francesca, holding out her hand for the keys.
‘You have drink already,’ said Mario.
‘Not as much as you have drink,’ said Francesca, grinning. ‘And anyway, you’re tired from driving and being up all last night.’
‘Why were you up all last night?’ asked Kate.
‘He was on duty at the hospital,’ said Francesca as Mario handed over the keys. Kate was annoyed that Francesca seemed to know so much more about Mario’s life than she did. And then, as she climbed into the driver’s seat, Francesca said, ‘Great, I love these little cars. Just like dodgems.’
She switched on the ignition, Mario got into the passenger seat and they set off at a brisk pace down the long drive. Leaning forward she peered into the darkness and complained, ‘I don’t think much of the lights on this thing.’
‘Is night-time,’ said Mario wearily. ‘You need big lights also.’ He showed her how to flick onto high beam.
‘That’s better,’ said Francesca, changing up into third as the little car whizzed round a sharp corner.
‘Why are you going this way?’ asked Mario. Kate found she could understand the language when he spoke it.
‘It’s quicker,’ said Francesca, in English.
‘But other way is better for night-time. Go more slow, Francesca,’ said Mario. ‘Is dangerous road.’
But Francesca ignored him. ‘It only seems fast because this is such a little car.’ Kate was giggling. This was just a toy car, after all, and accidents never happen to toy cars, everyone knew that. As they swerved round another hairpin turn, Mario spoke sharply to Francesca. ‘What did he say?’ asked Kate.
‘He says it’s a steep drop and we might be killed if I don’t slow down.’
Kate grinned. Mario was fussing. They were on the Villa Beatrice estate, a private road in a private world, and nothing could possibly go wrong. Besides, one of the advantages of a Topolino was that you were never more than a couple of inches from all the other occupants of the car. From her perch in the middle of the back seat, her nose was almost touching the back of Mario’s head. She resisted the urge to plunge her hand into his thick dark hair which, now she came to think of it, had grown quite a bit since she’d first met him. She made do with breathing in the smell of him, a potent mix of his own masculine aroma, a hint of aftershave and something else as well, something sharp and antiseptic—maybe the soap they used at the hospital.
The Topolino dropped into a pothole and bounced out again. Kate was thrown forward so that her mouth banged against the back of Marios head. He leaned away from her and turned. ‘You okay, Kate?’ And then to Francesca, ‘This is main road coming, now you slow down.’
‘There’s never anyone on this road at night,’ said Francesca as the Topolino shot off the Villa Beatrice road like an electric hare. They passed the spot where they’d been dropped that afternoon and crossed the narrow bridge. Kate caught a glimpse of the darkly moving river and then they were climbing on the other side. Now there was no need for Mario’s injunctions to go more slowly: the gradient of the hill was too much for the 500cc engine and Francesca was obliged to change down into second, then first. Kate bobbed up and down on the back seat, urging the car to go faster.
When they were close to the top of the hill the car suddenly filled with light.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Francesca.
‘It’s an alien space ship,’ said Kate, glancing behind her into two brilliant lights. ‘He’s landed just behind us.’
‘Why’s he so close?’ Francesca put her hand over the mirror. ‘His lights are dazzling me.’
Mario turned so his face was almost touching Kate’s. She beamed at him. He turned back to Francesca. ‘Is just a big car.’
‘Make him pull back. He’s making me nervous.’
‘Is foolish driver. I expect—hm—he leave the road soon.’
But as they reached the top of the hill the driver stayed only inches from their rear bumper. ‘Why doesn’t the bastard dip his lights? I can’t see a thing.’
‘Pull over,’ said Mario. ‘He has powerful car and he want to go past you.’
‘Why should I have to change? He’s no right to drive that way.’ Francesca was getting increasingly agitated.
Kate felt a twinge of anxiety. It was no fun riding in a toy car if real cars didn’t know the rules of the game. ‘Careful, Francesca. After all, I’m the one in the back. He’ll hit me first if he rams us.’
‘What does he look like, Kate? Wave at him, make him pull back. Those lights are giving me a headache.’
Kate twisted round but all she could see was a blaze of lights, very close.
‘Slow down, Francesca.’ Mario gave the command in a voice Kate had never heard before and Francesca did as she was told.
‘Go on, then,’ she muttered into the rear-view mirror. ‘Overtake if that’s what you’re so keen on.’ But the lights remained only inches away from the back window. ‘Damn him,’ said Francesca. ‘What’s he playing at?’ She was screwing up her eyes against the dazzle.
They had reached the top of the long hill. Lights and valleys and more hills lay ahead of them.
‘Is some crazy peasant,’ said Mario. ‘Stop the car and I drive now.’
‘No,’ said Francesca, suddenly decisive as she pressed her foot down on the accelerator. ‘It’s time that jerk learned a lesson.’
‘What you doing?’
Francesca didn’t bother to answer. Kate imagined she could almost hear the Topolino heave a sigh of relief as it crested the top of the hill and set off gaily down the winding road the other side. Francesca changed quickly through the gears to top. Mario shouted at her in Italian. Francesca ignored him. She kept glancing in the rear-view mirror. Kate wondered if she was trying to throw their pursuer off: if so, it was a futile effort. The Topolino was zooming along at full tilt while the car behind was just cruising. Kate didn’t find it funny any more.
She said, ‘Francesca, slow down for Christ’s sake!’
‘You want me to slow down?’
‘Yes!’
‘Okay, then,’ said Francesca, her voice rising with excitement. ‘Stand by everyone for an emergency stop.’
Kate and Mario shouted together, ‘Francesca, NO!’
‘Now!’ she yelled, slamming on the brakes. Kate was thrown violently forward. Mario was bathed in light from the following car as his body slewed against the dashboard and he thrust his hands forward just in time to stop his face smashing into the windscreen. The car’s interior was filled with the scream of brakes and a klaxon blaring and for a moment K
ate thought their pursuer was going to plough into the back of them smash her to pieces. Terror flooded through her body. Then the headlights fanned across the car and away to the left of them and, horn still blaring, the huge car swerved past them away down the hill and out of sight round the next sharp bend.
Mario was talking to Francesca in Italian, very rapid and angry Italian. Kate was shaking and drenched in sweat. She didn’t have to be a linguist to get the gist of what he was saying.
Francesca sat with her hands on the steering wheel. She was panting. ‘I knew what I was doing. We were perfectly safe.’
Mario, obviously, did not agree. ‘Now I drive,’ he told her. It was a statement, not a request. Francesca got out of the car and lit a cigarette and Mario did too and then they swapped places.
‘I taught him a lesson, didn’t I?’ said Francesca as they drove away.
‘Yes,’ said Mario angrily. ‘Very stupid lesson and Kate she almost get killed. You act like crazy child, Francesca. This car it is not for toy.’
They drove the rest of the way smoking in silence while Kate’s heart rate gradually returned to normal.
Dorabo was not a very big town, hardly more than a village with a couple of bars and a church. Kate crouched down to peer through the side windows of the car, trying to recognize the place they must have driven through that afternoon, but it looked closed up and mysterious, a nondescript Italian one-horse town that she would probably never see again. The shock of the near-collision had left her with a heightened sense of awareness. This town, this moment, suddenly seemed to be of vital importance in her life and she had to imprint every smallest detail on her memory.
Mario parked outside the bar. The Topolino was so close to the ground that Kate, tilting her head sideways for a better view, could still see only halfway up the entrance to the bar: several trousered legs and chairs and the bottom section of a fridge full of soft drinks.
Francesca twisted round and smiled at her. ‘You okay, Kate? I’ll get Hugo. I won’t be long.’
She climbed out of the car. Mario shook out another cigarette from the packet. Kate had never seen him smoke like this before. She said, ‘What was that guy playing at?’
