Quickly, he went back out, running up the stairs, then along the gallery to his wife’s bedroom. Remembering her admonition of two nights ago, he knocked on the door. Pressing an ear to the panel he could hear nothing. Slowly, he opened the door. The room was in darkness, no light came from the bathroom, and it was obvious she was not there.
Instead of calling on the downstairs phone he took to the stairs once more. This time he went to the library, here there was light, just from a table lamp. Realizing he could not go from room to room, he went to the kitchen. If anyone knew where she was hiding herself, it would be Claudia.
‘Conte!’ Claudia whirled around as he entered. The cook was also there, she was sitting in her chair, knitting; there was no sign of food preparation for their evening meal. Usually at this time the kitchen was a hive of activity and lots of chatter and the clattering of pans.
‘Conte, I am so sorry — you were not expected.’ The woman stood, bobbing a little, perhaps disturbed by his look of consternation.
‘What do you mean? Not expected.’
‘But you sent word, Conte, to the contessa to go to the launch, to take an overnight bag; we thought’ — she looked over her shoulder — ‘that you had gone to the mainland for a night,’ she shrugged, ‘or somewhere else.’
‘What do you mean?’ he repeated.
CHAPTER FIVE
Apprehension was slow in dawning. Not knowing the man who was taking her to the mainland, she had gone to sit in the stern, watching the island go further away from her. Turning her head she noticed that instead of going directly across the bay, the quickest route and the one that Antonio had taken, the boat had swung in a wide arc and was actually following the coast rather than going directly to the port.
Her mouth opened, she was about to question him when sense prevailed. There was something odd about him and about the journey.
Standing, she made her way towards the hatch; he was going at a far faster rate of knots than last time she had crossed, the sway of the boat caused her to be a little unsteady.
‘Contessa?’ He asked as he saw her.
She smiled. ‘I need to go below,’ she murmured.
He offered no opposition. Obviously, he did not fear that she was suspicious about him, yet why should she be feeling like that? Perhaps he liked to make the journey longer? This boat was certainly a perfect boy’s toy. Nevertheless, apprehension was there. She had long learned that such feelings should not be ignored.
In the cabin she looked around, crossing to a set of drawers. Opening them, she looked for something — some implement that would offer her protection should she need it. There was nothing. On the far side there was a chart table; on the top of some charts were a divider and some projectors. The divider had a sharp pointed end like a dart. It would be difficult to hurt someone badly with it, but it would cause some damage, especially if she used it at a vulnerable spot.
Grabbing it, she put it in the pocket of her blazer before climbing up on deck.
Her heart plummeted, they had sped across the bay so fast, far away from the town, and the mainland was a blur now. She knew that her instinct was right. Something was terribly wrong.
Alva asked. ‘Where are we going?’
The man turned and looked at her, then looked away.
‘How dare you ignore me!’ she said. Putting on an imperious manner to cover her fear was not all that difficult. She had seen how her husband could do just that.
‘Shut up,’ he said, pushing her. The boat swayed under her feet, she grabbed a rail steadying herself. The engine slowed to a stop, the boat bobbed but gently on the undulating sea.
‘You should really have stayed away, Contessa … ’
He came towards her. Sliding her hand out of her pocket she clasped the divider in her right hand, hiding it at her side. When he reached her, he took hold of her arm, the left. In his right hand he had something … it was a syringe. Urgently, her hand shot out. His chinos were thin; she aimed for the soft spot at the top of his thigh, it made little impact, other than to startle him. Before he could move she raised her hand aiming for his face, it made contact with his cheek, perforating it only as a pin prick.
Struggling to hold her caused the boat to pitch and rock. She was light but fit now, and wriggled like an eel. Her hand, as the divider slipped from her fingers, went to the back of his head, pulling hard on his longish hair, her foot finding his, grinding against his toes. He had to drop the syringe to try to pull her hand out of his hair, his left arm went up around her throat, trying to press close to her windpipe … she moved violently, causing the boat to rock even more. He lost balance, just for a second having to steady himself and in that second without a thought of anything, she scrambled on the seat and leapt from the boat.
The water took her, down … dragging at her … wanting to suck her to its sandy bottom.
*
Who was the man? Had they seen him before? The conte was furious. Claudia and the cook cowered in front of him, and then Claudia remembered the note and went into the pockets of her apron. It simply stated: ‘Ask the contessa to go to the launch, tell her to bring an overnight bag. We are going to the mainland. L.M.’
The writing was a good facsimile of his own — not perfect and would be recognized by anyone who really knew him as a forgery — but Claudia, he had to admit, was not the brightest when it came to analysis of any kind. It was also unlikely that Alva would remember what his writing looked like, she barely remembered him.
He swore but not at them any more, more at the whole sick mess. Going to the telephone he called someone he thought might know something about it. They drew a blank, advising him to call the police.
The police had a station at the quayside and by looking out of the window they could see if the launch was there. It was not at its berth, they confirmed immediately.
‘I think my wife has been kidnapped!’ He said the words, feeling inside him a terrible dread. This kind of thing happened on the mainland … but not here! Not on his safe little island where everyone looked out for everyone else.
‘Conte, we will send out a police launch at once,’ the officer assured him.
‘Grazi … I will take my helicopter as well … ’
‘Conte, I would strongly advise against it — it might be better if you wait, there could be contact … you must stay by the telephone.’
‘I can’t do that!’
The police officer did not argue. You did not argue with the conte if his mind were made up. ‘If you insist, conte, then it must be.’
On his way to the helipad he called Antonio. Antonio would fly the machine and he could look out.
Four pairs of eyes were better than two.
‘Are you sure something has happened?’ Antonio asked him. ‘If the contessa is ill again it might be that she has gone away of her own accord.’
‘And she would send a letter from me telling her to meet me? I doubt she would be so devious. Besides, the contessa is not ill any more.’
Antonio turned the helicopter around, dipping over the ocean. There was the passenger ferry crossing and he saw the police launch but there was no sign of another boat in the vicinity.
‘The contessa has regained her memory?’
‘Not entirely.’ Luca threw a look in Antonio’s direction. He seemed remarkably calm. ‘I hope you don’t know anything about it!’ he snapped.
‘Of course not,’ Antonio said. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘I don’t know what to think!’
He had been unkind at times to Alva. He had not understood enough the way Alva had felt and he admitted now that he had expected too much of her and of Renata. Sick with worry now he saw so many things more clearly. Yet he knew that Alva also had made a nuisance of herself, interfering where it was not necessary for her to do so. She had played a part in making him angry but then he realized she would not be Alva without that stubborn streak. He should have realized that before allowing himself to fall in love with
her!
‘Go around the point,’ he said.
‘But there is nothing out there,’ Antonio murmured.
‘Precisely. I really hope Antonio that you do not know anything about this!’
‘I assure you, Conte I do not. I swear to you.’
‘Very well, then go where I say.’
*
Her jacket was dragging her down once more; when she surfaced she could not see the boat. It took a long time and a surprising amount of energy to pull the jacket off. She had managed to kick off her shoes and tried to float and lie still for a moment. The waves were lapping and fortunately there was barely any wind.
Land was far away in the distance. She knew she would never swim that far — she was a good swimmer but it would be impossible. Laboriously, she pulled off her trousers, treading water. They were easier to remove than her jacket had been.
The thought that she would drown dawned on her slowly. It was growing dark, the sea would get colder. I went through everything for this? she thought, and then felt an overwhelming sense of self-pity.
Why? What had happened? Did someone want her dead? But there was no reason … there could not be a reason, unless Luca … if Luca wanted her dead there had to be something she had that he wanted. It was ridiculous even to think that.
She struck out with a slow breast stroke. That motion would halve the energy required. If she was going to die she was not just going to give up, she was made of stronger stuff than that.
Now there was nothing in front of her but blackness. The mainland that had seemed far away had now disappeared. It had to be a remote part of the coastal strip because there were no lights. Where would that be … ? She had no idea. Pushing herself forward she thought of her life, the blank canvas that her life had become. I remember Luca, she thought, our meeting, our time at Juan-Les-Pins … there was nothing else.
Something slimy slid between her legs, a large fish … she panicked, rushing into a vigorous crawl, thinking of sharks — but she was not in shark infested waters. There was nothing to fear but the sea itself …
Where was the boat? Was she going the right way? Was she turning in circles?
The waves mounted, rushing around her, pushing her to one side as if she were in a rip current. She was tossed about, the rough brush of the sea bruising against her legs.
There was sound … a steady thrumming echoing the thud of her heart. She tried to see, turning frantically in the water, she could be in the way of a ship, a huge cruise liner, a speedboat, the man looking for her. If she cried out, if by a miracle someone heard her and if it were him, he would kill her anyway and she realized with a terrible sadness, that she would rather drown than that …
There was a light now; she saw it, way to the left of her … a craft of some kind, not large. It was heading out to sea, away from her … there was a gantry, it was a fishing boat. Then behind it another one … and another … the wash was growing more violent, apart from the lights of the boats there was no light. It would be impossible for them to see her, and, because of the throbbing engines, they would not hear her either.
Quickly she headed into the pitching waves … they tossed her about like a cork, pulling her back, there was no way she could swim against it … she was too tired, there were too many boats …
She cried out, her voice now, coated with salt, was no more than a croak. Rescue was there but it would be impossible. She even heard voices in the dark … joking, laughter … a name or two ‘Giovanni … Vincente.’
*
‘We must go home now, Conte … ’ He heard Antonio’s voice above the din of the helicopter. It was pitch black, the sea below a large empty mass of water. No boats … nothing.
‘Go around once more,’ he said coldly.
‘But Conte … ’
‘Do as I say!’
His voice, full of authority and arrogance, echoed back to him. Damn the man, but Antonio took things too far some of the time. He determined that one of these days he would do something about it. However, it was good advice, as had the suggestion of the policeman been good sense — he should wait for a call. That was what was important. The police knew how to handle a kidnapping, whereas he had no idea …
He had almost decided to tell Antonio to turn back when he saw lights below, lots of lights.
‘What is that?’
‘It is the fishing fleet going to Maria Santa … ’
‘Of course.’ The Conte took up the radio, calling the police … had they thought to ask the fishing fleet to look out for his boat …
Of course they had. Each captain had been instructed and promised to have a look out on deck.
‘Perhaps — ’ His heart stilled and when it started to race once more he felt momentarily dizzy. His head was spinning. ‘Maybe she is not in the boat … ’
Antonio cast him a look.
He grabbed the radio and called up the police.
‘Conte,’ the policeman said, ‘they would not do that, they want money, it is too soon … ’
‘I know, I know … but please indulge me.’
*
If she got trapped in the wake she knew she could not survive. Exhausted, her body was being tossed about like so much flotsam, twice she dipped under the water. Images were flashing like a flickering film into her mind. Buildings? How stupid was it to be seeing buildings in her mind when she was far from terra firma. A large elegant Queen Anne building that she recognized as her school. A large Victorian house that was the home of her parents. She did not see her mother and father, just the building and recognized it as her home before they died.
‘Where is the money?’ the question flew into her mind and stayed there like a fluttering bird. This was madness, she tried to concentrate on staying afloat but it was too hard. Just as she thought it would be best just to give in, a blinding light settled on her, hurting her eyes.
There were excited cries … Italian voices, they sounded hysterical. Weakly she raised a hand. Did she call out? She could not be sure. The choppy waves stilled, almost as if someone had breathed on them. There was silence and the thrum of engines had stilled. She floated on to her back, moving her fingers to keep herself afloat. The light stayed.
‘Contessa … ’ A voice close by … hands, rough wonderful hands hauling her up into a life raft. The men all smelt of fish, she had been going the wrong way, she realized as one put his jacket around her, they were not going from port but heading to it.
Once she was hauled on the deck of the trawler, she collapsed. Rough hands rubbed her back, stimulating the blood flow. Her teeth were chattering but even against this
the throbbing of the engines as the boat headed for port was music to her ears.
*
It was madness at the harbour. There were policemen and an ambulance, crowds of people filling the street; it was as if they all had come tumbling out of their homes to see what was going on. It is not for me, she thought, they have come out because the boats are back, they are here to greet their men …
Some warming stuff was wrapped around her; it looked like tinfoil but gave out a lot of heat. The men struggled against the mob with the stretcher, crying out excitedly for more room. Then the door of the ambulance slammed shut as she was laid on the bed and they set off, sirens blazing into the dark of night.
She felt herself falling to sleep. ‘Don’t sleep, Contessa,’ the man at her side urged, he gave her a warming drink … someone put a needle in her arm.
‘Luca,’ she murmured.
‘He will be at the hospital,’ the man said, ‘very soon, Contessa.’
*
Her eyes hurt. She opened them and they burned. Worst of all her lips felt so swollen and sore and dry. She had slept, falling deep into nothingness. Now it was still dark; a very soft light burned at the far side of the room. A shape loomed by the window, peering out of the slatted blinds two fingers holding the slats apart.
Where was she? She shifted slightly, feeling the crispness of s
heets against her legs. Peeling open her eyes once more she peered through the dimness. A room, not too big; there was a rail at the foot of the bed. A hospital bed. Her heart thudded softly against her ribs, she was safe. No one could harm her here, could they?
The man had turned, moving softly across the room. The shadows falling from him showed her it was Luca.
"Alva,’ he lowered himself on to the bed, taking up her hand in his. His hand felt warm and strong against her own. ‘Alva,’ he murmured again, brushing back the hair from her face. ‘Let me … ’ He took up a stick of some kind and smoothed it across her salt encrusted lips. It soothed and cooled. ‘How are you, cara mia?’
She tried to speak but the words sounded like those of an angry frog.
He smiled. ‘Just nod your head, do you feel better?’
She nodded.
‘I want to take you home, to Santa Catarina.’
He saw a flicker in her eyes, recognized it as fear, and raised her hand to his lips.
‘Nothing will ever happen to you again, I will protect you.’
She wanted to say you can’t, no one can protect me entirely. Things keep happening and I don’t know why. The hit and run in London. Her falling down the stairs … was that really an accident? Now this — a man on the boat, a syringe in his hand.
Raising her hand she mimed paper and pencil. He went away and was soon back, accompanied by a white-coated doctor.
The dottore started to fuss and take her temperature, feel her forehead, check her pulse. Impatience needed to be controlled. If she made a fuss it could be misconstrued — she was suspicious of hospitals, did not trust that they would let her leave. Her mind was a jumble of confused thoughts.
Eventually he left, leaving Luca to hand her the pencil and paper. ‘I am sorry about that, I met him in the corridor and I foolishly told him you were awake.’
Nodding to let him know she understood, she concentrated on writing words on the pad. He waited until she had finished before he looked at what she was writing. It was a description of the man who had taken the launch, the man who had tried to kill her. All this she put down in broken, unpunctuated sentences.
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