‘Who does he belong to, I wonder?’ Maggie asked as she mopped her brow.
Alfonso shrugged. ‘Who knows?’
‘He’s so sweet,’ said Gill, stroking him. The dog licked her hand and looked up at her adoringly.
They had a late lunch on a street leading to the San Lorenzo market, the dog sitting at Gill’s feet. They all fed him some titbits, much to Alfonso’s disapproval. ‘He never go away now.’
‘He’s very thin, poor little thing,’ Gill said. ‘But he must belong to somebody, surely?’
Alfonso shrugged. ‘Many dogs like this. He randagio.’
‘Randagio?’ Gill repeated.
‘How you say – dog of the streets?’
‘Do you mean he’s a stray?’ asked Connie.
‘Si, si, a stray.’
‘“Randagio” sounds much nicer,’ Gill commented, passing a small piece of bread to her new friend.
After the pasta and the wine they trudged towards the market, where all three fell upon the clothes, the bags and the belts. It was very crowded, very hot and very uncomfortable, but Gill spotted a cotton top which she had to have and, after haggling and then buying it, realised that she’d lost the others. There were so many stalls, and so many people, and she couldn’t remember in which direction they’d all been heading. She looked around, feelings of panic beginning to rise in her chest, and then she looked down, and there was the dog. The randagio. He met her eye and wagged his tail.
‘I’m lost, dog,’ she informed him.
He cocked his leg, peed against a nearby lamp post and then, casting a look back at Gill, trotted on a few yards and waited. Gill was totally confused. Should she follow the dog or head the other way? The dog appeared to be waiting for her so she slowly followed him. After a few more yards he stopped again and waited for her.
The only sensible thing to do was get her phone out and call Connie or Maggie. Fumbling in her bag, she continued following the dog, and then she saw them: Alfonso, Connie and Maggie, looking agitated and scanning the crowds in every direction.
When he saw her, Alfonso opened out his arms and enveloped her in a hug. ‘Cara! I worry! Where you go?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Gill said, ‘but this little dog has led me back to you.’
Maggie snorted. ‘Nonsense! Just coincidence!’
‘No,’ said Gill, bending down to stroke the little animal. ‘He definitely led me back to you. Didn’t you, dog?’
Dog seemed to agree, wagged his tail and then had another pee against the wheel of a parked Fiat 500, before waiting expectantly for them to move on.
‘I think he plans to stay with us,’ Connie observed.
‘Vai via!’ Alfonso ordered the dog, pointing back the way they’d come.
The dog cast soulful eyes up at Gill.
‘He’s taken a fancy to me,’ said Gill. ‘Poor little dog!’
Alfonso sighed, put his arm round Gill’s shoulders, and began to lead the way back to the station where they’d parked the car. The dog trotted happily along behind Gill.
‘You not coming in my car!’ Alfonso hollered at him.
‘Oh, Alfie!’ Gill was stroking the dog again. ‘He needs a home!’
Alfonso sighed some more. ‘I tell you, he a randagio! Many round here.’
‘Yes, I know. But couldn’t he come with us, please?’
‘No,’ said Connie. ‘We are not travelling with a dog.’
‘Definitely not,’ added Maggie. She turned to Alfonso. ‘Isn’t there some sort of home for stray animals? Like we have Battersea?’
Alfonso shrugged. ‘Best leave him here where he belong.’
Gill’s eyes filled with tears.
‘Oh, please, Alfie! Please can we take him with us?’
Her lover looked helplessly from one to the other. ‘What I do?’
Connie put her arm round Gill’s shoulders. ‘He’s a street dog, Gill. He’ll survive; he’ll adopt different people each day, get fed, move on. These dogs are really streetwise, you know.’
Connie and Maggie got into the back of the BMW while Alfonso stood holding the passenger door open and looking at Gill. Gill was looking at the dog. The dog jumped up and licked Gill’s hand.
‘I want to keep him,’ she announced, picking him up.
‘I don’t believe this,’ Maggie muttered.
‘And he’s probably daft enough to let her do it,’ Connie said, staring at Alfonso.
‘OK, OK, we bring him to my house,’ he conceded. ‘Then we find some place for the dog tomorrow.’
‘Or he’ll be in the doghouse,’ Maggie said to Connie under her breath.
‘It must be love,’ Connie said.
As Gill strapped herself in, the dog jumped eagerly onto her lap.
‘Here,’ said Alfonso, brandishing an old towel from the boot, ‘put this round. He full of fleas.’
‘Aw!’ Gill said, stroking the dog. ‘You poor little thing. You look just like a little teddy bear! Don’t you think so?’
‘A mighty scruffy one,’ said Maggie.
‘He’ll be fine when he’s had a nice bath,’ Gill went on. She patted the little dog’s head, which caused much tail-wagging. ‘I might just call him Teddy.’
‘What’s the Italian for teddy bear?’ Connie asked Alfonso.
‘Orsacchiotto,’ Alfonso replied.
‘Oh, I’d never get my tongue around that,’ said Gill. ‘Say it again, Alfie.’
‘Orsacchiotto.’
‘I could use the last bit, Otto, couldn’t I?’ Gill turned to look at her two friends.
‘Toto would be nicer,’ Connie said. ‘And it’s an anagram of Otto.’
‘Oh, I like that! Toto!’ Gill turned back to the dog. ‘Buongiorno, Toto!’
Toto appeared pleased.
* * *
‘No, no, no!’ Connie exclaimed when they got back and were sitting by the pool. ‘He can’t possibly come with us.’
‘Let Alfonso take him to the dogs’ home,’ Maggie said. ‘He’ll be looked after there.’
Gill was close to tears again. The dog had been washed, fed and watered, and was now happily asleep at her feet.
‘And he won’t be house-trained,’ Connie added.
Alfonso appeared brandishing a bottle of Chianti. ‘Tomorrow I take him to dog place at Pisa.’
‘No!’ Gill said vehemently. ‘This poor little dog has taken a fancy to me!’ She thought of her lonely life at home now that the cat had died, and she had visions of walking Toto on the nearby common. She’d take him to the vet, make sure he had all his jabs, and she’d feed him up. Then she wondered how difficult it would be to bring him into the UK. Would they welcome an immigrant dog? Might he be allowed to stay? Or could she smuggle him in somehow? She’d dreaded the thought of going home, but this would make it better.
But there were groans all round.
‘Alfie!’ she said. ‘Please!’
Alfie looked confused. ‘Please what?’
‘Please could you keep him here? At your house? Then I know he’d be safe. Oh, please, Alfie!’
Alfie looked at Gill, who had tears in her eyes. Then he looked down at the dog.
‘OK, for now,’ he said at last. ‘To make you happy, Geelee.’
As Gill threw her arms round his neck, Maggie murmured, ‘Damn me, she’s got them both on a lead!’
Twenty-Two
IL CONCERTO
After a not altogether successful visit to Florence, Maggie thought that at least there was still the concert to look forward to. Alfonso knew someone near La Sterza, close to the concert venue, where they could park Bella overnight. He and Gill would lead the way with the car, they’d all spend the day together in Volterra, and then return to Bella in time for them to dress up for the concert. He would even transport them to the venue before heading back to Viareggio with Gill and the dog. His friend, Alvaro, would collect them in his taxi at the end, and bring them back to Bella.
‘How will he know when it’ll finish?�
�� Connie asked anxiously, with visions of being stranded in the Tuscan hills in the middle of the night.
Alfonso shrugged. ‘No one knows. Everyone go there midnight, and wait. One o’clock, two o’clock, no problem.’ Nothing appeared to be a problem for Alfonso, or else he knew someone who could take care of it.
An hour and a half later they arrived near the village of La Sterza, where Alvaro, as well as being a farmer and a taxi service, had a pitch for three caravans. Well, normally he had a pitch for three caravans but today, being so special, he could squeeze in four! ‘Non c’e’ problema!’This necessitated some very tricky manoeuvring as Connie reversed into her allotted space.
Alvaro did not speak English, so Alfonso translated. ‘He apologise. No much room. But people come from all over the world for Bocelli.’
‘It’ll only be for one night,’ Connie murmured as she switched off the ignition.
‘Just as well,’ said Maggie, extending her hand out of the window to touch the hot corrugated surface of the German motorhome next door.
‘At least we’re well off the beaten track so Ringer isn’t likely to find us here,’ Connie added, as they locked up and prepared for a ride up to Volterra in Alfonso’s car.
Maggie wasn’t so sure. Her ex-lover appeared to have some sixth sense. But there had been no sightings of him since San Remo and possibly Portofino, if indeed it had been him accompanying Carol, the blonde. And it wasn’t necessarily him either picking up Gill in Avignon. Perhaps they were imagining the whole thing! But the phone call in Nice had been real enough although, she supposed, he could have been calling from London just to frighten her. And he had done a good job. But she could have sworn that was him right behind them on the French autoroute, unless he had a doppelgänger! OK, so it wasn’t his registration, but he’d have had that changed without any problem. No, she felt sure that he was around somewhere and that sooner or later he was going to catch up with them. I should be making escape plans, she thought.
* * *
The road leading to the beautiful medieval hilltop town of Volterra snaked its way upwards, round and round the hairpin bends and steep drops. Connie noticed that Maggie looked uncomfortable at times and, with memories of the gorge, she asked, ‘You OK?’
‘I’ll be glad to get there,’ Maggie replied, ‘but just look at these views!’
Looking down across the sunbaked Tuscan landscape beneath, Connie reckoned it was one of the most spectacular and beautiful views she’d ever seen. The rolling hills and undulating countryside had been heated by the jewel-like sun to amber, gold and amethyst. A few farms were dotted here and there, and scatterings of cypresses, and there were miles and miles stretching to the horizon.
Finally, they ascended into the town and the golden stone of the ancient buildings, the turrets, the campanile. As they emerged from the underground car park into the piazza, even Gill was mesmerised. ‘Wow!’ she exclaimed, tugging Toto along on his new blue lead. Toto didn’t know what to make of this; he’d never encountered a lead before and kept running in circles trying to catch the strap.
They had to wait for a table in the Piazza dei Priori, which was full of tourists of every nationality. ‘All here for Bocelli,’ Alfonso informed them. When they were finally seated Maggie became very excited because she could hear Scottish accents at the next table.
They put away several courses and three bottles of wine, for which Maggie insisted on paying.
‘No, no!’ Alfonso argued. ‘Is not right. You no pay.’
‘I insist,’ said Maggie, removing a wad of notes from her shoulder bag. ‘Never argue with a Scotswoman who offers to pay.’
Alfonso looked confused again.
‘You’ve been so good to us, Alfonso,’ she continued. ‘You’ve given us parking, and the use of your lovely pool. Not to mention all these expeditions. And the concert tickets! So, don’t argue!’
‘Grazie mille,’ Alfonso said. ‘You very kind. No wonder man wants to follow you.’
There was a stunned silence.
‘What man?’ Maggie asked at last, glaring at Gill, who was looking distinctly uncomfortable.
‘The man in Viareggio,’ Alfonso replied, gulping his espresso down in one. He turned towards Gill. ‘The one we see on the street, no?’
‘Um, well, I’m not sure it was him…’ Gill began.
Maggie narrowed her eyes. ‘What’s he talking about, Gill? What man on what street?’
‘I didn’t want to worry you,’ Gill mumbled. ‘Sorry, Maggie. I told him not to tell you!’ She turned towards a troubled-looking Alfonso. ‘I told you, Alfie, didn’t I?’
‘Sorry! Sorry!’ He looked suitably contrite. ‘I never say again.’
Maggie turned to Gill. ‘Tell me.’
Gill told her. ‘It just looked like him, Mags – the one I met in Avignon. And he had a scar on his leg! But I didn’t want to risk it so we dashed into the cake shop.’
‘Why did you have to say he was anything to do with me?’ Maggie persisted.
‘Well, because Alfie was getting all funny about him being my lover or something. I’m sorry, Maggie!’
‘OK. OK!’ Sensing Gill was close to tears, Maggie patted her shoulder. ‘I just wish you’d told me.’
Alfonso put his arm round Gill. ‘No worry, now we go to alabaster museum.’
The shops were full of beautiful, delicate alabaster figurines, bowls, carvings and lamps. They had a brief wander round the museum, Gill unusually silent, Maggie deep in thought. Only Connie and Alfonso carried on a conversation of sorts.
This Ringer business is getting to us all, Connie thought, constantly spoiling our blissful getaway. Perhaps now was the time to face up to him, give him his bloody money and give them some much-needed peace. Maggie, of course, would not agree. But how could it possibly end? They couldn’t be on the move forever and Maggie would have to go home eventually to face the music there, if not here. And now Ringer had managed to blight their visit to one of Tuscany’s most stunning hilltop towns.
Connie vowed she’d come back one day on her own. There was so much to see here. In the meantime, they needed to stock up with prosecco, having been informed by Alfonso that it was a necessity to have some refreshment for the interval in tonight’s concert.
When Alfonso had dropped them off back at Bella, and Toto had had a pee, he, Gill and the dog set off for San Gimignano.
‘We’ll be back to take you to the concert!’ Gill shouted as she placed Toto on her knee again, and they roared off.
Connie could see that Maggie’s day had been ruined by the supposed sighting of Ringer.
‘I just wish Gill had told me,’ Maggie sighed for the umpteenth time.
‘She wouldn’t want to worry you.’
‘Well, she has worried me! Gill saw his scar, so it must be him! And now Alfie’s got wind of something going on. I knew she couldn’t keep her trap shut!’
‘We’ll be moving on again soon,’ Connie said.
‘And so will Ringer,’ said Maggie, as she lifted her dark brown dress out of the wardrobe.
But Connie was determined that thoughts of Ringer were not going to ruin tonight’s concert.
* * *
The concert venue on the Bocelli family land was set among the rolling hills where, in isolation, the Teatro del Silenzio was situated. Only once a year did the theatre come to life, drawing an audience from all corners of the globe. There were thousands of seats in numbered rows, a huge platform, an enormous orchestra and, not least, the wonderful voice of Bocelli. They were fortunate enough to be seated only a few rows from the front, which must have cost Alfonso a fortune, Connie thought, if he paid for them.
Connie wore her Parisian dress, and Maggie wore the dark brown number from Nice, along with the necklace and the sandals.
The concert was an hour late in starting which, they were assured by a seasoned concertgoer, was quite normal. This gave Connie and Maggie ample time to study their surroundings and the audience in particular. C
onnie had never seen so much glamour condensed into one comparatively compact area.
‘Get an eyeful of her!’ Maggie said, nudging Connie as they watched a tall woman with impossibly red hair, clad in a floating orange number, gliding along on what must have been six-inch silver heels.
‘And just look at this lot!’ Connie put in, as a group of very polished and immaculate women, dressed in what had to be designer outfits, all embraced one very suave man in a white suit.
Connie sighed. ‘I felt really good when I arrived here, but feel positively dull now in comparison!’
‘You don’t look at all dull,’ Maggie said, adjusting her necklace. ‘But, God, don’t these women know how to dress up!’
‘Not to mention the men,’ Connie added. ‘And we are in the best seats after all. Good old Alfie!’
Amongst the Italian glamour were dotted more ordinary mortals from every corner of the world. Maggie found herself next to an elderly Australian couple on their second visit to the concert.
‘We come over to Europe every couple of years,’ the woman said. ‘And this is the highlight of our visit!’ They came from Melbourne. ‘We save up for the best seats.’
‘My son and his family are in Melbourne,’ Maggie told them. ‘He’s been out there for years and years. He’s even got an Aussie accent now.’
‘You go out often to see him?’
‘No,’ Maggie admitted. ‘I’m terrified of flying.’
‘Aw, that’s a shame.’
‘It is. He only comes back to the UK every few years, and I really miss him.’
Now daylight was fading, the stage was illuminated, and overhead the moon and stars appeared in the darkening sky. And then the orchestra’s introduction rose to a crescendo to herald the arrival on stage of the renowned tenor.
Connie could scarcely believe how close she was to her idol. And, looking back at the thousands of seats behind, she realised how very lucky she was. Time and time again she felt the hair rise on the back of her neck as he sang arias from the Italian operas, along with other popular numbers. Spellbound by the entire performance, it wasn’t until Andrea Bocelli had rounded off the evening with ‘Nessun Dorma’ that Connie and Maggie came back to earth. It was a magical night. A night to remember. All thanks to Alfonso – and thanks to Gill for meeting Alfonso! And thanks to Maggie for their beautiful dresses and just for being there! In spite of Ringer, it had been the best decision ever to bring these two along!
The Getaway Girls: A hilarious feel-good summer read Page 21