Stolen Beginnings

by Susan Lewis

  ‘Oh my God!’ he cried. Then pulling her after him, he dragged her back up the lane to the village.

  Madeleine was standing beside a taxi in the main street of Camaiore, trying to hang onto her pink plastic hat to stop it blowing away in the wind, while at the same time waving goodbye to Enrico as he drove off round the corner.

  ‘Can you take me up to Felitto, per favore?’ she called in through the window of the taxi, her voice almost drowned by the sudden crash of thunder overhead.

  ‘Sì, sì. Felitto,’ the driver nodded, and leaned over the seat to open the back door.

  ‘It’s all right, I’ll take her.’ And to Madeleine’s dismay Paul’s hand closed over hers, removing it from the door of the taxi.

  ‘Hello,’ she said nervously.

  ‘Hello,’ he smiled. ‘Fancy bumping into you like this. I’ve just come down to get a newspaper. Where have you been?’ he added, looking at the shopping bags she was holding.

  ‘Into Florence,’ she answered, truthfully, ‘doing a bit of shopping.’

  ‘Come on, let’s get out of this rain,’ he said, and taking her arm, he steered her into a café.

  She didn’t know if he’d seen Enrico, though from his manner it seemed unlikely, but nevertheless she was watching him cautiously as he ordered two coffees then asked the waiter where the ladies’ room was.

  ‘Why did you ask him that?’ Madeleine said, once the waiter had gone. ‘I don’t want to go to the loo, or have you turned kinky?’

  He laughed. ‘I just thought you might like to go and sort yourself out a bit. You look like a scarecrow.’

  ‘Oh, thanks very much,’ she said, pulling a face at him, and playing straight into his hands she got up from the table and went off to brush her hair.

  While she was gone the coffee arrived, and Paul slipped the two pills Sergio had given him into Madeleine’s.

  ‘You’re looking mightily pleased with yourself,’ she smiled as she slipped back into her seat, certain now that he hadn’t seen Enrico.

  ‘I ought to be,’ he answered. ‘I’ve as good as finished the book.’

  ‘No!’ she cried. ‘But that’s fantastic. We should be celebrating.’

  ‘We shall,’ he said, ‘but not until it’s absolutely complete. Come on now, drink your coffee and tell me how much you’ve spent in Florence this afternoon.’

  ‘A fortune,’ she giggled, picking up her cup and taking a sip. ‘I’ve bought something for you too, but it’s a secret for your birthday.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to give me a hint?’

  ‘Nope! You’ll have to wait. And I got something for Marian. It’s a lighting-up Leaning Tower of Pisa. It’s so naff she’ll probably throw it at me, but I can’t wait to see her face when I first give it to her. I’m going to pretend I like it and see what she says. You know what she’s like, she’ll do anything to avoid hurting someone’s feelings and I know already that she’ll hate it.’

  He smiled, and gazed tenderly into her eyes as she prattled on about everything she’d bought, and how fantastic it was to be here even though the weather was terrible. As he watched her, he felt his insides falling apart. His Russian doll was whole at last, and in the effort of creating her he had destroyed himself. He had closed himself inside her innermost shell, wanting to be the fire that burned in her soul, but in so doing he had stifled his own. He wanted nothing now but her. He wanted her devotion, her love, her laughter, her sorrow; he wanted her life, because he needed it to continue his own.

  But they would be together again one day, when all this was over, when Sergio brought her back to the world and he was set free. She would understand why he had done it, and she would love him again.

  He waited until she had finished her coffee, then leaning across the table towards her, he whispered, ‘You know what I would like to do now?’

  ‘What, here, in the middle of a café?’ she yawned.

  He laughed. ‘Not that. I’d like to go for a drive.’

  ‘We can. Back up to Felitto.’

  ‘No, further than that. Let’s drive far, far up into the mountains and pretend we’re the only people alive on this God-forsaken night.’

  ‘OK,’ she shrugged, ‘if that’s what you want. But don’t let’s be too long, I’m starving.’

  ‘Wait here,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and fetch the car.’

  ‘Kiss?’ she said as he passed her, but he only looked at her through narrowed, teasing eyes and told her to wait.

  ‘I think you’re nuts,’ she said half an hour later, as they swung round the mountain’s death-bends in the teeming rain. ‘But it’s quite romantic in a way, with us all cosily tucked up in our little car, safe from the storm. I just wish you’d drive a bit slower.’

  He didn’t answer, his eyes were fixed rigidly on the road ahead as he steeled himself against her, not wanting her to puncture his resolve.

  ‘We should have popped back and told Marian where we were going really,’ Madeleine went on. ‘Still, as neither of us is there she’ll guess I’m somewhere with you so she probably won’t worry.’

  When still Paul didn’t answer, she reached over and gave his leg a squeeze. ‘So you’ve finished the book.’

  When his silence persisted, she started to become nervous. Maybe he had seen Enrico – but if he had, he would have said something by now, surely? Besides, there wasn’t anything to find out. It wasn’t as if she was sleeping with Enrico. But he’s angry, she thought as she stole a quick look at him, I can tell.

  ‘Have you got any idea where we are?’ she joked, after a while.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good, because I’m totally lost. Don’t you think we should be heading back now? I think I’m about to fall asleep.’ She leaned back against the head-rest and closed her eyes. ‘God, I’m shattered,’ she mumbled. ‘All that shopping has worn me out.’

  Paul drove on, pressing the car into the deep, cavernous shadows of the winding road. Overhead the thunder drew ever closer, and jagged flashes of light cut a swathe through the black sky and down through the black, blustering mass of trees. The violence of the storm matched the turbulence of his mind as he struggled with the vileness of his rage. He was aware only of an all-consuming need to punish her, to teach her that she must never, never ridicule him, that she must only ever love him. While she wasted and withered in the gloom of Sergio’s bottega, he would write to her from prison and explain this to her; he would explain that he would come back for her – but only if she swore never to mock him again, if she swore to give herself to him, completely. He struggled then to fight back the flaming tentacles of his rage, he knew they were strangling his reason, destroying his detachment. But he had thought this through, he knew what was going to happen, he understood the logic of it – it all made perfect sense, and as long as he remained calm . . . A sudden bolt of thunder crashed through the heavens and he hit the brakes, plunging the car into a ditch.

  As he turned off the engine the windscreen-wipers stopped, and apart from the wind and rain everything was suddenly quiet. He reached up to turn on the overhead light.

  ‘Are you asleep?’ he said.

  ‘Mm,’ Madeleine answered.

  ‘Then wake up!’ And grabbing her by the hair, he twisted her round to face him.

  ‘What! What’s happening?’ she said drowsily. ‘Why are you pulling my hair?’

  His eyes glittered unnaturally and his teeth were bared in a savage snarl. ‘I loved you,’ he spat. ‘You were an ignorant, vain, greedy little whore, but I was going to give you everything.’

  ‘What? Paul, what’s happening?’ She could barely lift the lids of her eyes.

  ‘Enrico Tarallo!’ He hissed the name. ‘You are fucking with Enrico Tarallo.’

  ‘No, no. It’s not true,’ she mumbled.

  ‘You’re a liar.’ He slapped her face and her head cracked against the window, but still she couldn’t shake off the sluggishness that was weighting her brain.

  In the rearview mirror h
e saw car headlights sweep across the road, then disappear; letting her go, he reached across her and threw open the door. ‘Get out,’ he growled, and when she didn’t move he pushed her and she rolled awkwardly into the ditch.

  By the time he walked round the car, she was unconscious. Paul stared down at her, loving her and hating her, and feeling his head burst and crack with the torment of it, like the sky overhead exploding with its thunder. From here he would carry her, holding her in his arms and letting the rain beat down upon them. He would miss her, and already he could feel the ache in his body, the emptiness of his heart, the slackness of his limbs. Without her he would be nothing – but while he languished in a cell, waiting for his trial, he wanted to be nothing. He wanted to live only for her, for the glory they shared, and the glory they would have on the day he was set free – the day they were reunited.

  The bewildering remoteness from reality Marian had felt as Sergio was driving her here had vanished. Now, as she stood at the mouth of the cave, blind terror was pinching her face, racking her body, crawling over her skin and thudding great jolts of panic through her heart. Her shoulders were heaving with the effort of steadying her breath, but as she stared at the ungodly sight of Olivia Hastings quivering in a nimbus of torchlight – so perfect, so majestic, so proud yet so obscene – the petrified weight in her stomach erupted in a bitter rush of vomit.

  Sergio was standing behind her, and as she fell against the wall he nodded to someone who came forward from the shadows, took her by the shoulders and led her to the back of the cave.

  ‘I want to leave,’ she sobbed. ‘Please, let me go.’ But as she peered into the face of the man holding her, she knew the futility of her cries.

  ‘What are you going to do to me?’ she whispered, turning to Sergio, knowing already that he couldn’t let her go, not now that she had seen Olivia.

  He smiled, sorrowfully. ‘Please, Marian, do not be afraid. As I told you I do not wish to harm you. But it is necessary for you to remain here now, with me, until my work is complete – I am sure you understand.’

  ‘But Olivia,’ she mumbled, hardly aware of the saliva that was running from her mouth, ‘what did you do to her? Where is she now?’

  ‘But she is here,’ Sergio said, as if surprised by the question. ‘Do you not see her?’

  ‘Oh no!’ Marian sobbed, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to block out the stench of damp, mouldering earth which, mingled with the smell of candlewax, was turning her stomach over again. ‘But is she alive?’ she choked.

  ‘She had to die, Marian. The people in New York wanted her to die, so they send her to me for my research.’

  ‘Sergio,’ she pleaded, ‘I can’t do this. I can’t help you. Please let me go.’

  ‘But I have already explained, cara.’ He paused as a bolt of thunder boomed overhead. ‘I have chosen you. You are the one to document for history what happens here at my bottega.’

  ‘But it’s . . .’ She was about to say ‘insane’, but stopped herself, suddenly realising that this was the literal truth. ‘You can’t do this, Sergio. Someone will come to find me.’

  ‘They will never find you, Marian.’

  It sounded so like a death threat that she staggered against the man beside her, who, catching her, pushed her gently to the floor. Then she saw Rubin Meyer emerge from the shadows; but he didn’t look at her as he stooped beneath an arch and disappeared into the gloom.

  Sergio was still standing at the mouth of the cave; he looked more striking than Marian had ever seen him, but as he moved towards her, his large though slender frame casting grotesque shadows across the walls, his presence seemed almost demonic. His black eyes glittered in the flickering light, and the shadow of his long nose fell over his mouth so that when he smiled, it blackened his teeth. Marian recoiled, closing herself into a tight ball and crossing her fingers as if to ward off the evil he emanated.

  But then he stopped, and sitting on the marble slab, he leaned towards her. ‘Tonight you will witness my work,’ he told her in his mesmerising voice. ‘You will see with your own eyes the method I employ – the method of the great Michelangelo. This,’ he went on, patting the slab he sat on, ‘is the marble from which it will spring. On here she will lie, and as I begin the research and open the veins, the marble will receive her life-blood. Then we will explore her bones, her muscles, the shape of her body, and from it we shall make the sketches, the maquettes to carve the marble.’

  Marian only stared at him. She knew now, beyond any doubt, that he was insane, and she knew too that there was nothing she could do – except pray. Lowering her head, she started to mumble the Lord’s prayer. Then, to her horror, Sergio joined in, and when she looked at him his eyes were closed, and she could tell from the crease between his brows that he spoke the words in earnest. The profanity was absolute, as was her revulsion. Then her eyes shot to the mouth of the cave as the branches were swept back and a man dressed in a long black cloak, the hood almost covering his face, spoke to Sergio in Italian.

  When he had finished, Sergio turned again to look at her, and his expression was tender and concerned. ‘You must prepare yourself, Marian,’ he said quietly. ‘The woman is shortly to arrive, and it will be a great shock to you when you see her. But maybe when you see her, you will understand why it was that I chose you, for I know that you will write this from the heart.’

  Marian was shaking her head, staring at him with wide, agonised eyes; she knew who the woman was going to be. ‘No,’ she whispered, ‘no, you can’t do this, Sergio. Please, you’ve got to get help. You can’t do this, it’s butchery, it’s evil. Oh please, Sergio, don’t kill her. I’ll do anything, please . . .’

  ‘Ssh!’ he soothed. Then, as the branches at the door parted again, he turned away, and Marian’s horror was compounded by the figure standing before her, rain dripping from his hair, mud spattered over his face, and in his arms the lifeless form of Madeleine.

  ‘Paul!’ she gasped. ‘Paul! You can’t let him do this. You love her. You . . .’ But a hand closed over her mouth, cutting off her words.

  ‘What’s she doing here?’ Paul said, looking from Marian to Sergio.

  ‘She knows about Olivia,’ Sergio explained.

  Paul nodded, then walking to the marble, he laid Madeleine’s body down. When he had arranged her hair he stooped to kiss her, placing his mouth tenderly over hers. Again Marian felt her stomach churn.

  ‘You must go now,’ Sergio told him. ‘Your wishes will be carried out, you will be arrested in the morning.’

  As Paul rose to his feet the two men stood facing one another, and Marian’s heart stood still as she saw, for a fleeting moment, the resemblance between them. She saw also the strange power that seemed to emanate from them both – the air around them was suddenly thick with it – so that again she started to pray in a desperate attempt to ward off the evil. Her eyes remained closed as she willed herself to break free of the nightmare, for surely it could only be that this whole bizarre dream had stolen upon her in some dark hour of the night and was now refusing to let go. But when she opened her eyes again Madeleine was still lying on the slab, and Sergio was standing over her. Marian looked around for Paul, but he was no longer there. Then Sergio turned to look at her, and bent to touch her face as if to say he was sorry, but when she gazed up at him with imploring, beseeching eyes, he shook his head sadly and moved away.

  It seemed to Marian as if many hours passed before he came back into the cave, and dimly she wondered what was beyond the arch behind her. She could hear nothing, even though the storm had lessened. She would have tried to run for help, but the man who had come to her when she was sick was still sitting with her. She glanced at him; he was staring sightlessly into the shadows, and when she spoke, pleading with him to let her go, he merely looked at her with round, uncomprehending eyes. She attempted to stand up, to go to Madeleine, but he pulled her back, shaking his head, and as she stumbled to the floor hot, bitter tears of rage and frustration sprang
to her eyes. This was a nightmare, it had to be. Things like this didn’t happen in real life, they belonged in the realms of fantasy. She began to sob; if this was only a fantasy, why couldn’t she shake it off? Why didn’t Matthew come? If only she’d gone with the unit . . . Why did Madeleine look so pale? What were they going to do to her? Her eyes flew to Olivia’s face, and her breath heaved violently in her lungs.

  When Sergio finally came back into the cave, he was dressed in the black cloak she had seen the others wearing, and beneath it she saw garments that were shabby and stained with white dust. She tried to speak, but the words were a dried mass in her throat. Her limbs were heavy, her eyes were aching, and her mind was slowly going numb. A few minutes later she counted seven figures moving into the cave, and she followed them with her eyes as they positioned themselves round the slab. Sergio walked to a stone ledge that was strewn with the tools of a sculptor’s trade; his back was turned, so she was unable to see his face. Then there was movement round the slab, and she watched as three of the cloaked figures started to remove Madeleine’s clothes while two more came to bind her hands and feet.

  ‘I apologise,’ Sergio said, ‘but once the dissection begins, we cannot run the risk of you getting in the way.’

  Marian was too stupefied to answer, and she put up no fight as two women, whom she had first thought were men, wound wire about her wrists and ankles; not tight enough to stop the blood, yet secure enough to cut into her skin if she tried to break free.

  And then, one by one, the candles were doused, so that only the candle on the ledge beside Sergio flickered in the cold air blowing in from the hills. Marian knew she should do something, try again to persuade him to let them go, but she was paralysed, rooted in shock and fear.

  Sergio began to chant in Italian, or perhaps it was Latin, moving his hands slowly over his implements as if sanctifying them. The others remained silent, all of them now standing over Madeleine’s naked body. Then, as Sergio moved to the head of the slab, Marian saw the blade glint in his hand, and as he raised it high in the air above Madeleine’s head there was a chorus of voices: ‘Lunga vita alla donna! Lunga vita al nuovo rinascimento!’