Flood Tide (11 page)

It was like trying to cheer up one of her despondent students who had failed “O” Levels again. Reah did not mind the evening ending this way. The rain had dampened Giovanni’s ardour and he attempted to do no more than hold her hand in the taxi.

Eventually the taxi turned into a street and drew up outside a row of small residential houses.

“I don’t recognise this,” said Reah. “Where are we?”

“This is where I live,” said Giovanni, opening the door. “
Scusi
, but I have to go. I have to dry and press my suit for tomorrow. It is necessary for the shop, you understand?”

Reah’s heart filled with compassion for the downcast young man. The dark suit was his best and he had to make it presentable for work in the goldsmith’s shop.

“Of course, I understand,” she said and kissed his cheek in a sisterly way. “Go in and get dried off. I’ll pay for the taxi.”

“
Buono notte, cara
,” he said, returning the kiss.

She sat back, alone in the taxi, and began to laugh quietly. It was really too funny. She had been abandoned by her date and left to go home alone because he had to press his suit.

Soon Reah would be in her little room at the pensione; the narrow bed made up with heavy cotton sheets smelling sweetly of lavender; the comfort of dry clothes. Perhaps the s
ignora
would allow her to make a hot drink in the kitchen.

Reah gripped the edge of the taxi seat. She had forgotten the
signora’s
shawl in her haste to follow Giovanni. It was hanging from the tree like a ghostly cobweb, dripping onto the deserted dance floor. She would have to go back for it.

When she explained to the taxi driver that she wanted to go back he shook his head. He had only turned out because he was a friend of Giovanni’s; he was not on duty; he would lose his licence; he wanted to go home. He would take her to her pensione and that was all.

“
Finito
,” he said, settling the matter.

Reah peered desperately out of the window. There was not another taxi around. It was as Giovanni said; they all disappeared with the rain.

The taxi turned into a wider avenue. Reah recognised the bright lights and imposing stone walls of the Hotel Palazzo Excelsior ahead. As they drove past she saw the gleaming headlamps of the Alfa Romeo parked outside. With a tremendous effort, Reah swallowed her pride.

The
signora’s
antique shawl, so kindly and generously lent, was more important than any insults Ewart might bring down on her head.

“You can stop here,” said Reah before she could change her mind. “How much do I owe you?
Quanto e
?”

She counted the lire notes and added a good tip.

She hurried into the hotel reception before courage could desert her. She knew she looked like something the cat had dragged in, but the reception staff were well trained and did not move an eyelid.

“
Signore Morgan, per favore
.”

“
Si, signorina. Momento
. I believe
Signore
Morgan is in the restaurant.”

Dining with the Contessa no doubt, thought Reah, her heart sinking. She stood in the foyer like a statue, dripping onto the marble floor, knowing that Ewart was her only chance. If she had to go on bended knee, then she would.

He came out of the restaurant, a linen napkin in his hand, dark blue velvet jacket unbuttoned. He looked at her dejected figure and gave a short laugh.

“I don’t believe it,” he said. “What has happened to you now? Have you fallen into the River Arno?”

“I’m very sorry to interrupt your meal,” said Reah in a rush, gathering her courage. “Please say that you’ll help me. I really need your help. You’re the only person I can ask.”

“Help you? Why should I?”

“There are no taxis about and I’ve got to get the
signora’s
shawl. I hung it on a tree. I know that sounds silly but it was raining and it’s her grandmother’s shawl and very valuable. I shouldn’t have borrowed it, but she insisted and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. The taxi driver wouldn’t take me any farther because it was his night off, and there’s no one I can ask but you…” she babbled incoherently.

“Stop. Stop,” said Ewart, holding up his hand. “I don’t understand a word. What’s up a tree? Somebody’s grandmother?”

“No, the shawl. It belongs to the
signora
where I’m staying. I must get it back…”

Reah was shivering, aware of the derision in his dark eyes, but beyond caring.

“You’re frozen,” he said sharply. “And you look like a drowned rat. You’d better change your clothes before you get pneumonia. Come with me.”

“No, thank you,” said Reah as he took her arm and propelled her towards the lift. “I’m all right, really. You’ve got a guest.”

“If you want me to help you, then do as you are told and don’t argue.”

As she walked she left a trail of raindrops across the floor. She tried to control the shivering as they went up in the lift in silence, but it was impossible. He took her into his suite, marched through to the bathroom and turned on the hot shower.

“Get out of those wet clothes,” he ordered. “I’ll find you something to wear.”

Reah darted into the bathroom and peeled off her wet dress and underclothes. The hot shower was a curtain of warmth, and she rubbed her limbs vigorously to bring back some feeling. She stepped out quickly and grabbed a bath towel as she heard the door open.

He glanced at her glistening skin, the draped towel almost slipping from her tautly tipped breasts. Reah clutched the towel to her throat.

“Don’t you ever knock?” she asked with a small spurt of indignation.

“Not when it’s my own bathroom.”

He tossed some clothes at her.

“These might fit,” he said. “Put them on.”

The warmth of the water had revived her spirits and she towelled herself briskly. She glared at Ewart standing motionless in the doorway and turned her back to him. Damn him, if he was going to watch her. She would have to wriggle into the clothes as fast as possible.

“Don’t worry.” She heard him laugh sardonically. “I won’t look. I prefer elegant blondes, remember?”

She struggled into his expensive designer-made jeans. They were too large but she pulled the belt as tight as it would go. She slipped the fawn cashmere V-necked pullover over her bare skin and its warmth was immediately a pleasure. Her breasts moved against its softness, unrestricted by a bra, as she bent down to roll up the trouser legs.

She went through to his bedroom and into the sitting room. His typewriter was open on a table and everywhere was strewn with papers and maps. He had been working.

Ewart came over with a small glass of amber liquid. “It’s brandy. You need warming up inside as well.”

“Thanks.” She choked as the fiery liquid went down her throat. She felt waves of warmth spreading and tingling her body. The pure alcohol was very stimulating. She held out a bare foot.

“No shoes,” she said. Her sandals were sodden.

“I’m afraid I can’t oblige there. You’ll have to manage with a pair of socks.”

He found her a pair of blue socks and she sat on the floor to put them on.

“Let’s get going. I’ve wasted enough time this evening. I hope you know where this tree is.”

He held the door open. “We’ll take the Alfa.” She looked slim and boyish in his clothes, her red hair slicked back so that her face was all great hazel eyes. His eyes were fixed on her face and she felt a sudden constriction in her throat, an unwillingness to meet his gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she faltered. There was a restlessness in her body which could betray her.

“Do you find it disturbing?” he asked, striding ahead so fast she could hardly keep up.

“No,” she said vehemently. “Just rude.”

“That’s all right then. Get in,” he said.

Reah slid into the passenger seat in the big car. It smelt of leather and polish, and very elusively an expensive French perfume. The Contessa’s perfume.

Reah crossed her arms, hugging the warmth. She hoped she remembered the way. She tried to gather her thoughts.

“It’s a little place outside Florence called Petit Bois. An open air disco. I’ll be able to recognise it.”

She had not realised it was so far. He drove silently, only stopping once to ask directions.

“So you’ve been out dancing with your Romeo,” he said at last, breaking the silence.

“Yes.”

“And where is he now?”

“He’s gone home.” Reah was not going to tell him why. “I only remembered later that I had left the shawl behind.”

“Why come to me?”

Reah swallowed. He was going to make her crawl. She supposed she deserved it.

“I was desperate and I couldn’t think what to do. I had to get the shawl…I was prepared to…plead.” She blushed in the darkness. “It’s important because she trusted me with it. You were the only person in Florence who might help.”

The car was speeding out of Florence, the speedometer climbing. Rain glistened on the road; the patter of raindrops fell on the soft roof of the car as branches shed their load.

“Yes, I do have an amiable nature,” he acceded.

“I’m surprised they haven’t awarded you the Nobel Peace Prize,” she said drily. The car skidded to a halt as Ewart stepped on the brakes. Reah was flung forward.

He leaned across and put his hand on the door handle.

“Do you want to walk from here?” he suggested.

Reah sat up slowly, her pulse racing, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

“That was a very dangerous thing to do,” she said in a schoolmistress’s voice, but she could not keep the tremor out of it.

“You make me do dangerous things,” he snapped back. “Is that your disco over there?”

He pointed to fairy lights hung in the trees. The place looked deserted.

“Yes,” she said, getting out of the car. “I can manage from here,” she added with a touch of hauteur. “Thank you very much. You can return to the Contessa now. I’ll walk back.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort. You’d only get lost or assaulted,” he said, following her into the disco.

The staff had almost finished clearing away. The chairs were stacked on tables. Someone was sweeping debris. No one had noticed the shawl hanging dejectedly from the tree. Reah ran across the floor, thankful to find it safe.

Perhaps they hoped Reah and Ewart were late customers, or they were playing music for themselves through the amplifiers, soft, seductive and quite bewitching.

Reah froze. The music was irresistible. The slow beat echoed the pounding of her heart; the guitar strings tore away barriers and reached out to the ache inside her slim body.

“They’re playing our tune,” Ewart said lightly, taking her into his arms.

He did not hold her too close, but guided her slowly across the slippery floor. She had known he would be able to dance, and closed her eyes, forgetting that she was dancing in blue socks, moving in perfect harmony with this man.

The man that she had first seen on the stairs; was it a million years ago? Images of Ewart floated through her mind…his granite dark eyes so serious, sometimes so deep in thought…then burning with passion as he kissed her

Reah was hardly aware when the music stopped. Ewart gave her a little shake.

“Wake up, sleepyhead. It must be the brandy. I’ll take you back now.”

She picked up the shawl and vaguely saw him tuck a note under an ashtray on one of the tables. The dance had been magical. She would never forget it. When she was grey-haired and still teaching, when other memories had faded, these moments in Florence would linger, warm and wonderful.

She told him where she was staying. The shawl lay damply on her knees as he drove swiftly and silently back into the centre of Florence. His face was etched against the darkness, gaunt and stern. She would remember him forever like a medieval knight’s profile in stone in some ancient Welsh cathedral.

He stopped at the corner of the street, the engine still running. She longed for him to kiss her.

“Thank you, Ewart,” she said. “That was very kind of you. I am grateful.”

He leaned across and opened her door. He was close and yet suddenly far away.

“I’ll drop you here. The car might be difficult to explain to your
signora
,” he said.

“Yes. Good night.”

“Good night.”

His hands were back on the steering wheel and he was staring ahead, ready to pull out. He did not look at her. The big car moved away, leaving Reah standing on the pavement.

“Your clothes…” she began but he was out of hearing, the car disappearing down the street and turning almost immediately. The red rear lights vanished. He had gone. It was as if he had gone from her life forever.

Chapter Seven

September in England began damp and cool. Reah put away her summer clothes, wondering when she would wear them again. She thought of the silvery moonlight dress, so beautiful and expensive. Even though it reminded her of that humiliating evening with Ewart, she could not help wondering who was wearing it now.