‘You need a hill?’ asked Vivi as they stepped back out into the street. ‘The Spanish Steps are not so far away.’
‘Oh no!’ cried Freja. ‘If we tumbled down there, we’d hurt ourselves dreadfully.’
Vivi frowned. ‘But why are you tumbling?’
‘Cheese wheels,’ said Tobias, as if that explained everything.
‘I do not know this game called Cheese Wheels,’ said Vivi. ‘You need somewhere soft? With grass?’
Freja and Tobias nodded.
Vivi stopped walking and pointed back behind them. ‘Gianicolo! The English call it Janiculum Hill. It’s on the other side of the Tiber River, not so far from the Vatican. There’s a steep slope covered in thick green grass. No prickles. No rocks. Just clumps of trees and bushes here and there.’
‘Brilliant!’ cheered Tobias. ‘We’ll take the motorcycle for a spin.’
‘Come with us, Vivi!’ suggested Freja.
Tobias blushed. He tugged at his left ear. He shuffled his feet. ‘Jolly good idea. Come along. We’ll make an outing of it. We can pack a picnic, bring my new teapot.’
‘I would like that very much,’ said Vivi, ‘but, sadly, I must work today. My café awaits, and my mamma and papà cannot be left to do everything on their own. I am not free until Friday.’
‘Friday it is then!’ cried Tobias. ‘Couldn’t have picked a better day myself.’ He grinned and leaned back against a Vespa. It was the first of a long row of motor scooters parked at the edge of the street.
‘Tobias!’ gasped Freja, but it was too late. The Vespa toppled sideways against the next scooter, which then toppled against the next, going on and on until all twenty-seven motor scooters were lying on their sides.
Vivi’s eyebrows shot to the top of her forehead.
‘Friday then,’ sang Tobias. He waved up at her from where he lay strewn over a Vespa, his new teapot now scattered in little pieces at his side.
‘Friday,’ Vivi replied, her voice high and shaky. She bit her lip, turned on her heel and disappeared down the nearest alley. Her laughter, however, lingered in the air long after she was gone.
On returning to their apartment, Tobias settled down at the kitchen table. He pulled the spout and the handle of the teapot out of one pocket, then a dozen shards of pink-and-white china from the other. Placing them all on the table, he began to sort them and glue them back together. Finnegan sat in the chair beside him, eating a jar of jam.
Freja wandered into the living room and picked up one of the postcards she’d bought yesterday. It was a photo of the Spanish Steps and bore the words ‘Greetings from Rome’.
‘Greetings from Rome,’ muttered Freja. ‘I’ve sent so many greetings from Rome and haven’t had a word in reply. Oh, Clementine! What’s happening?’
Freja grabbed a pencil and forced herself to write another short but cheerful message on the back of the postcard to her mother. She stuck on a stamp, propped the card on the windowsill and looked about for a distraction. Something to shoo away the tears that were loitering in the corners of her eyes.
Freja flicked through the papers on Tobias’ desk. She realised that she had, in fact, read all of his current research. Even the book on cheese-making at high altitudes and the pamphlet on training goats. She swelled with pride as she realised how much she had learnt in the last few weeks — about frostbite, thermal underwear, altitude sickness, broken bones, knots, bandages, Swiss chocolate, eagle eyries . . . The list went on and on. She’d even learnt how to use a pair of bootlaces as a weapon!
But then her eyes fell on something she had not yet read — Rome’s Reward, the book that had brought them to Rome in the first place! She snuggled down on the sofa, pressed back the cover and began to read.
By the end of the first chapter, she was hooked. All thoughts of Clementine were pushed aside and she read greedily onward. She was fascinated to learn that many of the buildings in Rome were connected by underground passageways. Some of the tunnels were subterranean quarries from which the early Romans had dug stone to build their city. Others were the remains of ancient streets and buildings that had crumbled and been built over as the centuries passed. Tunnels connected churches, mansions, dungeons, wine cellars and secret treasure troves. Many had collapsed or been closed in. Others had been forgotten altogether.
Freja wondered if she might find a tunnel beneath their courtyard. She giggled. ‘I could sneak underground to Trattoria Famiglia! Imagine Enzo’s surprise when I popped up, unannounced, from his wine cellar!’
She read on, gasping in delight when twin sisters Bianca and Antonia Silvestro discovered a tunnel connecting their parents’ home to the bowels of the Vatican Museums. Her eyes grew wide as she read of the daring haul of giant rubies, sapphires, emeralds and diamonds that they stole. And she laughed with glee at the sheer simplicity — but the incredible brilliance — of their plan to conceal the jewels when every policeman in Rome was trying to recover them.
‘Tobias! Tobias!’ She ran into the kitchen, waving the novel in the air. ‘Best book ever! I love it. How terribly clever. I’m up to the part where Bianca and Antonia have glued the jewels to the saddles and reins of the wooden horses on the merry-go-round. It’s ingenious! Everyone will think they’re bits of coloured glass, won’t they? Nobody will dream that the jewels are real. The merry-go-round is right in the middle of Rome! The police will be walking by all day long. Mammas and nonnas will be staring at the horses. Children will be riding them and touching the jewels! Actually touching the jewels! And yet nobody will suspect a thing. Oh, I do want to read on and find out what happens next, but the story is so delicious, I don’t want to finish it too soon. It’s like trying to make your raspberry gelato last a little bit longer!’
Tobias looked up from his reassembled teapot. ‘Did you say “raspberry gelato”, old chap? Good idea!’ He flung his arms wide with excitement and swept the teapot to the floor.
Crash!
He pushed back his chair and shrugged. ‘Oh well. No use crying over spilt milk. Or broken china. I dare say raspberry gelato will make us all feel a lot better.’
And he charged out of the apartment at such speed that Freja and Finnegan had to run to catch up.
CHAPTER 27
What nobody knew about the Trevi Fountain
‘Signore Appleby!’ A priest stepped out from the shadows, into the street in front of them.
The girl and the writer stopped licking their gelato and stared. Partly because they were astonished to meet yet another priest who knew Tobias’ name. But also because he looked so very odd. He was short, fat and bald, with a nose that looked like a blob of Nonna Rosa’s bread dough. His black robe stretched tightly across his belly and his trousers were too long, bunching up at the top of his crocodile-skin shoes. In one of his plump, hairy hands, he held a half-eaten slice of pizza.
Freja stared at the crocodile-skin shoes. How very strange! Even more strange than the doughy nose and the ill-fitting garments.
The priest looked at his pizza as though deciding whether to eat or talk. He took one last bite and tossed the rest to Finnegan. Finnegan gobbled it up.
Wiping his greasy hands on his robe, the priest snarled, ‘Signore Appleby!’ He stepped closer, both hands now balled into fists.
Finnegan licked his lips and pricked his ears. He seemed confused as to whether the stranger was a friend or an enemy. Freja knew that the pizza in his belly would be telling him ‘friend’, but the tension in the air would be whispering ‘enemy’.
‘You,’ snapped the priest, ‘are Tobias Appleby, the English crime writer.’
Freja dropped her gelato. She slipped her hand into Tobias’.
‘What a lark!’ shouted Tobias. ‘As if I could be a writer!’ He smiled down at Freja and squeezed her hand — a secret signal.
Freja tried to smile back. She bared her teeth and wondered if she looked like Pazzo the monkey when he was in a bad mood.
‘I, Padre Nico, am no fool. You are Tobias Appleby!�
�� The priest moved even closer.
‘No, no, no,’ Tobias muddled on. ‘My name is Donald Dawkings and I’m a tour guide.’
‘Donald Dawkings!’ echoed Freja. ‘And I’m his niece, Daisy Dawkings.’
Tobias squeezed her hand once more and she knew that he was pleased with her quick thinking.
‘Yes!’ cried Tobias. ‘Donald Dawkings, tour guide, at your service! Except I can’t really be at your service, because I’m due at the Trevi Fountain this very minute. I have a talk starting soon. Very soon! Must dash!’
‘But the Trevi Fountain is this way!’ said the priest, pointing in the opposite direction to which they had been walking.
‘Yes, of course! Of course!’ babbled Tobias. ‘But we’re doing a lap of the block so we enter the piazza from the other side. It’s my favourite view, you know. The other side . . .’
‘You don’t want to be late.’ Padre Nico smirked. ‘Here, let me walk with you, show you the shortest way.’ And taking Freja’s free hand, roughly, tightly, he guided them along the cobbled streets to the Trevi Fountain. Finnegan trotted along behind, still confused.
‘Here we are!’ said Padre Nico. He held fast to Freja’s hand. ‘Where is your tour group?’
Tobias made a great show of peering around the piazza, towards the fountain, stretching up on tippy-toes and squinting.
‘He doesn’t have a tour group,’ said Freja. ‘He just rounds people up and then, when he has an audience, he gives his talk.’
‘Yes! Great idea!’ cried Tobias. ‘I mean, that’s exactly what I do!’
Pushing a little further into the piazza, Tobias clapped his hands. ‘I say! Listen up, everyone. I have a jolly good tale to tell about the Trevi Fountain . . . Anyone want to hear a story? . . . Hello? Helloooo?’
But the crowds bustled on by, laughing, talking, snapping photos. They ignored the muttering man waving a melting raspberry gelato in the air.
Padre Nico squeezed Freja’s hand until it hurt.
She frowned up at him. ‘Let go of me! I have to help my uncle, Donald Dawkings.’
Padre Nico sneered. ‘Donald Dawkings. Ha! We know who he is and what he is trying to do. And it won’t work. We have ways and means of persuading him to stop.’
Freja longed to shout, ‘Stop what?’ But that would be admitting Tobias’ true identity. And that didn’t seem like a wise thing to do right now.
She felt confused, scared and angry all at once. She wanted to cry. She wanted to throw back her head and howl like a wolf. She wanted to run away and hide like a leveret in a mossy green nest. But she knew that this was one of those times when she needed to be brave.
Really brave.
Braver than she ever thought might be possible.
Taking a deep breath, Freja shouted, ‘LET! ME! GO!’ She kicked the priest in the shin, yanked her hand free and ran. She heard barking and the sound of fabric tearing, but she didn’t look back. She pushed through the crowds, further and further into the piazza, until she reached the front of the wide blue pool. There, she flitted along the steps at the edge of the water until she reached the towering wall of the fountain. Hoisting herself up onto the rough rocks, she hopped from one outcrop to the next, towards the great marble statues of Oceanus and his Tritons.
Her foot slipped. She stopped to regain her balance. Oceanus, giant spirit of the sea, frowned down at her from his shell chariot. The short, fat priest glared up at her from the edge of the rocks. Tourists were starting to point and laugh at her from all over the piazza.
Freja reached into her pocket and touched the little felt hare. She whispered, ‘Bravery is forging ahead, even when you’re scared.’ And before she had time to think about what she was really doing, she climbed up onto one of the marble seahorses and stood between its wings. She took a deep breath and shouted above the gushing water. ‘Hello! Greetings! Ciao!’
Padre Nico dropped to all fours and clambered down off the rocks — a fat black crab scuttling for shelter. There was a flash of red — his underpants. The seat of his trousers was missing!
‘Finnegan!’ Freja gasped in delight. ‘What a clever puppy!’
She felt suddenly happy. Strong. Bold. Brave.
Truly brave!
Her spirits soared and mingled with the mist that rose above the cascading waters. She, Freja Peachtree, was standing in the middle of the Trevi Fountain, on the back of a marble seahorse, beneath a bright blue Italian sky, in front of an enormous crowd, and her knees weren’t even knocking!
Thrusting her arms into the air, she flashed her most dazzling smile and shouted even louder. ‘Ciao, beautiful people!’
Tourists all over the piazza turned to look up at her. Coffee cups froze, halfway to mouths. Women slid their sunglasses down their noses and peered over the top. Men took off their hats and stared. Tour guides lost their places mid-story.
Tobias pushed his way to the front of the pool and smiled up at her. His face was filled with pride.
‘Ciao ciao, beautiful people!’ sang Freja. ‘Welcome to Rome!’
The crowd began to clap.
‘In a moment,’ Freja shouted, ‘I, Daisy Dawkings, will be down there . . .’ She pointed to where Tobias stood on the steps at the front of the fountain. ‘Down there with Donald Dawkings, the handsome man with the tattered brown cardigan and hair that looks like a mop!’
People chuckled and craned their necks to see.
‘Down there with my lovely uncle,’ Freja announced, ‘who will tell you the secrets of the Trevi Fountain!’
Dazzling them with another smile, she waved and scrambled down from the seahorse’s back. She flitted the rest of the way across the fountain to the side opposite Padre Nico. By the time she reached the steps, a small crowd had gathered. They clapped and laughed as she arrived.
Tobias bent down and whispered in her ear, ‘Brilliant, old chap. Quick thinking and ever so brave. Clementine would burst a boiler if she could see you now.’
Freja planted a quick kiss on his cheek. ‘You’d better start talking, Donald Dawkings. The priest is just over there and we need to keep pretending.’
Tobias nodded. He turned to his audience and sang out, ‘Welcome! Welcome! Ciao! Ciao! Ciao!’ He flung his arms wide and slapped a backpacker across the nose. The audience roared with laughter. Except for the backpacker. He sneezed and took a few steps to the right.
Tobias blushed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. ‘Welcome to Rome and the Trevi Fountain!’ he cried. ‘It’s a corker, an absolute gem! This fountain might be old and it might be full of rude nude statues …’ The crowd tittered. ‘But it is also a place of real magic.’
‘Magic!’ An elderly woman sighed and held her hands to her face.
Tobias leaned in and lowered his voice. ‘The Trevi Fountain holds the power to draw you back to Rome, time and time again.’
‘Oooh! Oooh! I know about this!’ yelled a large lady at the front of the crowd. She was American and wore a purple tracksuit with the name ‘Samantha’ embroidered on the jacket.
‘Audience participation!’ cheered Tobias. ‘We like a bit of that.’
‘It’s the coins!’ Samantha drawled. ‘Throwing coins in the fountain will bring you back!’
At the edge of the crowd, Padre Nico was scratching his head.
Tobias continued. ‘Legend says that if you throw a coin in the Trevi Fountain, you are sure to return to Rome one day. But it has to be done in just the right manner.’
‘Show us! Show us!’ cried a woman at the back of the crowd.
‘Yes, show us how it is done,’ said a familiar voice. It was deep and booming, with a Russian accent.
Freja looked up and found herself staring into Boris’ face. He pressed a coin into her hand and winked to show that he was in on the trick.
Freja returned the wink, lightning-quick so that no-one else would see. She walked down the steps to the edge of the water. Facing the crowd, she curtseyed, then tossed the coin high into the air, over her left sh
oulder. It soared upward, spinning and twirling, then tumbled down into the middle of the fountain.
Plop!
The crowd rippled with excitement. Women giggled and clutched their chests. Children begged their parents for a coin to toss. Fathers reached into their pockets. Padre Nico pushed forward, his smirk returning.
‘Tobias!’ hissed Freja, tugging at his cardigan. ‘If the crowd starts tossing coins, they’ll drift away and there’ll be no-one to shield us from the priest.’
‘WAIT!’ roared Tobias. ‘There’s more!’
The crowd fell silent. Padre Nico rolled his eyes.
‘Tossing a coin is just the beginning of the magic,’ said Tobias. ‘Ladies! Toss a tube of lipstick into the fountain and you will meet your true love before leaving Rome!’
The women twittered and clucked. Samantha blushed like a tomato and unzipped her bumbag. She rustled about, dropping bus tickets, sweets and tissues until, finally, she pulled out a silver lipstick tube. Her cheeks dimpled.
‘What about the men?’ yelled the backpacker. ‘Don’t give the ladies all the fun!’
‘Yes. A story for us lads!’ cried another.
‘Of course!’ agreed Tobias. ‘Something for the men.’ He looked up into the sky and rubbed his chin.
‘Socks!’ shouted Freja. ‘Toss a sock into the Trevi Fountain and a pretty girl will kiss you on the cheek.’
The backpacker chuckled and nudged his friend.
‘How do I get a kiss on the lips?’ asked one bold fellow.
‘Toss two socks!’ cried Tobias. ‘One over each shoulder!’
Everyone roared with laughter.
‘Toss in a chocolate gelato and you will win at your next game of cards!’ sang Tobias.
‘Toss in a hat and you will never go bald!’ Freja promised.
The girl and the writer were on a roll, and the audience loved it. The sillier they became, the more the audience laughed and clapped.
All except for Padre Nico. He looked confused.
The Girl, the Dog, and the Writer in Rome Page 16