by T A Williams
‘I’m very sorry for ignoring you. If I’d known who you were, I wouldn’t have, I promise. Here.’ She handed him back the mug. ‘I feel so much better now. Thank you for the tea, the blankets and the help. I’m in your debt.’
‘Don’t be silly. It’s the least I could do. So, do you want to tell me what’s just happened?’ His expression was supportive, rather than inquisitive. ‘It might help to talk about it.’
Debbie sat upright and rested her back against the door. She hesitated, searching for the right words.
‘I’ve been very stupid.’
‘Stupid? Why, how?’
So she told him. She told him how, against her better judgement, she had let herself be taken in by a man she had mistrusted from the start. Her trust had been misplaced and the result could have been so much worse. As she recounted the facts, as dispassionately as she could, she saw his face darken. He looked appalled. Finally, as she reached the end of the story of the bus ride, her walk home and her collapse here on the landing, no doubt as a result of delayed shock, his expression was one of anger.
‘It’s not the ambulance you need. It’s the police.’
‘I’m not so sure.’
‘What do you mean, Deborah? The man’s a monster. He tried to rape you. You’ve got to go to the police.’
‘And tell them what? That I went out for dinner with a man in a BMW, had a meal and a few drinks with him – the waiters in the restaurant will confirm I wasn’t there against my will – and on the way back I jumped out of the car and ran off?’
‘But he tried to rape you…’ His voice tailed off helplessly.
‘Says who? It’s my word against his. He didn’t leave a mark on me. There’s no witness, no DNA, nothing. It would be his word against mine.’ For a moment a happier though occurred to her. ‘In fact, the only person to be assaulted seriously enough to leave marks was him.’ She caught Dario’s eye. ‘With any luck I gave him a black eye when I hit him with my bag.’
Just then there was the sound of running feet and Giacomo appeared up the stairs. As soon as he saw Debbie, he skidded to a halt, an expression of concern on his face.
‘Deborah, what on earth’s happened?’
She summoned a smile. ‘It’s all right, Giacomo. I got lost in the park and got very cold and wet.’
He looked relieved, if unconvinced. ‘Here, I’ve brought the spare keys. Shall I open the door?’
Debbie nodded and began to get to her feet. She felt strong hands grab her arms and help her up. She turned towards Dario and gave him a grateful smile.
‘Thank you Dario, and thank you Giacomo. I’m sorry my stupidity’s disturbed your Saturday evening.’
‘It’s nothing. Is there anything else you need, Deborah?’ Giacomo had opened the door to her flat and was hovering at the threshold. ‘I’ve got the car outside. Do you want me to go to the chemist or anything?’
Debbie shook her head wearily. ‘Thank you, Giacomo, but I’ll be fine now. I just need a good night’s sleep. You go off, now. I’m fine, really.’
‘Very well, but you’ve got my number if you need anything.’
‘Thanks, Giacomo. You’re very sweet.’
He nodded to Dario and then disappeared back down the stairs again.
‘The same applies to me, Deborah. Anything you need – I’m just across the hall.’ Dario made no attempt to follow her into her flat and she was relieved. She just wanted to lock the door, take a very hot bath and go to bed.
‘Thank you, Dario. You’ve been so very, very kind. I thought knights in shining armour died out centuries ago.’
‘You’re very welcome, Deborah. Just one thing – did you say this man’s name is Rossellini and he’s one of my mother’s clients?’
‘Yes, but let it go. What’s happened has happened. It could have been worse.’
‘It could have been a hell of a lot worse. Sleep well, Deborah and remember, I’m just across the hall.’
Chapter 12
Predictably, Debbie didn’t sleep well. In spite of her feeling of tiredness, she found it very hard to get off to sleep as her brain ran back through the events of the past few hours. She did her best to process just exactly what she was feeling and identified anger, along with disgust, as well as that same sensation that she had behaved stupidly. Of course the fault was his, but she should have trusted her initial judgement. Even Giancarla had sensed something about him that wasn’t quite right, but, even so, Debbie had gone ahead and accepted the invitation. All right, it had been out of a sense of duty towards the company, for whom he was an important client, but the fault was hers. Barbara and Flora had even warned her about him.
And, of course, underneath all these other sensations was one of fear – fear of what might have happened, and the recollection of that moment in the car, before her sense of outrage had kicked in and given her the strength to fight back. Just for a few seconds, she had been more terrified than at any other time in her life and she knew the memory of these events would be with her forever.
Her mother’s words at Christmas came back to her. They only want the one thing, was what she had said. Well, in the case of Rossellini, that had been quite obvious. Had it somehow been, at least partly, her fault, for agreeing to be a model and starting to look after her appearance? Had she contributed to the events of that night? Were all men foul, sex-crazed bastards and was she just setting herself up as a target? These were uncomfortable thoughts.
Finally she had drifted off to sleep, but woke repeatedly throughout the night. Even the thought of her special spot in the rose garden didn’t seem to help. The experience had scarred her and she knew it would be a scar she would carry for the rest of her life.
When she finally surfaced, the first thing she did was to take another long, hot bath, determined to scrub any residual memory of what had happened from her body, if not her mind. She spent the morning pottering round the flat, ironing clothes and making a big dish of lasagne that would last her for a few days – doing her best to lose herself in household tasks.
Just after eleven thirty there was a tap on the door. She went across and peered through the spy hole. It was Dario from across the landing and she felt a welcoming smile on her face as she opened the door to him.
‘Ciao, Dario.’
‘Ciao, Deborah. Did you sleep well?’ Her expression provided her answer and she saw him grimace. ‘I thought not. And have you changed your mind about going to the police?’
She shook her head. ‘Like I say, let’s just forget it. What’s done is done.’
‘It’s your call, but I still think you should. The man’s a menace.’ His expression softened a little. ‘If it helps, you not only gave him a black eye when you clouted him, you actually broke his nose. Remind me not to get into a fight with you.’
This news came as a great satisfaction to her. So there was some justice in the world, after all. But how…?
‘How do you know that? Have you seen him?’
‘Yes, and I managed to get him to give me this.’ He held up a plastic bag. Inside it was her phone, her wallet, her keys, and the rest of the contents of her handbag.
‘But how…?’
‘I got his address from Barbara at Mum’s office. He lives just outside Pisa. I borrowed my sister’s car and it only took three quarters of an hour to get over there this morning.’ He handed her the bag. ‘His wife was at church, so I didn’t have a chance to talk to her, but at least I can confirm that he looks like he’s had a bad road accident – probably what he told his wife.’
‘His wife?’ Debbie didn’t know what to say. She was doubly appalled now. ‘Dario, I wouldn’t like you to think I’m the kind of girl who’d go out with somebody else’s husband. I had no idea.’
‘Of course you didn’t. Barbara and Mum both know what sort of rat he is.’ He gave her a little grin. ‘But at least he’s a rat with a broken nose.’
Debbie gazed down at the bag of her belongings. ‘I don’t know what to say. Y
ou shouldn’t have done that for me. It could have been dangerous.’
Just for a fraction of a second she spotted a glint in those amazing green eyes. ‘Don’t give it a thought. With hindsight, it’s probably just as well you broke his nose. The way I was feeling, I might just have done it for you.’
Suddenly aware that they were still standing on the landing, she opened the door fully. ‘Would you like a coffee? I bought myself a new coffee machine for Christmas and, if I say so myself, it’s really rather good.’
‘I’d love one, but only if you’re sure. You maybe prefer to be on your own? We can do coffee another time.’
She stepped back. ‘No, really, it’s the least I can do, and I’d like the company.’ As she spoke, she realised she meant it.
He came in and sat down, looking around appreciatively. ‘I’ll tell you this, Deborah, this place is a hell of a lot tidier than it ever was when Claudia was living here.’
‘Please, my friends call me Debbie. Now, how do you like your coffee?’ This, she knew by now, was an essential question for any Italian. Everybody appeared to like it in subtly different ways: with hot milk or cold, lots or little, sugar or not, double strength or whatever.
‘I’ve just come back from Paris, Berlin, London and a few other places. While I’ve been away over the past few months, I’ve drunk so much awful coffee, I can’t tell the difference any more. I’ll take it as it comes.’
‘I normally go for a little espresso with just a tiny splash of cold milk.’
‘Macchiato freddo. Perfect.’
She busied herself with the coffee machine and soon the wonderful aroma filled the air. She handed him one of her new little coffee cups and sat down across the table from him, looking out of the window. The overnight rain had stopped and the sky was a very pale blue. It looked cold out there.
‘So, why have you been going round Europe, if you don’t mind me asking – business or pleasure?’ As she posed the question she took a closer look at him. He was probably a couple of years older than her, maybe early or mid-thirties. He had the lean appearance of somebody who looked after himself and she remembered she had seen him going off for a run. The sleeves of his jumper were pulled up, exposing a pair of strong forearms. She realised that he most probably could indeed have broken Rossellini’s nose if he had wanted to.
‘I’ve been doing research for a book I’m writing.’ He sipped the coffee and pronounced it excellent. ‘Nothing terribly exciting. My subject is history of art. I could bore you with the details, but most of my friends’ eyes glaze over as soon as I start trying to explain.’
‘I’d like to hear about it. I’ve always been interested in history of art. That’s one of the reasons I’ve been studying Italian.’
‘You speak it very well. Complimenti.’
She switched to English. ‘So, presumably you speak English as well as Italian?’
He replied immediately and seamlessly.
‘Nowadays it’s a necessity. Besides, I did my PhD in London.’
Just for a moment, an image of Pierluigi crossed Debbie’s mind, but it immediately disappeared again. She concentrated on Dario. His English wasn’t just good. It was excellent, near native.
‘Wow, I can see why your mum’s in my top class. It must run in the family.’
He shook his head. ‘I cheated. We had a Scottish nanny for years.’ He grinned at her. ‘Fiona’s been like a second mother to me. I still correspond with her and try to go over and see her when I can. In fact, my English – albeit with a Scottish accent – was apparently better than my Italian when I went to elementary school. They all thought I was a foreigner. In fact, for years, until I was in my teens, my nickname at school was l’Inglese – ironic really, when you think that Fiona was Scottish.’
Debbie had never met anybody who had had a nanny before and this rather reinforced the vast social divide between them. She wondered what her dad would say if he ever heard about this or about Dario’s parents’ chauffeur and housekeeper. Surreptitiously, she glanced at Dario’s chin. It was strong, with just a hint of a Kirk Douglas dimple in it. Certainly her dad would be on thin ice if he tried to describe Dario as a chinless wonder. The thought cheered her.
‘So, what about you, Debbie? What brought you to Florence?’
She hesitated. ‘You really want to know?’ Seeing him nod, she found herself revealing the secret of her special place. As she did so, she found herself questioning just why she was telling this man she barely knew such an intimate thing. Maybe last night’s events had created some kind of bond between them. It was strange because, apart from her mum and Alice, she had hardly told anybody about it. As she described what it had come to mean to her, and how she had decided to come over to Florence to seek it out, she checked his face for scepticism or ridicule. Far from it. He looked deadly serious. When she finished, he caught her eye.
‘I must go up to your rose garden myself one of these days. I’d like to see if it has the same effect on me. I’ll tell you a secret: when I was a little boy, I had my own special place, just like you. In my case it was… is… a strange little grotto in the garden. I’ve never been able to work out if it’s a natural rock formation or some kind of manmade shelter of some kind, but it was a special place to me. I used to go off and hide there when the boys at school had been bullying me for being “English”. I think we all need a place like that every now and then.’
Debbie gave him a big smile. He smiled back, drained the last of his coffee, and stood up.
‘I’d better let you get on. Thanks for the coffee. I gather from my mother that you’re very busy at the moment, so I won’t encroach on your free day. And remember, I’m just across the landing if you need anything.’
‘Thanks, Dario, I’ve enjoyed talking to you. Really. And next time I’ll expect to hear about your book. I promise my eyes won’t glaze over.’
Chapter 13
The next week was chaotic. Both Virginia and Claire were off with flu and Debbie found herself teaching a double timetable. Fortunately, Rory stepped in and increased his hours and, between them and the other teachers, they just about managed to cope.
To make matters worse, Debbie got a text on Monday afternoon, asking her to come in the next morning to model the summer range for a group of buyers from China. She wasn’t teaching that morning, now that her private lessons with Tommaso had finished, so she went along at half past ten as requested, although the idea of exhibiting herself in public again filled her with very mixed feelings. When she got there, she found Barbara waiting for her, an anguished expression on her face.
‘Deborah, Dario told me what happened. I’m absolutely appalled. I knew Rossellini was a donnaiolo, a womaniser, but I never thought for a moment he’d resort to physical violence.’
Britta appeared at her shoulder and, to Debbie’s surprise, proceeded to wrap her long arms around her and give her a warm hug, followed by kisses on the cheeks.
‘All men are scum, Deborah. Remember that.’ Britta squeezed her again before releasing her. ‘Scum.’
Debbie caught Barbara’s eye. ‘Well, maybe not all men, but to be honest, I haven’t met too many good ones recently.’
Barbara smiled. ‘There are still some good ones out there, you know. They’re just few and far between.’
Britta snorted and strode away.
All went well with the Chinese contingent and, although the group was composed of men as well as women, Debbie sensed no repeat of the lascivious gaze of Tommaso Rossellini, to her great relief.
It took her until the end of the week to find the time to pop out and buy a bottle of good malt Scotch as a thank you present for Dario. She had seen his mother at school that week and Flora had given Debbie a big hug, whispering in her ear how sorry she was for what had happened with Signor Rossellini. She invited Debbie for tea on Saturday afternoon to talk about it.
When Debbie got home on Friday evening, feeling pretty worn out, she dumped her jacket, picked up the bottle of
whisky, and walked across to Dario’s door. She rang the bell and waited, but there was no response. A few seconds later, just as she was turning to go back to her flat, she heard footsteps and saw Dario running up the stairs towards her. His face broke into a smile as he saw her.
‘Hi, Debbie. I gather from my mother that you’ve had a busy week.’
‘I’ll say. But at least it’s over now and I’ve got the weekend to rest and recuperate.’
‘She tells me you’re going to her place for tea tomorrow.’
‘That’s right. Are you going to be there, too?’
He shook his head and she felt a sense of what could have been disappointment.
‘No, I’m going skiing with a bunch of mates, so I’ll be away all day.’
‘That’s a pity, although I’m sure you’ll enjoy the skiing. Listen, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long, but here’s just a tiny little present to say thank you for your knight in shining armour act last weekend. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’
‘I didn’t do anything special, and you’re very welcome. There was absolutely no need for a present. Like I told you before: I’m just across the landing from you. If you need anything, just shout.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’d invite you in for a glass of this or something else, but I’m just on my way back out again. We’re going skiing in the Valle d’Aosta and it’s a five hour drive to get there.’
‘You’re doing a five hour drive now, tonight?’
He nodded and grinned. ‘Yes, I know it sounds pretty crazy. But this way, we get a full day’s skiing tomorrow and we miss the worst of the morning traffic.’
‘And sleep?’
‘I’ll make up for it on Sunday morning. By the way, if you’re still interested in hearing about my book, and if you’re free on Sunday afternoon, there’s something I’d like to show you.’