by Joanna Hines
‘Mamma.’ Francesca started to move towards her mother to reassure her that she’d still be cared for, no matter what.
Then she stopped.
And stared.
Her mother, her poor, confused old mother, had removed something from her embroidered bag. Something small and smooth and made of mother-of-pearl and ivory. She was holding it between her two hands. Hands like little claws covered in rings. Hands so frail she could barely lift a fork to her mouth, but now those hands were holding something level with the centre of her chest and pointing it directly at Kate. A gun.
Francesca recognized the gun. It had always been a kind of joke in the family, the elegant little lady’s pistol with its mother-of-pearl inlay, which Annette had been given by Signora Bertoni senior when she first arrived in Italy. ‘You never know who you can trust,’ her mother-in-law was supposed to have told her. ‘If you’re travelling without your husband, you must always take this with you.’ Where had she hidden it all this time? Why had Francesca not known about it?
Mario said with quiet authority, ‘Annette, put that thing away right now.’
She ignored him. ‘Kate Holland,’ she said in her harsh old smoker’s voice, you should’ve kept away. I warned you, didn’t I? I warned you twice, but you never listened. And now you’re going to pay the price. Il prezzo. Just like I did.’
‘Mamma, no!’
The first shot sounded like a child’s firework. Francesca saw Kate jerk backwards, her eyes widen with surprise as her hand flew up to her shoulder. Then, slowly, slowly, she began to fall. David was at her side in time to catch her. Gasping, she collapsed in his arms.
‘The fucking bitch!’ she panted. ‘What the—’
Francesca’s mother made a small tutting sound, as though displeased with her aim, and she held the gun more tightly, still pointing it towards Kate.
‘Stop!’ Francesca lunged forward, but Mario was ahead of her. His body was almost on top of Annette’s when the second shot went off and he grunted and fell backwards, sliding awkwardly onto the polished marble floor. ‘Mario!’ Francesca fell on her knees beside him. She hesitated only for a moment before putting her arms round him and cradling him. He put his hand over hers, gripping it with all his strength. It was years since they’d held each other so close.
A small red flower had appeared on his chest, right over the heart. ‘Cesca,’ he began.
‘Hush, now. It’s all right. I’ll take care of you.’
Kate was slumped in a dining chair, watching intently. Angelica and Dino were standing in the doorway, mesmerized by the scene, still awaiting orders. It was David who crossed the room and eased the little gun from Annette’s hand, opened the cylinder and shook out the four remaining bullets, then flung it down in disgust.
Francesca was cradling Mario’s head. His head suddenly lolled uselessly against her arm. ‘Quick!’ she shouted in sudden panic to all those people who were watching and doing nothing. ‘Get help! Call a doctor! For God’s sake, why don’t you do something!’
Mario smiled up at her. His face had gone a strange bluish colour and his eyes were dull. He said, ‘You forget, mia cara, I am a doctor.’ Francesca’s tears were spilling down on his face as he went on, quieter now, ‘I always loved you, ’Cesca, only you. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she said softly through her tears. ‘Yes, Mario, my dearest heart. I’ve always known.’
‘You were right—about the lie—it was wrong—it came between us—stopped us loving—thought it was best.’ His voice was fading to a whisper. ‘Sorry, ’Cesca. Forgive me.’ The voice had faded to nothing.
She rocked him tenderly, tried to press the warmth of her body into his, feed him with her spirit, but he was dead before he had a chance to hear her absolution.
Later, when the ambulance came, and the police cars, men in uniform with oxygen and bandages and papers to be filled in, Kate and Francesca were sitting on a bench at the side of the house. Annette had been helped into a police car by the ever-smiling Dino—only this time his smile was a rictus of pain on his face. Francesca watched her mother’s departure from a safe-distance; maybe one day she’d find it in her heart to feel compassion for the old woman, but not yet. Right now she was numb with horror.
The police car vanished behind the trees and the dust settled slowly. Flocks of black swifts were swooping round the tower, noisy as ever and completely unaffected by the dramas that had been played out below. Kate’s arm was in a sling. Distant thunder was still rumbling through the white sky and a few random drops of rain were falling.
‘They still want you to go to the hospital,’ said Francesca. She was pale and drained, sitting limp as a rag doll on the bench.
‘My shoulder’s okay. It just aches a bit,’ said Kate calmly. ‘I’m staying here with you, just until things get settled.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. So long as you meant what you said about Dino going.’
‘Of course he’s going. And his mother. It was him shooting at you that night. He says my mother told him just to give you a fright, but he’s such a bad shot… you could have been killed.’ She shuddered. ‘What about David?’
They looked across at him. He was talking to a policeman, gesturing with his arms.
Kate said, ‘I think this has been more of a shock for him than for anyone. He never had any idea. But… well, he’s sorry that he got it all so wrong. He says he wants to stay for a while as well, if that’s okay by you. I think he wants to make up.’
Francesca looked at Kate carefully. She wondered whether David wanted to make up to Kate more than to her. She was glad for them, of course, that they still had the chance to put right the mistakes of the past. Whereas she and Mario…
She forced herself to say briskly, ‘Of course he can stay. So long as he doesn’t think I’m crazy.’
‘No one thinks you’re crazy any more.’
Francesca smiled. ‘Thank you, Kate.’
‘It’s my pleasure.’
‘Some pleasure.’ They both began to laugh weakly, a kind of hysteria building up.
‘What happens now?’ asked Kate, pulling herself together. ‘Do you think you’ll lose the Fondazione? Will you be prosecuted for the fraud?’
‘God only knows. All I know is that it will be happening to the real me. It still feels like a miracle.’
David was walking towards them, accompanied by a tubby man with a grandiose moustache and an anxious expression.
‘Kate, I’ve tried to keep them away, but they keep asking questions. Do you mind?’
‘Of course not,’ said Francesca. She wondered how long it would be before David felt comfortable about speaking to her directly. She knew that she could wait, however long it took.
‘Signora Bertoni.’ The tubby policeman stabbed at his clipboard with the tip of his biro. ‘I regret to trouble you but I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake here. I asked for your own name, not your sister’s. See here, where it says…’
Francesca was instantly serious. Her heart was pounding. There was still time to go back to the old lies. Now that she had made her point, would it be better just to let matters rest? She thought of all the upheaval, the publicity, the danger for the Fondazione.
Kate gripped her by the hand.
She drew in a deep breath and came to a decision. ‘Leave it as it is,’ Francesca told him quietly. ‘Tomorrow I will answer all your questions, but just for this evening, you’ll have to take my word for it. My sister Simona died a long time ago. Believe me, signore, because it is very important to get the facts right in your report.’ She hesitated, then said firmly, ‘My name is Francesca Bertoni.’
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copyright © 2004 by Joanna Hines
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