Angels of the Flood (18 page)

‘Yes. A chance to refresh our battered lungs with a cigarette.’

Mario offered her one. ‘Tell me, Kate,’ he said. ‘How long you are in Italia?’

She hesitated. He knew precisely how long it was since she came to Florence. ‘Nearly eight weeks,’ she said, entering the game. ‘I arrived just after Christmas.’

‘And ’ow you like our city of Firenze?’

‘Oh, I love it. Even with all the mud and problems, I think it’s the most beautiful city in the world.’

He smiled. ‘Firenze is fortunate to have the
angeli dell’alluvione
to work for her.’ Kate felt the compliment was more for her acting skills than her work as a mud angel. She was enjoying herself. There was something unexpectedly sexy in this game of let’s-pretend-we’ve-never-met-before.

‘And how about you, Mario? Do you live here in Florence?’

‘No. My ’ome it is in Lucca. I work at the
ospedale.’

‘Oh really?’ Kate feigned surprise. ‘You are a doctor, then?’

‘Yes, I qualify as
dottore
since one year.’

‘Are you an ordinary doctor or are you some kind of specialist?’

It was a trick question. ‘I am working with the neurology specialism. In two years I will be—hm—the psychiatrist.’ As well Kate knew. Only three days ago, when they’d last met, she’d made him say the word ‘psychiatrist’ several times, just to hear the way his pronunciation teased the word out into its separate consonants.

Francesca was watching them closely. She said, ‘Mario will make a great psychiatrist. He’s got a real weakness for crazies.’

‘Is my job.’

‘It must be why he’s so devoted to my family.’ She turned to Kate. ‘Mario has been trying to persuade me to visit my relatives.’

‘Ugh.’ Kate pulled a face. ‘Don’t do it.’

‘You do not understand, Kate,’ said Mario earnestly. ‘Is most important that Francesca she make visit to her uncle ’ouse next weekend. Her parents are go. He is very ill man. The
ospedale
can do nothing for him more. The cancer it has spread to his bones. Francesca must make the visit before he die.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Francesca.’

‘Why? I want him to die,’ said Francesca. ‘Slowly and painfully. He deserves to suffer.’

Even Kate was shocked. Mario said, ‘Francesca, you must not talk that way about your uncle.’

‘But it’s the truth, Mario. I’ve had enough of all the hypocrisy, all the lies and pretence. I can’t do it any more. I won’t do it. I hate Zio Toni and I’m not ashamed to admit it. He’s a wicked old man and—’

‘Enough. If you will not make the visit for your uncle, then make it for your parents. They go at the weekend, too. Is big occasion for them. Very important.’

‘I’m not going, I tell you,’ said Francesca. She looked around restlessly. ‘Isn’t there any service in this place? I’m going to the bathroom. If a waiter ever does appear, you can order me an espresso.’ She stood up swiftly and disappeared inside.

Kate let out a sigh of relief. ‘
Ciao,
Mario.’ She leaned towards him. ‘How am I doing?’

‘You’re doing good,’ he said. He was regarding her thoughtfully.

‘This is fun, isn’t it?’

He said, ‘Kate, I think maybe you can ’elp me.’

‘How?’ Kate liked the way Mario’s eyes were studying her face and she had to remind herself that Francesca was her friend. She knew almost nothing about Mario, except that he had the kind of attractiveness that grew on you.

He said, ‘It is most important that Francesca she make visit with her family this weekend.
Molto importante—
for her, most of all.’

‘But if she doesn’t want to go?’

‘In her heart she want to. And is one day only. Maybe two day. Make big difference for the rest of her life.’

‘Why’s it so important?’

‘She will tell you, if she want.’

‘So what do you want me to do?’

‘Make her be sense. Persuade her to go to the Villa Beatrice at the weekend.’

‘The Villa Beatrice?’ A memory was stirring in Kate’s brain. When Francesca first joined the team, Professor Fuller had mentioned someone with the same surname as her who lived at the Villa Beatrice, but Francesca had denied the connection.

‘Is where her uncle live,’ said Mario.

‘And his name is…?’

‘Signor Bertoni.’

‘Does he have a private art collection?’

‘Certo.
Is famous art collection.’

‘Why won’t Francesca visit him?’

‘They have big fight, before she go to America—’

‘America?’

But before Mario had a chance to answer, Francesca was coming back, an apologetic waiter in tow. When he had taken their orders, Kate asked casually, ‘What’s the Villa Beatrice like, Francesca?’

‘Nothing special,’ said Francesca swiftly.

But Mario answered at the same time, ‘Is like no other place. The situation is most beautiful. Kate, you should make visit at same time as Francesca.’

‘Kate wouldn’t be interested,’ said Francesca scornfully.

‘But it sounds like magic.’

‘Black magic,’ Francesca corrected her.

‘Besides, I’ve never really seen the Italian countryside, apart from that trip to Viareggio.’

‘Near the Villa Beatrice is very different,’ said Mario. ‘Many mountains and woods and rivers. You will like it.’

‘She’s not going.’

‘And La Rocca,’ said Mario, ‘where the uncle live, is very old tower ’ouse.’

‘So who lives at the Villa Beatrice?’ asked Kate. She liked the way the Italian pronunciation sounded on her tongue.

‘It’s empty,’ said Francesca. ‘My family get to use it for visits.’

‘An empty house…’ Kate was thoughtful.

Mario said, ‘Simona will be there too.’

‘Simona?’ Francesca’s white-fringed eyes were suddenly huge.

Mario nodded. ‘She come back from England this week. She will be happy for see you.’

‘Who’s Simona?’ asked Kate.

‘My sister. Maybe she can visit me here?’ She was appealing to Mario.

He shook his head. Francesca slumped.

Kate said, ‘Do you think your uncle would let us use his house for a party? I mean, this villa place sounds ideal for a visit. Maybe we should all go. Make it a day trip like the visit to Viareggio. Everyone’s getting restless here. Jenny and Dido will be leaving in ten days—we ought to have one real party before it all stops.’

Mario frowned. Kate had overstepped her usefulness. ‘Party is not good idea,’ he said firmly.

Francesca had cheered up. She grinned. ‘Sounds okay to me. Do you think anyone would come?’

‘Are you kidding? They’d all jump at the chance.’

‘No,’ said Mario.

‘Kate, that’s a brilliant idea. We’ll all go, liven the place up a bit, have a happening.’ Francesca’s eyes were bright with the prospect of scuppering Mario’s plans.

‘But your parents,’ he said.

‘We’ll go on Friday. They only ever visit for the day on Sundays. We can have a great time for a couple of nights and clear out before they ever get there. Do you really think it will work, Kate?’

‘Sure it will.’

‘But your uncle—’ protested Mario.

‘Oh, I’ll go and see him too, don’t worry about that. I’ll do the dutiful family thing and have fun at the same time. This way everyone gets what they want. Kate, you’re a genius.’

Francesca sat back in her chair and sipped her coffee. Under its coating of white powder, her face was shining with anticipation.

Mario, on the road out of Florence, did not share Francesca’s belief that Kate was a genius. Far from it. He was angry that the two girls had conspired to make the situation even more complicated than it was already. He worried all through the drive back to Lucca. The consequences if she turned up at the Villa Beatrice with her disreputable friends in tow might well be worse than if she didn’t show up at all. He gripped the steering wheel and cursed.

How could Francesca be so wrong-headed? It was because of her parents’ crazy world of show and no substance that she was so naive about money. Her whole future depended on whether her uncle left his estate to her and her sister or to a cousin. All she had to do was go along with the family plans for a few more weeks, otherwise… He loved Francesca and wanted the best for her. Why did she have to make it so difficult?

On the journey back to Lucca his little Fiat was caught behind a huge oil tanker which belched black exhaust at him. He rolled up his window in a vain attempt to keep the toxic fumes out of the car. The trouble with these little Topolinos was that they were not much bigger than the wheel of a large lorry, so his head was at the worst height. Already his lungs were raw from the pollution of the Florentine air. He glanced down and noticed the white smudge on his jacket where the talc had fallen from Kate’s hand. Again, that jolt of sexual energy. Well, so what? He wasn’t going to do anything about it, and if she was attracted to him, he might be able to use that…

Mario was well aware that most of his contemporaries, unless they were actually training for the priesthood, regarded the annual influx of nubile young foreign girls as a gift straight from heaven. Italian girls were still strictly watched by their families, but these Swedes and Americans and English girls seemed to have no brothers or fathers to watch out for them. They wore shorts and halter tops in the street and tried to gain entry to churches dressed for the beach. They were fair game. Some of them, it was rumoured, came south because they were looking for adventures, their own northern menfolk lacking the sexual prowess of Italians. Like fishermen watching out for seasonal shoals, Mario’s schoolfriends had hung round the stations and the main tourist attractions waiting for the first tourists of the spring. It was a sport, like football. Everybody played.

Mario had never had much time for these games. In his teens all his energies were focused on his single aim of getting away from his home town and becoming a doctor. All he knew was work. It seemed cruel timing that now he should find himself attracted to a foreign girl for the first time in his life. Now, when more than ever before he needed to keep his mind on the target.

Kate stood next to Francesca while she dialled the number on the public phone. Behind them, the bar was noisy with the dubbed voices of an American soap chattering on the television, Gilbert Becaud on the jukebox. Francesca pushed the money in. Her shoulders were hunched and, when she spoke, it was in a voice quite unlike the one she used with her friends. It was breathless, like a little girl’s. Kate picked out the words ‘my friends’ and ‘maybe three or four’. She smiled. If Francesca’s weekend party was anything like Jenny’s birthday supper, there’d be more than three or four of them turning up at the Villa Beatrice this weekend.

‘Grazie,’
said Francesca several times in her little girl voice. Then,
‘Arrivederci.’

She hung up. ‘All settled,’ she turned to Kate with a grin. ‘We can go on Friday night.’

‘Fantastic,’ said Kate. ‘A real party in a real stately home. Let’s go and tell the others.’

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.