Angels of the Flood

by Joanna Hines

  ‘You heard about it, then?’

  Annette nodded. She seemed to have forgotten her outburst of the previous evening and her manner towards Kate today was much more benign. Even so, Kate could never forget that this was the woman who had blamed her for Francesca’s death. The injustice of her accusation only made it ten times worse.

  The old woman raised her glass in a white-gloved hand and sipped her wine, then said, ‘Dino’s always been a fool.’ Her voice was harsh with contempt. ‘And a terrible shot—lucky for you, eh?’ She laughed.

  Kate shivered. Changing the subject, she said, ‘You must be so proud of Simona and all she’s done here.’

  Annette’s wizened little face peered up at her. She appeared genuinely puzzled by this suggestion. ‘Proud? What in the name of all that’s holy have I got to be proud about?’

  Kate gestured round the room, packed with all the patrons and artists and dignitaries who’d gathered to celebrate Simona’s achievement. ‘The Fondazione,’ she said. ‘All this.’ And when Annette showed no sign of having the first idea what she was talking about, she added, ‘I wonder what Zio Toni would make of the way Simona has used his fortune.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Zio Toni. Wasn’t that the name of Simona’s uncle?’

  Annette didn’t reply. The flesh on her face darkened and she was having difficulty breathing. Then she said with quiet certainty, ‘That man’s in hell. Where he belongs. I hope he rots there for ever—’ the volume was rising as her invective got under way and one or two people turned to look at her—‘whatever that evil bastard is suffering right now, it’s less than he deserves… And you too, I hope you die and go to hell for what you did to me!’

  More heads were turning as Annette’s rant gathered momentum. Kate looked about her in desperation. ‘Stop it,’ she said, ‘You’re talking nonsense.’

  She caught sight of Mario making his way through the throng towards them. ‘Annette,’ said Mario in a low voice, taking her by the arm. ‘Andiamo. We go now?’

  She looked up at him, her old eyes filmed and unseeing. ‘Take your hands off me!’ she yelled. ‘Who are you anyway?’ In spite of her crazy accusations, Kate felt a strange pity for her. Even after all these years, the memory of her daughter’s death was unbearable.

  ‘It’s me. Mario. You must not tire yourself, Annette.’ Holding her firmly by the arm, he gestured with his head to a figure standing at the edge of the room. Smiling as always, Dino moved silently through the crowd. Kate stepped out of his path, but he did not notice her. He was looking only at Annette. She had been bristling with confused anger, ready to do battle with Mario or anyone else who stood in her way, but as soon as Dino came into her line of vision, she relaxed, breathed a sigh of relief and said something in Italian. She took his arm and together they walked away through the crowd.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Kate asked Mario.

  He said, ‘You must have said something to upset her.’

  ‘All I said was that she must be proud of Simona’s achievements. And I wondered what Zio Toni would have made of it all. Not exactly dynamite.’

  Mario made a gesture of exasperation. ‘Let me give you a word of advice. Do not speak to Annette again. And never mention the girls’ uncle.’

  ‘Why on earth not? I mean—’

  ‘Just don’t say his name, okay? And it’s a good idea not to mention Francesca either.’

  ‘I don’t understand

  ‘My point exactly,’ said Mario and, turning on his heel, he walked away. Kate had the impression he’d opted to quit the conversation before his temper got the better of him.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ she said angrily, starting to follow him, ‘You can’t just—’

  ‘Kate, believe me. I can do what I want.’

  Kate was about to argue with him when she saw David approaching through the crowds. Thank the Lord, she thought, surprised by the strength of her relief and pleasure at the sight of his familiar black-browed face. Someone who doesn’t talk in riddles all the time.

  Chapter 35

  Wolfbait

  ‘SO WHAT’S BEEN GOING on?’

  The maid who’d brought David’s bags up the stairs had just closed the door behind her and he and Kate were alone in the palatial bedroom where she’d spent her sleepless night. He was looking about him, taking in the generous proportions of the room and the beautiful old furniture, then he walked over to a window cut into the deep walls and leaned on the sill, breathing in the clean late-summer air. On the long drive leading down to the road he could see a steady stream of cars, rear windows glinting in the afternoon light, as the gala-day guests headed home.

  ‘Someone tried to shoot me,’ said Kate. ‘Yesterday evening.’

  ‘With a camera?’

  ‘A gun.’

  ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘No.’ Kate sighed and flopped down on the edge of the bed. ‘I only wish I was.’

  ‘Really shoot?’ David was having problems getting his head around this idea. Over a hundred guests had just spent the whole day praising the work of the Fondazione and it was hard to reconcile that with the idea of anyone wanting to shoot at Kate. He pulled off his jacket and threw it over a chair. ‘Are you sure?’

  She nodded. ‘Everyone says it was an accident because the idiot nightwatchman mistook me for a wild boar or a wolf or something but—’

  ‘A wolf? You?’ David was on the verge of laughing with disbelief, but then, seeing the expression on Kate’s face, he said, ‘You’d better tell me exactly what happened.’

  As briefly as she could, Kate recounted the events of the previous evening: her walk up to La Guardia with Simona and Mario, Simona’s fall, how she said she’d walk down later on her own. And then the realization that she wasn’t alone on the mountainside, and those gunshots, hitting the hillside close by not once but twice. David tried to take in what she was saying, but it just didn’t add up.

  ‘You’re sure it wasn’t an accident?’ he asked.

  ‘How can it have been? I mean, you can see how he might have made one mistake, but I called out after the first shot and the bastard fired again.’

  ‘Are you sure you called out? Maybe you just think you did. After all, it’s easy to misjudge in a situation like that.’

  ‘I know I did. It was something daft like, “Hey, watch what you’re doing!”—something really original like that.’

  ‘You think it might have been deliberate then?’

  ‘Well, if it wasn’t an accident…’ Kate pondered. ‘No,’ she said eventually, ‘it doesn’t make sense. Why would anyone want to shoot at me? It must have been the nightwatchman like Simona said—and maybe he’s deaf as well as half-blind.’

  David considered this. But it was obvious Kate had been deeply shaken, and he knew she wasn’t the kind of person to let her imagination run away with her. It seemed unlikely, but: ‘Is it possible someone was trying to warn you off?’

  ‘Why would Dino want to warn me off?’

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t this Dino character after all.’

  Kate stared at him for a moment, then shook her head. ‘David, you’re way off your script.’ She smiled wryly. ‘You’re supposed to tell me there’s nothing to worry about, that it was all an accident and I’m absolutely safe here.’

  ‘I always thought the bodyguard’s job was to evaluate risk.’ He moved across the room to stand in front of her.

  ‘This bodyguard’s just supposed to be reassuring.’

  He leaned over her. ‘This bodyguard has other things on his mind. He’s missed you.’

  There was a long silence, then Kate said slowly, ‘Good. I’ve missed you too, David.’

  Kate lay back on the pillows. The bed was covered with a faded silk spread bearing a Japanese design which must have been eighteenth century. Kate knew she ought to remove it first, but she didn’t have the energy. ‘God, I’ve never been so tired,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t go to sleep on me, Kate, not yet. Ha
ve you found out who sent the paintings?’

  ‘Simona.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘Have you asked her?’

  ‘Of course. She keeps saying she wants to talk to me, but whenever we get the chance she just fritters it away.’ Kate rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. ‘She’d better spit it out soon, because I plan on leaving first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘From what I’ve seen of Simona so far, she seems just as highly-strung as her sister ever was,’ said David. Kate didn’t respond. ‘Kate?’

  No reply.

  Leaving her to catch up on some sleep, David went into a bathroom so vast and cavernous he half expected to see stalactites hanging down from the ceiling. While he showered away the dust and sweat of his drive up from Rome, he reviewed the previous twenty-four hours. His visit to his daughter had gone all right until the final evening, when, over enormous bowls of pasta alle vongole in a Trastevere restaurant, she suddenly dredged up a whole slew of old resentments and grievances, dating back to her first pony which had been, apparently, not competition material. By the time he’d walked her back to her shared apartment he was so baffled by her outburst he half thought she must have grown up in someone else’s family, not his. There then followed a tearful (on her part) farewell. It had been a huge relief that morning to pick up his hire car and drive north. The Fondazione’s gala day at the Villa Beatrice provided the perfect excuse for an early start, allowing no time for either more reproaches or more tears.

  He’d spent the first two hours of his journey angrily chewing over the ingratitude of daughters and paid no attention at all to his surroundings—he could have been driving on the dark side of the moon and he wouldn’t have noticed. But then, once he’d turned off the motorway and started the slow ascent into the hills, he realized he was travelling through a beautiful and wild part of Italy he’d forgotten about entirely. He must have hitched that way when he came out from Florence to the party. It amazed him that the landscape had made so little impression on him the first time he saw it, and he began wondering what it would be like to make a home here.

  It was his automatic response to any new place. David had reached that stage when a fresh start in an entirely new location seemed like the best way to fend off approaching age. Several of his contemporaries had already taken early retirement and their horizons had narrowed to golf and gardens—he wasn’t ready for that. A new life entirely, a new culture, new horizons and new friends and a new language to become fluent in—now that was the sort of challenge he’d enjoy.

  The Bertoni estate, with the classical elegance of the Villa Beatrice and La Rocca’s ancient beauty, was just the kind of place to fuel fantasies of a new beginning. There was a grandeur to Simona’s world that was definitely inspiring. The drama of the altered paintings, and now this talk of shooting, was almost a bonus. He didn’t for a moment think anyone had shot at Kate deliberately, but it was interesting to speculate, just as he’d enjoyed speculating on the reasons why the paintings had been sent in the first place. Whatever else could be said about the present situation, it wasn’t humdrum. He pulled on a towelling robe and went into the bedroom.

  Kate was sitting bolt upright on the half-canopied bed, looking about her in alarm. She looked tousled and infinitely desirable.

  ‘Have you ever thought of living in Italy?’ he asked her.

  ‘What?’ She looked bewildered. ‘I thought you’d gone.’

  ‘No. But I thought you’d prefer a clean bodyguard.’

  Kate had only fallen asleep for a few minutes, but the dreams seemed to have lasted for hours—dreams of pursuit and terror.

  She said, ‘David, I want to get away from this place. It gives me the creeps.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he told her. ‘We’re going in the morning.’

  ‘I want to go now.’

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and put his arm around her. ‘Kate, please. I’ve only just got here. And I’m your bodyguard, remember?’ He smiled. ‘It’ll be all right. Nothing bad can possibly happen to you while I’m here.’

  Chapter 36

  Bodyguard

  MARIO AND DAVID WERE both trying too hard; it was obvious they didn’t like each other any more now than they had done in 1967. The only difference was they were making more vigorous efforts to mask their antipathy. David asked Mario about his role in setting up the Fondazione, which was obviously substantial. Mario explained that Simona had the vision and the courage, and had supervised the day-to-day building and design while leaving bureaucracy and finance to Mario. ‘Right from the start,’ he explained, ‘Simona concentrated on the Fondazione itself, while I dealt with the outer world.’

  Simona didn’t argue with that, which left Kate wondering if his tasks had included lying to her about the price her paintings and other treasures had been sold for. After all, the two paintings that had arrived at her studio were seriously undervalued, which was especially worrying because Simona herself had seemed to be ignorant of their true worth. It wouldn’t have mattered so much if Simona hadn’t told Kate that most of the capital costs of the Fondazione had been paid for by the sale of items from her uncle’s collection. ‘I sold a Cranach to pay for the swimming pool,’ she had told Kate when they walked down to the Villa Beatrice that morning, and not for nothing was the purpose-built practice block called Casa Veronese. If Simona intended selling any more of her work, then she had to be properly advised how to get the best price for them. Kate needed to talk to her about this, but once again, it was impossible to get a moment to talk to her alone.

  The four of them had come out to eat at a restaurant halfway up another hill, about a twenty-minute drive from La Rocca. Simona said she needed a change of scene but Kate thought it more likely she wanted to avoid having yet another meal sabotaged by her crazy mother, which was fine by Kate. The restaurant itself was small and welcoming, but its food, though good, was not a patch on the meal Simona’s own cook had prepared the night before.

  All evening, Simona had been on edge and distracted. She’d repeated that she was eager to talk to Kate when they were walking together up the steps to the restaurant, but whenever Kate spoke to her she hardly seemed to be listening. She must be tired after the gala day, Kate thought. The morning’s speeches and the long buffet lunch had been followed by a concert by students which continued long past five o’clock and everyone wanted a piece of Simona’s attention. The last of the guests had only just departed before they set out for the restaurant.

  By the time their main course arrived, it was Mario’s turn to show courteous interest in his guest. Having discovered that asking David about his career to date was not a fruitful line of enquiry—‘Dry cleaning, that must have been interesting,’ Kate actually heard him say—Mario hit on David’s future plans as a more promising topic, and David responded by making that morning’s fantasy of setting up home in the Italian hinterland sound like a fixed intention.

  ‘In that case,’ said Mario, apparently delighted to be of help, ‘I know just the place for you. It belongs to a friend of mine whose husband died recently and she’s eager to sell. They were planning to renovate it, but have only got as far as making a beautiful property look like a building site, so it will sell for much less than its real value.’ And he went on to describe a place that was potentially idyllic, with fine views and old stone walls. ‘I can take you to see it tomorrow, if you like,’ said Mario.

  Kate could see that David was tempted. Already he was imagining a new life among whispering cypresses and ancient terraces. She said quickly, ‘Sorry, Mario, but we’re leaving tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, you can’t go so soon.’ Simona, who was sitting next to her, seemed to snap out of her reverie. ‘We’ve hardly had any chance to talk yet.’

  And whose fault is that? Kate wanted to ask. But all she said was, ‘We can talk whenever you want, Simona.’

  Mario looked anxious, but he still seemed determined to be helpful. He said, ‘If I sho
w David my friend’s house in the morning, you can still leave tomorrow if you want to. Would you like me to arrange it?’

  ‘Why not?’ said David.

  ‘Great,’ said Simona. ‘That means Kate and I will have the morning together.’

  Kate felt uneasy at the prospect of being left behind at La Rocca with Simona and her mother. There was security in David’s company. If he was determined to go house-hunting with Mario, then she would go too. ‘If you really want to see it,’ she said, ‘I’ll come as well.’

  Simona was disappointed, but, ‘We’ll all go,’ she said.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Mario.

  ‘What’s the house called?’ asked David.

  Mario laughed. ‘Not a very original name, I’m afraid—Bella Vista. But that can always be changed by the new owner.’

  ‘Isn’t changing names unlucky?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Only the names of boats,’ said David. ‘It’s all right with houses.’

  ‘Have you ever thought of changing your name, Kate?’ Simona asked her, and when Kate said that no, she’d never given it much thought so she supposed she must have always been quite happy with her name, Simona looked baffled. ‘I hate my name,’ she said. ‘I’ve always wanted to change it.’

  ‘Then why don’t you?’ Kate asked.

  Mario was sitting opposite Simona. Now he reached across the table, took her hand in his and said gently, ‘But you have a beautiful name, Simona. It suits you so well.’ He smiled and, still holding her hand, he recited: ‘“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” Simona Bertoni.’

  Simona snatched her hand away. Suddenly she was shaking with rage that seemed to have sprung from nowhere, out of all proportion. ‘Damn you, Mario Bassano! God damn you to hell!’

  His eyes darkened and he leaned back in his chair. ‘Piano, mia cara,’ he said quietly. ‘Easy does it. Don’t repeat the Florida mistake.’