I Remember You (18 page)

She was thinking of Langford, would it be nothing without its Jane Austen Centre, its funny gift shops, the visitors’ book with Beau Brummell’s signature?

‘That’s crap,’ he said. ‘I think. You have to look forward, that’s how all the great cities were created. Forget the past.’

‘You sound like a dictator,’ said Tess. ‘That’s Albert Speer’s plan for Berlin you’re talking about.’ She clutched her map tightly, and showed it to him in her fist. ‘I’m not saying all cities do it well; I think Florence and Venice, they have too many tourists. But this is a pretty good mix, isn’t it?’

She waved her hand, dropping the map as she did. It fluttered to the ground and he followed her gaze across the Campo dei Fiori as they stood at the far corner. She crouched on the ground to pick the map up, looking around her. The tourists with visors and bumbags—the Americans. The anxious, thin ones striding across the open space with their noses in their Dorling Kindersleys—the British and Swedes, sometimes Germans. The washing hanging in rows from the windows of the rusty-coloured palazzi, the man singing as he folded up his vegetable stall, the women bustling away from Il Forno, the bakery at the other end, bags of warm soft
focaccia
and
pizza bianca
wrapped in greaseproof paper swinging by their sides. The smell of coffee and jasmine, always in the air. This was why she loved Italy; it seemed real, all of it, no matter how touristy, crowded, theatrical it might be. She breathed in and out, forgetting who she was with, relaxing, drinking it all in for one brief, total moment.

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said at her elbow, after a pause. He bent down, and handed her back the map and something else. ‘Here’s my number. You should give me a call, I really do want to ask you some questions. Human-interest angle, the girl who was caught up in a mugging, that kinda thing.’

‘Weelll—’ she said, not sure how to respond.

‘Come on, it’s only a few questions,’ he said brusquely. ‘It’ll take a couple of minutes and then you can go back to—who are you here with?’

His eyes looked her up and down in his decisive way,
which she highly resented. It was as if she were a piece of meat: was she old, young, pregnant, married, up for it, frigid?

‘None of your business!’ she heard herself say.

‘Wow—’ he said coolly. ‘So you’re here on a dirty weekend, isn’t that what you Brits call it?’

‘I’m not telling you,’ she said, equally coolly. ‘Who are you here with?’

‘I’m on my own now,’ he said, raising an eyebrow.

‘Really,’ Tess said. ‘You live here—alone?’ She didn’t believe him.

‘Well, I do now,’ said Peter.

‘Ah, Gregory Peck in
Roman Holiday
,’ she said, smiling. ‘Filing copy late, playing cards with your buddies, living a louche Yankee journalist’s life.’

‘I am now,’ said Peter.

‘“Now”?’ Tess said.

‘Eventually, she gets it,’ Peter replied, amused. ‘You’re not great at taking a hint, are you? I was married. To an Italian. That’s why I live here.’

‘Oh,’ said Tess. He nodded gravely.

‘But she left me. Three months ago.’

‘She left you?’

‘Moved back home to Naples with her ex.’

‘God—I’m sorry,’ said Tess. ‘I’ve been stupid, I shouldn’t have—’

He held out a tanned hand. ‘Hey. It’s OK. Turns out she was a terrible cook. What’s the point of marrying an Italian if she can’t cook?’

‘Er—’ Tess wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, and she was about to ask what he meant, when suddenly a voice behind her called out, ‘Yoo-hoo! Tess!’

She turned round. Jan Allingham was peering around the corner, her hands clutching the wall like the little boy in
Cinema Paradiso.

‘Tess, dear, are you all right? Only we heard the sirens, and
you’d been gone so long, and Jacquetta said she thought she heard
gunshots
, so Andrea started to panic and I offered to come and find you.’ she trilled. ‘Here you are!’

‘Oh, man alive,’ Tess muttered under her breath.

‘Ah,’ said Peter, stepping back and leaning against a wall. ‘On tour with your moms,’ he said softly. ‘I see.’

‘It’s not like that,’ Tess said childishly. ‘I’m a Classics teacher, thank you very much, and these are my pupils.’ But this sounded even more ridiculous, somehow. She turned to Jan. ‘Are you all OK?’

‘Yes!’ said Jan, almost wildly. ‘Except Leonora, she—’

Tess started wildly, she always forgot about Leonora Mortmain, the black-clothed viper in the bosom of the group. ‘What did she do?’

‘Told Ron he was a member of a lunatic socialist fringe,’ Jan said briefly.

‘Oh, dear God,’ said Tess. She turned back to Peter, who was standing there with a sardonic look on his face. Her eyes met his, briefly. ‘I have to go,’ she said.

‘Sounds like it,’ and his dark, fathomless face relaxed a little into a smile. ‘Please call me so we can talk some more. Press date’s not till Friday, so I have a few days.’

‘You’re very direct,’ said Tess.

‘I have to be,’ Peter said. ‘It’s my job. Plus, what’s the point in wasting time? If you want something, you should go for it.’

‘Oh,’ she said, considering this. She nodded. ‘You’re probably right, you know.’

‘I am totally right,’ he told her, grinning. ‘You miss the story if you don’t go for it. Of course, I went for it with Chiara, and I was totally wrong about that, but—hey.’ He gestured with his hand, almost laconically. She watched him, transfixed, as did Jan, open-mouthed. ‘I’m here, aren’t I? I could be back in the States writing articles about the steel industry for the
Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
. It’s not so bad. Gimme a call.’

‘Well—’

‘Or—just if you get bored. You should enjoy yourself a little while you’re here, too.’ He looked at her directly, held out his hand and she shook it. His clasp was strong.

‘Look, sorry again about—er—’ she said. She felt she ought to apologize for being so rude, but she didn’t quite know what for. ‘Sorry about your wife.’

‘I forgive you. You’re not the Bosnian guy who banged her,’ he said, and his handsome face creased into a smile. ‘It’s OK. Nearly OK.’ He nodded at Jan, who blushed, and then nodded at Tess. She stared back at him helplessly. ‘Hey—good police work. I hope your shoulder feels better.’ He glanced at her arm. ‘Speak to you soon, Tess,’ but he was talking to thin air, for Tess had hurried back into the Campo, Jan bustling in her wake.

Hi, Tess. Hope you’re having a good time. All good here. Very quiet town without all those people you’re looking after. See you when you’re back. Adam

It probably
was
quiet in Langford, without all those people. It was certainly very loud here, in Rome, shepherding them around the city all day. Loud, hot, chaotic, relentless, and unsatisfying. In the shower back at the hotel, Tess stood still, letting the cool water run in rivers over her head, resenting Adam intruding here. She didn’t want to think about him. She forced her mind elsewhere.

It was Tuesday; six more days to go. She had never imagined she would remember with any fondness the Fair View Year Ten day trip to Bath, where one of her class had stolen a biscuit from the motorway service station (and been caught by security), another had jumped out at an old lady behind a statue in the Roman Baths (she had angina), and three others had simply disappeared, turning up two hours later insensibly drunk by the bus station (two of them were sick on the coach journey back), but she was wrong. At least that had only been a day long. And teenagers were annoying, but you could yell at them and then it was over. This…oh, dear. The fussing! The amount of time it took them all to cross the
road! The incessant questions and faffing around, about the menu, the drinks, the entrance fee, what was happening next! Even the two younger members of the group, Claire and Liz, seemed to be aping the behaviour of their elders: she had heard Claire say to Liz, ‘I must buy some Footgloves when I get back home. They seem so
useful
, don’t you think?’ Tess had stared at her, almost in horror, and Claire had looked a little surprised when she’d seen the expression on her face. ‘Maybe,’ she’d amended. ‘I’ll try some on.’

Standing naked in the shower, feeling the water run over her body, the dull ache of the muscle pain in her shoulder felt almost erotic, exotic, after today. She stepped out of the shower and dried herself with a towel. Her shoulders and arms were flushed with the sun. She remembered that American man, and what he’d said. ‘On tour with your moms.’ How rude. How annoying!

How right he was.

His card was in her purse.
Peter Gray
. Such an American name for such an Italian-looking man. She found him vaguely disconcerting; there was something dangerous in his dark, almost hooded eyes, his staccato manner, the very directness with which he conducted himself. Tess was used to a depressing cross-section of English men, who stammered their way through a variety of half-truths, took passive-aggressivity to a new level of art form, who spoke of equality but were mostly terrified of women.

She had talked about this a lot with Francesca, that arch-realist. Standing by the window, rubbing cream into her arms and shoulders, Tess found herself thinking about Adam and Francesca, she couldn’t help it. What was going on in Langford? Were they properly back together? She hoped they were both OK, Francesca especially. She still didn’t understand what had happened with her and Adam on Saturday, but she was realizing, with the benefit of a good night’s sleep and a change of scenery, that that night in London was not the start of
something new. It was the line being drawn under something old. A teenage romance—that’s what it was, with all its tawdry, heartbreaking, familiar drama. He had called it a summer fling, and it had hurt her, but he was right. That’s all it was, with a sadder than usual ending. She had never really come to terms with its conclusion: the abortion, the wall of silence afterwards, the start of her new life at university and never discussing it with anyone there, because the one person she would have told about it was the one person she couldn’t talk to.

It was easy to think clearly here. Easy to have perspective. Tess looked round the room, at the mirrored sliding cupboard doors, where the clothes she had hung up fluttered in the evening breeze, at the faded, half-hearted etchings of Roman ruins up on the walls—of the Baths of Caracalla and the Colosseum, at the shiny caramel-coloured linen coverlets on the narrow single beds. It was anonymous, and there was comfort in that anonymity.

She applied the Italian version of Deep Heat which she’d bought from the pharmacy, wincing slightly, and as she did ran through, with no enthusiasm, a potential seating plan for the evening. She had quickly learned that her group was like a teenage girl—needing constant ministrations and reassurances, but basically pliant if told what to do in a firm way. Tess sighed at the thought, casting one more look at her phone to see if there was another message, before stopping herself.
She
was the teenage girl, if anything. They were in Rome! She had prevented a theft! They were in the cradle of civilization, it was spring, anything could happen! She drew out a piece of paper from her notepad, picked up her pen and started scribbling.

They were having dinner that night in a traditional trattoria just off the Piazza Farnese and when they arrived, Tess’s first impression of gloom was quickly overtaken with delight. It was a truly Roman restaurant, from the polished barrels stacked
up around them and the black-and-white posters of films and autographed pictures of local celebrities tacked up on the walls, to the simplicity of the dark wood contrasting with the red-and-white checked tablecloths. As the group stood, huddled in the doorway, a woman bustled up to them, gesturing frantically for them to take their seats around the long table at the heart of the low-ceilinged, cavernous room.

‘
Sono Vittoria
,’ she added, jabbing her finger into her breastbone. ‘
Benvenuti!
’

There was an awkward pause as each member of the group started to shuffle towards a seat, trying not to look too alarmed at who was next to them. Jan, Diana and Carolyn instinctively drew together. Jacquetta hovered at their edge. Ron, as ever, tried to look remote and forbidding, and succeeded in neither. Leonora, of course, stood at the back, tapping her stick lightly on the ground.

‘Mind out there, Carolyn, excuse me if I squeeze past.’ ‘I don’t mind going in next to Jan, Diana!’ ‘Where are you going, Mrs Mortmain? Oh, right. I’ll just…’ ‘Claire, can I sit next to you?’

‘Stop!’ Tess called out, as Jan had almost edged halfway along the side of the table against the wall, clutching her bag determinedly. ‘I’ve done a seating plan!’ There was total silence. She smiled. ‘I thought it’d be a good idea,’ she continued, not giving up. ‘I’ll do a new one each night. We can chop and change, exchange ideas on what we’ve seen, and I’m going to ask you all what your favourite part of the day was, whether that’s a fact or a sight or just something that struck you! Righty ho!’

An English couple filed past them, on their way to a table further back in the restaurant, and the husband said with relief to the wife, ‘Good God. I’m glad I’m not with them, aren’t you?’

Tess pretended not to hear this. ‘OK!’ she called out. ‘Ron—’ she pointed towards the middle of the table. ‘You’re here, all
right? And next to you—yes, Leonora, if you don’t mind going there.’

Ron scowled; Andrea, Diana and Jan inhaled sharply, but Leonora Mortmain sat steadily down in her seat, not meeting anyone’s eye. She lifted her bag onto the table, withdrew the little book she always carried around with her, and calmly opened it, as Tess carried on talking.

‘…Jan here, Jacquetta here, next to you, and I’m here, Liz, yes, you go there. Right!’ She looked around the table again. ‘Shall we sit down?’

‘The sooner we do, the sooner we can eat, and the sooner we can be out of here,’ Ron said, with an attempt at humour. It fell sadly flat; the rest of the group looked at him in horror. All except Andrea, whom Tess had long suspected nursed something of a
tendre
for Ron. She tittered nervously, and Ron looked up defensively, to be greeted with her rather watery smile. He breathed in loudly through his nostrils. ‘Aaah. Menu?’ He handed a plastic card to Leonora Mortmain, who took it in silence.

‘Great!’ said Tess, over the settling silence, ignoring the throbbing in her arm and shoulder. ‘This is nice, isn’t it.’

They brought red wine and water, bread and olive oil, and then a variety of starters: stuffed courgette flowers, thick with creamy goat’s cheese and drizzled with thyme-infused honey, grilled vegetables, bruschetta with borlotti beans, and thin, pink strips of prosciutto, sliced by hand from a cured leg of pork on a table nearby. They munched their way through, passing things along to each other, being deliberately polite.

‘I didn’t know you’d lived in Brighton, Ron? How interesting. We were in Southampton for years, you know.’

‘So, your family’s from Leamington Spa, Claire? Do you go back there often?’

‘That’s very interesting, Jacquetta. Very interesting!’

Tess thanked Bacchus more than once for the gift of wine, which smooths over many things, and by the time the main
courses had come, the company was positively relaxed. Plates of lamb and veal, heaped high with rocket and potatoes and waxy, garlic-scented white beans, were set down on the table and everyone dug in, exclaiming over the taste of the succulent grilled meat. Vittoria stood nearby, smiling indulgently at them. It had been a long, hot day, and to be here was a balm. Tess watched in pleasure as the group relaxed, chatting politely, talking about what they’d seen, asking each other questions. She didn’t know why she was even surprised, however, that Leonora Mortmain did not join in, did not talk, and did not make any effort. She sat at the end of the table, by the door.

‘Do you have to go back to the police station for what happened today?’ Jan asked. ‘Awful, that was. You poor thing.’

‘I know,’ said Tess. ‘No, I don’t, thank goodness, they took my number and they said they’d call me if they needed anything more.’ She stirred in her chair.

‘My cousin was in Rio once,’ said Carolyn, unexpectedly, ‘and someone ripped her earring from her ear. Tore it into two flaps.’

‘No!’ Jan screamed, as the others looked appalled.

‘Yes,’ said Carolyn, alarmed by her own voice. ‘I know, isn’t it horrible?’ She looked around her now, and at Leonora Mortmain. ‘Ever since then…’ She shuddered.

‘That’s not going to happen,’ said Tess firmly. ‘That was just bad luck, that’s all. It could happen on the streets in London, for goodness’ sake.’ They all looked at her in terror. ‘Anywhere. It could happen in Langford!’

Carolyn gave a low moan. ‘Don’t say that,’ she said. ‘How awful.’

‘It could,’ said Tess, turning to Carolyn. ‘It could happen anywhere. Not necessarily having your earrings ripped out of your ears, but—similar,’ she said mischievously. Carolyn looked terrified, and Tess said hurriedly, ‘But the fact is it won’t. The chances are astronomical. So there’s no point worrying about it.’

‘Philippa was mugged, quite badly, don’t you remember?’ Diana said suddenly, to no one in particular.

Tess, who had been breathing in, smelling the coffee, started: ‘Philippa? When?’

‘Oh, quite soon before she died,’ Diana said. She clicked her teeth together. ‘Random violence, like you say. Horrible. Right in the middle of Langford.’

‘There you go,’ said Carolyn, pleased, before realizing how she sounded. ‘How awful,’ she added contritely.

‘It was in the lanes behind your old houses, where your parents lived too,’ Diana said. ‘Nasty business. They never caught him.’ She looked down at the table, and Tess remembered, memory seeping back again, how Diana and Philippa had been so close; Philippa’s closest friend, really.

Tess said slowly, ‘I’d forgotten that. What happened?’

‘What happened?’ Diana looked up. ‘I don’t know. She was coming back from Thornham, on her bike, and it was dark—it was February, I think? Anyway, she got off and was pushing the last bit of the way and someone came up behind her and pushed her over. Stamped on her hand, she broke a finger, and he took her bag. He had a knife, too.’

‘She twisted her ankle,’ Tess said, remembering it suddenly.

‘
He
twisted her ankle,’ Diana said grimly.

‘She was in hospital. Adam had to pick her up.’ She stared at her empty coffee cup. Someone was jangling a fork against their plate, like scraping wind chimes in a breezy sky. ‘Poor Philippa.’

‘They said it was nothing to do with her death, but I don’t know,’ Diana said. Her severe face was set, her grey fringe a perfectly straight line. ‘You’re knocked over, threatened with a knife, stamped on by some little shit and then two months later you drop dead from a brain haemorrhage? I’m sure they’re connected.’

‘Me too,’ said Andrea. ‘For what it’s worth. And I can’t believe they never caught him. But that’s the thing, you don’t
know what’s round the corner. Everything can be lovely and cosy, and then next moment—bam.’ She slammed her hand on the table.

The noise from the fork got louder. Tess looked up, to see Mrs Mortmain now sharply tapping the fork on her tumbler. Next to her, almost unconsciously, Jan laid her hand gently over the older woman’s shaking fingers. Leonora Mortmain looked at her, in utter shock, and then she shook her head.

‘Sorry,’ she said, much to Tess’s surprise.

But Diana Sayers watched her, with something like contempt on her face.

‘I just don’t think that sort of thing happens in Langford,’ Leonora said eventually, shaking her head querulously.

‘Neither did I,’ Diana said. ‘But it did. Anyway, that was—how long ago?’

‘Thirteen years,’ said Tess, after a moment’s hesitation. Funny, when she thought of Philippa, who seemed so real to her still, she couldn’t believe it was that long ago. Suddenly she could see Adam, whose face had seemed so remote to her these last few days; not the Adam she’d left behind in Claridges last Saturday night, but her oldest friend, his light brown hair, kind face, urgent, sweet smile, the way that back then, they had no secrets, no worries. That Adam—he seemed awfully far away to her, now.

‘I mean, perhaps there was a reason for it,’ Leonora said slowly, deliberately. ‘It seemed to me that Philippa—Smith? Was that the name she used? She had some rather unsavoury associates.’

‘What on earth does that mean?’ asked Diana quickly. ‘What a ridiculous thing to say. She was mugged by a nasty thief, she wasn’t in the Mafia!’