Angels of the Flood (26 page)

‘Just you stay out of this, young lady—’ Signora Bertoni began, but the old man held up his hand, commanding silence.

He was staring at Kate. His eyes were twinkling and his pale lips hovered into a smile. ‘You have very definite opinions, Kate Holland,’ he said.

‘Thank you,’ she said, meeting his eyes, though her instinct was to look away. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

He nodded briskly, then said decisively. ‘There is a solution to this problem. You and Francesca wish to return to Florence with Simona. Their mother wants them to remain here. Let us postpone the decision for twenty-four hours. Why don’t you stay here also, Kate Holland? Just for a night. Tomorrow—’ he flicked a quick glance towards Francesca’s mother—‘tomorrow there are some family matters to be attended to, and after that… who knows?’

Signora Bertoni intervened. ‘Unfortunately, Zio Toni, Kate is getting a lift back with Mario and—’

‘Dottore Bassano,’ the old man turned to Mario. ‘Does your busy schedule permit you to stay for a night more?’

‘Yes, of course,
signore,
but—’

‘Then it is settled. There will be no more arguments. You will stay, Kate Holland?’

‘Yes,’ she said. There was no way she’d abandon Francesca now, and besides, she was curious to see more of her strange family. ‘I’ll stay.’

‘Bene, bene.
That’s good,’ said Francesca’s father. Signora Bertoni looked sick with rage, but there was nothing she could do.

‘Come,’ said Francesca eagerly, ‘I’ll show you your room, and we can tell Simona about Florence. Oh, I’m so glad you’re staying, Kate!’

A
NNETTE BERTONI TOOK CARE
never to lose her temper. Years back, when she was still cute little Annie-Belle Harper, doing occasional modelling jobs and waiting tables in the cocktail lounge in Manhattan, she’d learned that to get what you want you stay sweet and pretty and wait your chance. Any loss of control, anger most of all, is messy and counterproductive and therefore must be avoided. Her capacity for rage frightened her: when she’d learned the truth about her husband, she would have happily killed him if there’d been a weapon to hand.

But on this occasion she felt justified in letting rip. The tensions of the last weeks and months, the scheming and hoping and manoeuvring, the frustrations and the sleepless nights and the wretched powerlessness that drove her half out of her mind, all that had taken its toll. It was good to lash out. Let her wrath be both a warning and the punishment he deserved.

She kept her voice low. This conversation was for their ears only. He stood there in silence while she drew on her extensive repertoire of Italian abuse. ‘You son of a whore, after all I’ve done for you! It’s all your fault! You refused to tell us where she was hiding out and now look what has happened! We should have brought her home right away, but no, you thought you knew what was best. And now you’re doing it again! How dare you take that girl’s side when you knew I wanted to get rid of her! I could kill you for this!’

Mario stood his ground. ‘Francesca would have been distressed if all her friends had left without saying goodbye.’

‘Excuse me, since when did you know better than I do what’s right for my daughter?’

‘She’s changed, Annette. I’ve been watching her, these past weeks, and I tell you, she’s not the same girl who came back from the States before Christmas.’

‘Damn right she’s not, and more’s the pity! If I’d known what was going on, I’d never have allowed her to stay with that rabble. You were supposed to report back to me and you let me down.’

‘I thought it was for the best. Even you must agree that Francesca is stronger, happier, than ever before. The improvement is all due to friends like Kate.’

‘Seems a strange way for you to talk. Doesn’t it bother you, knowing your girl is carrying on with people like that?’

‘To begin with, yes, it did. But… I like to see her happy, Annette.’

‘Happy? What nonsense. Francesca will lose all respect for you, and I don’t blame her. Mario, I want that English girl out of here. She’s dangerous.’

To Annette’s fury, Mario actually laughed. ‘Dangerous?’ He walked over to the window. From the grounds outside the small sitting room in which they were talking, came the sound of girls’ voices, talking and laughing. That kind of easy banter among friends that Annette had never known. People had never been drawn to her. They’d admired her, but never liked her. Respect was what she wanted, it was what she had to have. ‘Kate’s not dangerous,’ he said in a low voice, and she saw how his face warmed as his gaze lingered on the three girls. ‘She’s hardly more than a child herself.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ snapped Annette. ‘She’s got you under her thumb same as Francesca. Well, I intend to make damn sure Simona doesn’t go the same way!’

‘Has it ever occurred to you, Annette, that you might not have any choice? Simona is nearly eighteen. You can’t keep her a child for ever.’

‘Now you sound like Francesca. What’s got into you, Mario?’

‘Nothing. Francesca has to have a chance to spread her wings before she settles down. Simona too. It’s like the song says, Annette, the times are changing. I used to see things your way, but now—well—I’m sorry, but I think you’re wrong.’

‘How dare you! Who are you to judge what is right and wrong? Unlike you, Mario, I do not have the luxury of thinking only of Francesca. I must consider the interests of the whole family. I thought you of all people understood that. Zio Toni does not have long to live and we have to safeguard the future.’

‘You mean, his money? But what if Francesca doesn’t want it? What if even Simona would be better off without it?’

‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this.’ To calm herself, Annette fished in her bag for a packet of cigarettes and lit one, inhaling deeply. She did not offer one to Mario. After a few moments she said coolly, ‘Listen to me, Mario. This isn’t some game we’re playing here. I’m not after the money so the girls can buy a few fancy dresses and go to finishing school and have parties. I’m talking survival, Mario. Staying afloat. I’ve been hanging on by my fingernails for so long I’ve forgotten what it’s like any other way. You think your family have debts because they paid for you to go through medical school? Well, think of a number and add a few zeros and you might come close. If Zio Toni doesn’t come through with the money then this family is finished. Kaput. Wiped out. Totally.’

‘You’d manage somehow, Annette. You always do.’

‘You’re not listening. It will be the end. My useless husband will probably kill himself, if I don’t get there first and do the job for him. We
have
to get the money. If Francesca won’t play ball, then Simona must do it. Otherwise we have no chance.’

Mario didn’t answer right away. He went back to the window and looked out at the girls. Their laughter was free and infectious. At length he turned and said to her, ‘I regret you’ve got into this mess, Annette, but it’s not the girls’ fault. You know I hope to marry Francesca eventually, but in the meantime, if she wants to see a bit of the world, then I’ll help her any way I can.’

‘You’ll lose her.’

‘It’s a risk I have to take.’

‘No.’ The contradiction was made with such certainty that Mario flinched. He controlled himself and remained motionless as Annette crossed the room and stood in front of him. She raised her right hand and touched the rim of his collar, where his hair curled over. ‘You need a haircut, Mario. You’ll be as bad as the
capelloni
soon.’

‘Annette, don’t.’

‘I’ll do as I please, young man.’ She gripped the back of his neck, holding him in position as she touched his mouth with her fingertips.

Instinctively he turned away, then reached up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘Don’t you like it any more?’ He didn’t answer. She went on, smiling now, ‘I guess Francesca would be kind of upset if she discovered, eh? Is that what’s worrying you?’

‘You know damn well it would kill her.’

‘Oh really? Maybe now you’re the one who’s exaggerating, Mario. I admit she’s always been a sensitive child, one of those girls who takes things hard, but still, I don’t suppose it would actually
kill
her to know that her fiancé—not official, of course, but all the same—that her beloved fiance had been keeping Mamma amused while the little girl was in the States.’

‘You make it sound like a real affair but… it was only a couple of times.’

‘Three. I remember each occasion so vividly, don’t you?’ Mario was silent, staring at her. She continued easily, ‘I sure hope she never does find out about what happened. She wouldn’t like it, would she? It might even bring on a relapse.’

‘A relapse?’ He looked at her incredulously. ‘It would destroy her.’

‘So. We just have to make sure she never finds out.’

‘What are you saying? You think I would tell her?’

Annette stubbed out her cigarette. All trace of anger gone, she was smiling now. ‘Oh, I’m sure
you’d
never tell her, Mario.’

‘Then… no, I don’t believe it.’ He met her gaze for a few moments, her hard, challenging stare, then turned away and walked across the room, putting as much distance between them as he could, before looking back and saying in a low voice, ‘Not even you… you’d never tell her.’

‘I might do. If I was pushed hard enough.’

‘But… are you jealous?’

It was the wrong thing to ask. She was hissing with rage as she said, ‘Me? Jealous of my daughter? Never! I always thought my daughter could do better than a shrink from a dirt-poor village. I only went along with it for Francesca’s sake. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to tell her every sordid detail if I have to.’

‘Then I’ll deny it. She’ll never believe you.’

‘No?’ She smiled, regaining her composure. ‘But I kept your little notes, Mario.’

‘You did?’ He plunged his hands into his hair. ‘That’s disgusting. It’s blackmail!’

‘I prefer to call it a bargain,’ she said. ‘A business deal.’

‘But… you know what it would do to her. I can’t believe you’d hurt your own child that way.’

‘No?’ She looked at him in triumph. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I wouldn’t. But you’ll never know, will you, because you daren’t put it to the test. Because you know I
might,
if I had reason enough.’

‘But your own daughter…’

‘No need to sound so shocked,
mio caro dottore.
As I said already, unlike you I have the whole family to consider, not just one person. So?’

‘She must never know.’

‘Excellent. Then you will do as I say.’

He nodded bleakly. ‘What do you want?’

‘Sit down,’ she said, ‘and I’ll explain.’ After a brief hesitation he went to sit on the edge of a straight-backed chair. ‘We will close ranks,’ she said, suddenly businesslike. ‘We have to get rid of this English girl, send her back to Florence tonight. Break the connection. I don’t want Francesca to have any more dealings with those foreigners. She will stay here. Alone, she’s never been able to stand up to me.’

‘Not many people can,’ said Mario quietly. Louder, he said, ‘But Zio Toni has invited Kate to stay. If I can’t persuade her to leave, what then?’

‘I’m sure you’ll find a way. But if she refuses—then you must help me do whatever is necessary to keep my daughters on side. Francesca’s still in love with you, you know. I know my daughter. She’s acting up now, but she’s never really cared for anyone else. And as for Simona, she regards you as an older brother—she’s probably a little bit in love with you too. A few words from you and I’m sure both girls will be easier to handle.’

‘Is that all?’ Mario stood up.

She ignored the sarcasm of his question. ‘For the time being. You can be sure I’ll let you know if there is anything else.’

Mario had his hand on the door. He turned, his face white with suppressed rage, and said, ‘I wish to God I’d never had anything to do with the Bertoni family.’

Annette laughed. She had sat down in a blue velvet chair and was lighting herself another cigarette.
‘Mio caro,’
she said, ‘I know just how you feel. I’ve wished the selfsame thing every single day of my married life.’

Mario went out by a back door and walked quickly up a track that led away from La Rocca, striding up the hillside until he could go no further. He couldn’t stand to see anybody, least of all Francesca. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to face Francesca again. Regret wasn’t a strong enough word for what he felt right now. If he could have turned the clock back… but he knew Annette Bertoni would never let him off the hook.

When he could climb no higher, he sat down on a rock and stared unseeing at the wide expanse of hills and woods all around. He was struggling to identify the moment when he’d made the fatal decision to become Annette’s lover, but it was impossible. When he first encountered her, at a fund-raising evening for a medical charity he supported, he’d been desperate to find out where Francesca had been sent, to find some way of contacting her. It was only natural he should try to court favour with Francesca’s mother, since she obviously held the reins of power in the family. And Signora Bertoni had been willing to be courted. As she’d told Mario, Francesca was vulnerable: even though she could see Mario’s feelings for her daughter were sincere, she still needed to find out for herself if he was someone she could trust.

Trust. The memory of the word, how she had dangled it in front of him, made Mario feel ill. But at the time, it had seemed like a reasonable request, so he’d agreed to all her suggestions that they meet. He even learned to look forward to them: she could be good company, witty and urbane and interested in his work and his studies. One day he had met her for lunch as usual in one of her favourite restaurants and told her that for the sake of her reputation they would have to cease their meetings: already there were rumours that he was her lover. To his amazement she’d laughed at the notion and he realized that, far from being shocked, she was pleased people thought she had such an attentive young lover.

She had invited him back to the apartment. There were some things of Francesca’s she wanted him to see. Her husband was out. Mario knew by now of her disappointment in her husband—the husband who’d flattered her with expensive presents and promises of wealth but who, when they got back to Italy, had turned out to be poor as a church mouse. He’d learned to see Filippo through her eyes and to despise him too. Mario was flattered by the confidences of this attractive and obviously unhappy woman. He went back to her flat at that hour in the afternoon when the servants were out and the city seemed half asleep in the heat.