Angels of the Flood

by Joanna Hines

  He dragged on his cigarette and said, ‘Francesca is crazy child. She think she has—hm—magic life and nothing can injure. Is bad accident coming, I know in my bones.’

  Kate touched his shoulder, just where his hair curled down over the ribbed neck of his sweater. She’d been wanting to do it since leaving the Villa Beatrice. Such a casual gesture, and yet the shock of it sent a current charging up her arm. It was the same for him, she could tell. He reached up and put his hand over hers. Kate felt a giddying gust of desire, like nothing she had known before. As though she might faint with the power of it.

  She said, ‘You mustn’t worry so much, Mario. Relax.’

  ‘No, Kate, is important I must worry.’

  ‘Why? You’re not in love with her, are you?’

  He removed his hand. ‘You are all like children,’ he said. He sounded irritated by the whole business.

  ‘We’re just having fun,’ said Kate.

  ‘Like stupid children.’

  Kate felt as if she’d been slapped. ‘Well, at least we know how to have a good time,’ she said, and withdrew to the very back of the car.

  Just then the passenger door swung open with a rush of cool air and the neck of an enormous wine bottle, like an elephant’s trunk, was thrust into the car.

  ‘God, poor Hugo,’ Francesca was saying. ‘He got a ride in a Mercedes and the driver just about raped him. Said he was a big shot in fish canning, as if that was some kind of excuse, can you believe it?’

  ‘Hi, everyone,’ said Hugo, piling in behind his bottle and nearly poking Kate’s eye out with the cork. ‘Thanks for the rescue. I thought I was going to have to walk.’

  On the way back he told them of his mishaps. Kate was only half listening. Perversely, Mario’s rejection had made him suddenly more attractive in her eyes. Which was odd, really, because she’d never made a habit of falling for difficult men.

  Chapter 22

  On the Terrace

  A FULL SCALE ROW erupted between Mario and Francesca as soon as they got back to the Villa Beatrice. Kate assumed he was still angry about her dangerous driving and didn’t bother trying to follow it, though she felt somehow satisfied that she wasn’t the only person Mario had turned on. Hugo, who hated rows, disappeared into the party with his enormous wine bottle tucked under his arm like a lance and was welcomed with cheers. Kate was about to follow him when Francesca grabbed her arm.

  ‘Stick up for me, Kate,’ she said. ‘Tell him he’s not the boss of my life!’

  ‘Can’t you tell him yourself?’ Kate was genuinely puzzled.

  Mario said something to Francesca in Italian and she replied just as fast and just as angry. From all her non vados and non voglios Kate gathered he was trying to make her do something against her will.

  Their argument must have been audible in the room where the music was playing. David came into the hall. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked Kate.

  ‘Search me,’ she said. David suddenly seemed remarkably attractive, with his black eyebrows and his sportsman’s build, but most of all because he was familiar, and could be guaranteed not to tell her she was acting like a stupid child. ‘We might as well leave them to it.’

  David frowned. To Kate’s annoyance he put a hand on Francesca’s shoulder and said, ‘Francesca, are you okay?’

  She spun round. ‘Tell him for me!’ she said in English. ‘Tell him he can’t make me do this!’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Just tell him I’m through with whoring for my family!’ There were tears of anger on her face. ‘I won’t do it any more. I wont!

  There was a stunned silence.

  Then Mario asked, with genuine bewilderment on his face, ‘Whoring? What is this?’

  David put his arm round Francesca’s waist and said to Mario, ‘Maybe you should just leave her alone.’

  ‘You not understand,’ said Mario.

  ‘I can see when someone’s party is being spoiled for them.’ He pulled Francesca to his side and Kate saw how she seemed to relax in his embrace. ‘It’s okay, sweetie. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. Hey, know what? You look like you could use a dance.’

  ‘A dance?’ She echoed his words.

  ‘That’s right.’ David’s hand was caressing the nape of her neck, under her thick mane of hair. He looked across at Mario and smiled. ‘It’s party time, folks.’

  ‘Francesca!’ Mario was pleading with her. She said something crude in Italian, then laughed and went towards the sala with David.

  Just before she got to the door she turned and said, in English, ‘Just remember, Mario, you don’t own me. No one does. No one’s ever going to own me again.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said David, kissing the top of her head. ‘You tell him like it is.’

  Then she and David vanished into the music and cigarette smoke of the party and Mario, watching them go, cursed loudly. Kate had never seen him like this, so full of rage and frustrated energy.

  She was about to follow the others into the other room, but then she turned and said, ‘What’s all this about, Mario?’

  He blinked, as though he’d forgotten she was there, he was so bound up in the power struggle with Francesca. He smiled bitterly, ‘Francesca makes ruin of her life,’ he said tersely.

  ‘You don’t think maybe you’re exaggerating a bit?’ asked Kate. She’d come here for a good time and now it all seemed to be getting a bit heavy. Mario needed to lighten up. She’d have been happy to show him how, but didn’t want to risk a second rejection.

  He didn’t answer, merely shrugged and turned towards the front door.

  ‘You’re not going, are you?’ said Kate, following him.

  ‘I must make visit for her uncle,’ he said.

  ‘But what about the party?’

  ‘Maybe later I return.’

  ‘Wait. I don’t understand. What’s going on?’

  They stood at the top of the steps and Mario lit cigarettes for both of them. His hand, Kate noticed as he held the lighter, was shaking.

  She asked again, ‘What were you arguing about? Why did she say that about people owning her?’

  ‘Francesca she make big esagerazione.’

  ‘She exaggerates?’ Mario nodded and Kate went on, ‘Was that why she talked about whoring for her family?’

  ‘I do not know,’ he said. ‘What is this word whoring?’

  ‘It’s what prostitutes do. Selling sex for money.’

  There was genuine shock on Mario’s face at this translation. He said, ‘Certo, sometimes I think Francesca she is crazy woman.’

  ‘She’s my friend,’ said Kate. ‘I don’t like to see her upset.’

  ‘A real friend for Francesca would help her now. Not let her throw it all away.’

  ‘Throw all what away?’

  He looked intently at her for a moment, then took her arm and said, ‘Come. I show you.’

  They walked round the side of the house, their shoes crunching the small stones of the pathway, and came to a wide stone terrace overlooking the valley. Its pale marble balustrades were what you saw in that first view of the house from halfway up the drive. Here the sounds from the party were more muted, talk and laughter and ‘Cathy’s Clown’ on the record player. There was a sense of the outdoors and the vastness of the Italian hinterland, distant hills and the huge canopy of sky, a scent of leaves and earth and woodsmoke. Far below them they could see the pale curve of the river in the valley, and as they watched a single headlight fanned over the river, then slowed as it crossed the narrow bridge.

  ‘Is beautiful?’ He turned to look at her.

  ‘Very beautiful,’ agreed Kate.

  ‘It belong to Francesca’s uncle.’

  ‘And he’s dying?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does he have children of his own?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So who gets all this when he dies?’

  There was silence. Mario dropped the butt of his cigarette and ground it un
der his heel.

  She asked again, ‘Francesca?’

  ‘No one knows. Her uncle make the big secret.’

  ‘But it might be Francesca?’

  ‘She was always the—hm—favourite. Since long time.’

  Kate had the sense that random fragments were beginning to form a coherent picture. Or if they didn’t make the picture yet, that still, they would do. So many things about Francesca that she hadn’t understood before. She said, ‘Maybe the money’s not so important to her as you think.’

  He gestured with his hand, a gesture of impatience and dismissal. He said, ‘She does not know. She think because she has—hm—good time in Florence with you and your friends, that she can make a different life for herself. But is a fantasy. She cannot be for always an angelo del fango.’

  ‘But she can work. She can make a life for herself, same as the rest of us.’

  ‘Francesca is not like the rest of you.’

  ‘How can you be so sure? You haven’t known her these last few weeks. She’s changed while she’s been with us in Florence. We’ve all changed a bit, but with Francesca it’s gone really deep. As if she’s discovering the person she really is. And anyway, why does it bother you so much whether she gets her uncle’s money or not? What’s in it for you?’

  ‘I want the good life for Francesca.’

  ‘Yes. Well. And so do I. But money isn’t what makes the good life. What about her uncle? Has his money made him a happy man? The important thing is doing something you care about and being with people who love and respect you, that’s all that matters in the end and—’

  ‘Basta!’ He interrupted her impatiently. ‘Enough. This ideas is good for pop songs, not for real life. You have corrupt Francesca with this crazy talk.’

  ‘Me? Corrupt Francesca? That’s rich, coming from you. You’re the one who’s dragged her here against her will. All we want is for her to be herself and be happy. And she has been happy this last few weeks, you should have seen her. Then you’d know that I was right!’

  There was a long silence. Mario turned to her and said, ‘Kate, when you are angry, you are molto bella. You know what that means?’

  It wasn’t what she’d been expecting, but she refused to be thrown off course. She said, ‘How come you’re so involved in Francesca’s life? Are you in love with her?’

  This time the silence stretched out so long Kate thought he was offended at the question and wasn’t going to answer at all. But finally he sighed, and said, ‘In past I think yes, I love Francesca. But now…’ He looked directly into her eyes and Kate felt a tremor, almost like fear, feather up the whole length of her spine. ‘Now I am not so sure.’

  She was holding her breath. Now, if ever, Mario would tell her everything: why Francesca had run away from her family, why she had been so desperate that night on the bridge, why this weekend had been so important, what the ties were that bound them. But there was something else trembling in the balance as they stood there on the terrace, some connection between Mario’s uncertainty about his feelings for Francesca and the way he was looking at Kate right now.

  She said, ‘Let’s not talk about Francesca any more.’

  ‘You want we talk about you?’

  ‘Or not talk at all.’

  ‘No talk?’

  ‘No.’

  She hardly moved, and nor did he, just leaned a little towards her and she closed her eyes as their mouths drew together. His hands were on her shoulder blades and she let her body drift against his. She felt easy as thistledown, as though a breeze had blown them together and she would stay in his arms for ever.

  His kiss grew stronger, hungrier, more insistent and she arched her spine towards him. She felt his desire increasing, like a force that’s been kept in check too long. Her own desire was growing too, and alongside that there was a kind of triumph, a sense of obstacles overcome and the scent of victory, though victory over what or whom, she didn’t know.

  He drew back first. ‘You like, Kate?’ It was a teasing question.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said, the surface of her body vibrant with desire. ‘Let’s try again to make sure.’

  He cupped her head in his hands, his fingers raking back her hair, and pulled her face towards his. Kate had never known that kissing could be like this, sensations so powerful it was like flying and drowning all at once. She wanted it to go on for ever and she wanted more… She could feel his excitement echoing hers, stronger than hers, his arousal pressing against her stomach. Surrender and power.

  This time, she drew back, her lips swollen with kissing.

  He was breathing heavily. He asked again, ‘You like, Kate?’

  Her whole body humming with desire, she never noticed the harshness of his repeated question. ‘Yes,’ she said happily. ‘I like very much.’

  But this time when she moved forward to kiss him, he put his hands on either side of her face and held her away from him. She was startled by the strength of the two hands gripping her head and the dark anger in his eyes.

  ‘Is what you like to do with your English boys?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You like to fuck?’

  ‘What?’ Kate was so stunned by the change in him that for a moment it was all she could say.

  He said, ‘You want a Latin lover, Kate?’

  She gasped. ‘You bastard! How dare you!’ There was a catch in her voice, hot tears of shock springing into her eyes.

  Still his hands were holding her face, his eyes searching hungrily. He said, ‘Is all a game for you, right? A stupid child’s game?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You come here and you know nothing of Francesca’s world, but you make big speeches and you help her to destroy her future. You think it is a game just like having fuck with stranger.’

  Kate wrenched herself away and slapped him, hard. ‘How dare you! You’re the one who’s got it all wrong, not me, you bloody pervert. What are you trying to prove anyway? I don’t care about her uncle’s money. All I care about is Francesca! Jesus! I can’t believe you just did that!’

  To her fury, Kate found she was weeping. Mario caught her by the wrist. She struggled, but his grip was too strong for her. ‘Kate,’ he said. ‘Please—’

  ‘Let go of me!’ she yelled. ‘Jesus, just because you’re totally fucked up, you think everyone else is the same. Just let go of me, you creep!’

  ‘Kate.’ But he released her wrist. ‘Maybe I am mistake, but—’

  ‘Like hell you are!’ she said, backing off.

  ‘Kate!’

  She turned, and ran back to the front of the house. She was shivering violently as she went back into the hall. Her heart was thumping with fury and the last remnants of arousal as she went back into the party and searched among the bottles strewn around the room for one with some left in the bottom. The huge room where the record player was seemed even larger now that one or two couples had disappeared. Francesca and David had vanished, so too Jenny and Aiden, but Larry was sitting sadly by the record player. He tried to engage Kate in a discussion of the Venetian contribution to the Renaissance but she snapped at him and he subsided into a rare silence. She was smoking a cigarette when Francesca found her.

  ‘Where have you been?’ asked Kate.

  ‘I thought I’d better persuade Angelica to go to bed. She’s got a room above the kitchen. Have you seen Mario?’

  ‘No,’ said Kate shortly. And if she never saw him again that was fine by her. ‘Have you seen David?’

  ‘No.’

  They grinned at each other. The party was winding down. The wine had all been drunk and they’d listened to every record ten times over. Larry had fallen asleep by the record player. Dido was tucked up on a chaise longue, head to toe with an Irish mechanic called Fergus. Hugo was already fast asleep on a chair in the corner of the room, his empty wine bottle with the enormous neck propped up like a rifle against the wall.

  ‘I’m pooped,’ said Francesca.

  �
�Me too. Pity we can’t use the bedrooms.’

  Francesca hesitated, then, ‘There’s cushions in the camerino.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I’ll show you.’

  Francesca led her to a small room at the centre of the house. As far as Kate could tell by the light of the torch in Francesca’s hand, it had no windows of any kind.

  ‘Don’t the lights work in here?’

  ‘We don’t need them.’ Francesca stooped to gather up a couple of enormous cushions from the floor. There was no other furniture. ‘You take those two,’ she told Kate.

  ‘What’s it for?’

  ‘My uncle used to keep his most valuable paintings in here. Now they’re all up at his house. Hurry up. This room gives me the creeps.’

  But Kate was too interested to hurry. By the light of the torch she could make out that it was an eight-sided room, panelled to about three feet, with spaces above the panels where paintings must have hung. ‘Look,’ she said, pushing the door behind her. ‘If we shut the door, you’d never know where it was.’

  ‘Stop it,’ said Francesca, and there was real anxiety in her voice. ‘I hate this room. Let’s get out of here.’

  They put the cushions on the floor in the room on the other side of the hall from the sala and lay down fully clothed. Francesca had found a blanket from somewhere which she pulled over them both.

  ‘How did you get on with David?’ asked Kate. ‘I thought maybe you had something going between you.’

  ‘Yes. Well. It didn’t work out.’

  ‘What’s Mario’s problem?’ Kate wanted to know.

  Francesca sighed. ‘Where do you want me to start?’

  ‘Is he in love with you?’

  Francesca didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched out so long Kate thought she must have fallen asleep. ‘I don’t know,’ she said at last. ‘He thinks he is, but…’

  ‘But?’

  ‘He wants to marry me,’ said Francesca.

  ‘Marry you?’ Kate was horrified at the thought of anyone getting tied down so soon. ‘God, what an idea!’

  ‘Well, you have to marry someone,’ said Francesca.