Angels of the Flood

by Joanna Hines

  She had to get their attention, before the blackness swallowed her up. ‘I know you,’ she said loudly to the strange woman. ‘You’ve been here before.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the newcomer. ‘I’m surprised you remember.’

  ‘Oh, I remember all right. How would I forget? You were here when my baby girl died. You were—’

  ‘Mamma, please.’ That was Simona, trying to sound like a dutiful daughter. As if. ‘You’ll only upset yourself.’

  ‘I’ll say what I want and don’t you try to stop me. What did you say your name was?’

  ‘Kate. Kate Holland.’

  ‘That’s right. You wanted to take them away from me, didn’t you? You thought you could interfere in my family and then you tried to run away and… and—’

  ‘Mamma, stop this right now!’

  But she was on a roller coaster, couldn’t stop if she wanted to. ‘You killed my baby! It was all your fault! All of it!’

  That shook them. That made them sit up and pay attention. That set the goddamn cat among the goddamn pigeons. Oh yes it did! It made her laugh to see how they all spluttered and gawped. Even Dr Nothing-ever-bothers-me-because-I’m-perfect bloody Mario.

  The woman they said was called Kate was open-mouthed and shaking, like she’d just wet herself—ha! And that po-faced daughter of hers—which one did she say she was?—looked like she wanted to wallop her one. But she’d never dare.

  Shuffle, shuffle. Everybody flap around and fluster.

  ‘Mamma, why don’t you keep your foul mouth shut?’

  ‘Signora Bertoni, you’ve got it wrong.’

  ‘Annette.’ Only Mario ever called her Annette now. ‘You mustn’t excite yourself.’

  ‘Why not?’ She turned to him. ‘That woman killed my baby girl. She deserves to pay the price, just like I did.’

  ‘Mamma, that’s enough.’

  More kerfuffle and bother. It was good to be the centre of attention again. She always enjoyed that, but suddenly Signora Bertoni felt hugely tired. As though she wanted to lie down and sleep for a week. That was the trouble when the fog cleared. The view was always of something hateful, something that upset her and made her so goddamn-tired she wouldn’t mind curling up and sleeping right here. Still, at least she’d shown them. They’d know not to underestimate her in future.

  ‘Where’s Dino? I want to go back to my room.’ It was always better to quit before they threw you out.

  Her daughter—it must have been Simona—muttered something about small mercies and rang for Dino. He came at once. He helped her from her chair and it felt good. Like being a child again. A satisfied and naughty child.

  A very naughty child indeed. But that was all right. Naughty little girls can get away with anything.

  Chapter 8

  La Guardia

  ‘WHY DID YOU COME back here, Kate?’

  A stranger might have thought it a casual question. Kate knew better. She didn’t answer right away—La Rocca was no place for off-the-cuff answers.

  She and Mario were alone together in the dining room. Signora Bertoni had retired to her room, much to Kate’s relief, on the arm of the silently smiling Dino. She still felt shaken by the old woman’s outburst. A little later Simona had been called away to the phone. It was apparently some problem to do with the Fondazione and they could hear her voice clearly. Long gaps where she said only, ‘Si… si… si…’ followed by a torrent of rapid Italian.

  Kate sipped her wine. ‘No particular reason.’ The meal had been excellent, several courses in Italian fashion: delicious raviolini in brodo, with the ambrosial scent that only Italian home cooking can achieve, followed by succulent little steaks, then salad. Now a huge plate of cheeses and two plates with fresh figs and white fleshed peaches had been placed on the table. The whole meal was perfect in its simplicity. Which made it all the more of a shame that Signora Bertoni’s attack had robbed her of her appetite. She went on quietly, ‘David wanted to spend a couple of days in Rome… do you remember David Clay? He was in Florence in ’67.’

  Mario shook his head. ‘I do not remember.’ Kate wasn’t sure that she believed him. And anyway, was it just David he had chosen to forget, or was it… much more? She said, ‘David’s daughter is studying in Rome and I thought I’d like to see this place again.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell Simona you were coming?’

  ‘I didn’t think the family would still be here.’

  ‘It’s a long way to travel without an invitation.’

  ‘What’s the matter, Mario? Anyone would think you didn’t like me being here.’

  ‘Yes.’ He held her gaze. ‘They might think that.’ Kate felt a prickle of discomfort burning her skin. Long-buried questions were rising to the surface. She had been intrigued at the prospect of rediscovering the man she’d once thought was the love of her life, the man whose loss had affected her far more deeply than the end of her first marriage had done, but this was turning out to be more than intriguing. It was disturbing.

  Superficially he had not changed all that much. His thin face and quick intelligent eyes had always given him more appeal than many flashier men. His command of English was much improved. She seemed to remember that when she’d known him he’d had a quirky grasp of the language that was especially engaging. Now, all the wrinkles had been smoothed out. He spoke with grammatical perfection and only a slight trace of an accent. It was a polished performance, just like the rest of him. In the past, he’d been almost as much at sea in the Bertonis’ complex world as she had been. Now he gave the impression of a smooth operator, sleek and well fed, a man who knows how to enjoy the small comforts of life and not ask for too much else.

  She said, ‘Does Signora Bertoni often freak out like that?’

  He shook his head. ‘You brought back bad memories for her.’

  ‘The woman’s crazy.’

  ‘Maybe so. She never really recovered from Francesca’s death and now that she is old… well, sometimes the memories get too strong for her. You must not take it personally.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’

  He smiled. ‘Still so determined?’

  Kate didn’t answer. How strange that he remembered her as being determined.

  Mario picked out a peach and began removing its skin. He did so carefully, his short, workmanlike fingers a contrast to the elegance of his clothes, his glossy, well-groomed exterior. He said easily, ‘So, tell me about yourself, Kate. Are you married? Do you work?’

  ‘Divorced. And yes, I do work.’

  He was cutting the peach carefully into quarters with a little ivory-handled fruit knife. ‘And what is it you do?’

  ‘I work with pictures. I’m a conservator.’

  ‘How very interesting. Unfortunately much of the Bertoni collection has been sold off to finance the Fondazione. But there are still several which might interest you. You must ask Simona to show you. If there’s time. When did you say you had to leave?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Ah.’ He shot her a questioning glance.

  Kate couldn’t resist saying, ‘I thought I might stay a few days, actually,’ and noted with interest the quick frown that shadowed his face. No doubt about it, Mario was not relishing this opportunity to stroll down memory lane. She said, ‘Is it a problem for you, Mario, me being here?’

  ‘For myself, no, of course not. I am delighted to see you again.’ The impersonal professionalism was in place again. ‘But for others…’

  ‘Because of the way Simona’s mother reacted?’

  ‘No. She is old and confused.’ Kate heard the ruthlessness in his voice. ‘She does not signify any more.’

  ‘Then what’s the problem?’

  Mario glanced towards the half-open door of the dining room. Simona’s voice could be heard quite clearly. He sighed, then said quietly, ‘Simona. Our dear Simona is the problem. She should not have asked you to stay.’

  ‘This is her house, Mario. Surely she can invite who she wa
nts?’

  He pounced on her words. ‘Simona invited you? I thought you told me she didn’t know you were coming.’

  ‘She didn’t, but once I showed up, she said why didn’t I stay. That’s all.’ Anyone would think, thought Kate, he was trying to catch her out. Why? Simona had been very insistent that Mario mustn’t be told about the value of the paintings. Was he involved in some kind of scam to defraud her? ‘Any particular reason why she shouldn’t?’ she asked.

  ‘It is difficult to explain.’

  ‘Try, anyway.’

  He sighed again, then leaned back in his chair, staring thoughtfully at the four quarters of peach arranged on his plate. ‘Simona has a sensitive nature.’ He was choosing his words carefully, as if calculating how much information it was safe to give away. ‘She reacts differently than other people would. Especially when it’s anything to do with her sister.’

  His words brought back another conversation, long ago. Where? Kate had a vague memory of a bar, a place without comforts, just simple tables and in the background a jukebox playing. Hadn’t Mario offered similar veiled warnings about Francesca? Was she supposed to believe that both sisters were so sensitive that exposure to someone like her would threaten their mental stability? And what exactly were the ties that bound him and Simona together? Already the questions were piling up. This had always been a place with more questions than answers. ‘So why do you think she wants me to stay?’

  ‘That’s what—’ He broke off as Simona returned to the dining room.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ she said, looking questioningly from Kate to Mario. ‘Last-minute glitches in the arrangements for the gala day tomorrow. You’ll be able to see the Fondazione congratulating itself, Kate. Now that we are successful everyone wants a piece of the action. They’re even sending some big shot from the department of culture in Rome.’

  ‘Kate may not be able to stay another day,’ said Mario.

  ‘Oh, but she must. She’s only just got here.’

  ‘Did you know Kate works with pictures? She’s a conservator?’

  ‘Is that true, Kate?’ Simona simulated surprise. ‘How fascinating. We’ll have to have a proper tour in the morning, so you can see what we have left. Not so much as my uncle had, but still not bad for a private collection.’

  ‘You could show them to her now,’ said Mario.

  ‘No, daylight is best. So, Kate, how would you like to be entertained this evening?’

  ‘Kate is no doubt tired after that long taxi ride,’ said Mario, the slight emphasis on the last three words betraying his suspicion.

  ‘Oh, don’t be so boring, Mario. It’s still early. You go home if you want to, but these last evenings of summer are so special it’s a crime to waste them. I know!’ She clapped her hands together in a theatrical gesture, as though the idea had just that moment occurred to her. ‘Let’s walk up to La Guardia. It’s nearly a full moon. We may even hear the nightingales.’

  ‘La Guardia?’ Kate asked. ‘Isn’t that an airport?’

  ‘It means The Lookout. It’s the highest point of our land you can reach without mountaineering equipment.’ She laughed, but her enthusiasm for their evening walk sounded forced. Kate thought perhaps she was trying to get some time with her away from Mario. ‘From there you can see halfway to Florence. It’s wonderful at night.’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ said Kate. ‘I’ll get my jacket.’

  ‘And some sensible shoes,’ warned Mario. He turned to Simona, ‘Don’t forget to tell Dino.’

  ‘Oh, he’ll be safely tucked up in the kitchen drinking grappa till midnight.’

  ‘Best tell him anyway,’ said Mario. ‘To be on the safe side.’

  ‘What does Dino have to do with it?’ asked Kate. The notion that Signora Bertoni’s round-faced escort needed to be told of their plans made her uncomfortable.

  ‘It is his job to patrol the grounds at night,’ explained Mario. ‘A remote place like this attracts all kinds of undesirables. You cannot be too careful.’

  ‘Are you coming, Mario?’ Simona asked him casually. ‘Or do you want to get home?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’ll come,’ said Mario. He smiled. ‘I haven’t been to the Lookout at night for months.’ If Simona was disappointed by his decision, she was careful not to show it.

  They assembled at the back of the house. Simona had brought a torch, but didn’t use it. The moon, a few days away from full, had risen some time before and, once their eyes had adjusted to the outdoors, the path was clearly defined as it wound between boulders and outcrops of rock on the way to the summit. The cool air was still sweet with the fragrance of dry leaves. Far off, beyond distant hills, thunder rumbled, a harmless reminder of the coming winter storms.

  They walked in single file, Simona leading the way and Mario bringing up the rear. After the warmth of the day, Kate was surprised how quickly the temperature had dropped. The air was chill against her cheeks. It was refreshing, clearing her head which was muzzy from the champagne and the wine they had drunk with dinner.

  The path climbed steeply. Soon they were looking down on the lights of La Rocca and, half a mile further down the hillside, the glow in the trees that showed the location of the Villa Beatrice. From this angle and in the darkness La Rocca’s origins as a medieval stronghold were sharply outlined. Already the view was stupendous. They were only an hour’s drive from Florence, but they could have been in a different world. On all sides were steep wooded hills, and in the valley below lay the river like a curve of silver rope. Kate had been in cities so long she’d forgotten how spectacular the night sky is away from the pollution caused by urban lights. She paused for a moment to catch her breath and marvelled at the sheer bigness of sky and landscape.

  ‘It’s good, isn’t it?’ said Mario, coming up behind her in the darkness. For the first time, his voice sounded almost friendly.

  ‘Wonderful.’

  She had lost sight of Simona, striding ahead of them, confident and at home on the uneven mountain path. While she and Mario were gazing up at the stars, Simona vanished behind an outcrop of rock a little way ahead, so they never saw exactly what happened next.

  There was a piercing scream and the rattle of small stones. Then silence.

  ‘Simona!’ Kate called out. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Simona!’ Mario’s voice behind her was ragged with fear.

  Kate began running up the path but Mario was faster, pushing past her in his urgency.

  They rounded the corner. A pale shape beside the path a little way ahead moved slightly. Then Simona struggled to her feet. ‘It’s okay,’ she said, brushing grit from her trousers. ‘No bones broken.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Mario. ‘My God, Simona, you could have been… You must be more careful. You know how dangerous that corner is.’ He was helping Simona to her feet, fussing and scolding. There was nothing phoney about his concern this time. To Kate’s ears it sounded very much like the panic you only really feel for those you love. She would have given a lot, right then, to know the precise nature of their relationship.

  Alerted by the anxiety in his voice, Kate looked down beyond the small patch of rough ground where Simona had fallen. A few stunted bushes, a small boulder… and after that the ground plunged dizzyingly down. A sheer drop of hundreds of metres. A small stone, loosened by her foot, bounced down and down and then vanished into the void. She never heard it hit the bottom. Kate stepped back, suddenly feeling sick.

  You could have been killed was the meaning behind Mario’s words, but all he said was, ‘You should have worn proper shoes.’

  ‘Don’t fuss,’ said Simona. ‘We’re nearly there.’

  But she was limping badly as they made their way, cautiously now, along the final fifty metres of track to the Lookout. Kate found herself on a small oval of ground just below the summit. It was well worth the climb. Up here you got that top-of-the-world sensation; Kate felt that if she stretched out her arms she could almost brush her hands against the stars.<
br />
  They stood in silence for a while. La Rocca and Villa Beatrice lay on the far side of the mountain. From here, though the view stretched for miles, few lights were visible. Kate, whose image of Italy was all of cities and paintings and cultivated land, was taken aback by the wildness of the scene.

  ‘How do you like it?’ Simona had hobbled over to a seat carved into the rock.

  ‘It’s fantastic,’ said Kate. ‘I can’t think why Francesca never showed me this.’

  ‘The path didn’t exist back then,’ Simona explained. ‘We did once clamber up here but there was hell to pay when the adults found out what we’d been doing. I got the men to make this route a few years back.’

  Mario emerged from the shadow of the rock where he’d been standing in silence and crouched down beside Simona, cradling her foot in his hands. ‘You’re bleeding,’ he said.

  ‘Am I?’ Simona peered curiously at her leg. A thread of blood was trickling over her ankle.

  ‘Look.’ His voice was full of angry concern. Still holding her foot, Mario rolled her trouser leg back to reveal a deep gash. Kate felt a sudden gust of sexual attraction, a deep tug of memory. One night, long ago, a young doctor had taken her foot in his hands, just so, and rubbed her flesh to warm it. And then… was it present attraction she was experiencing now, or was it just the echo of remembered desire?

  ‘Damn,’ said Simona. ‘These shoes will be ruined.’

  ‘Never mind the shoes,’ said Mario. ‘Flex your toes. That’s right. And does it hurt when I—?’ Simona’s yelp of pain was all the answer he needed. ‘This needs a dressing. We’re going back to the house.’

  ‘But we only just got here.’

  ‘And now we’re leaving.’

  ‘But Kate—’

  ‘Kate can stay if she wants to but I’m taking you back to La Rocca.’

  Simona protested some more but Mario was adamant.