by Lucy Gordon
‘Scusi, signore-but she was not alone.’
The judge seemed disposed to argue, but then he looked at his little daughter, snuggling happily in Holly’s arms, and the sight seemed to strike him silent.
Now that Liza had secured her object her tears dried like magic.
‘You’ll like our house,’ she told Holly. ‘I’ll show you all over the gardens and…’
She chattered on and Holly tried to keep up with her, putting in the odd word, although her mind was whirling. While she smiled at Liza she was intensely aware of the man in the opposite seat, watching her with sharp, appraising eyes.
He was sizing her up, she guessed, mentally taking notes, trying to come to a decision. In other words, he was behaving like a judge deciding the verdict, with the sentence to follow.
He might have been in his late thirties, although his stern face and haughty demeanour made him seem older. He was handsome in a fierce, uncompromising way that had more to do with something in his eyes than with the shape of his features.
Suddenly he spoke, indicating the small bag that hung from her shoulder. ‘What do you have in there?’
‘My passport,’ she said, ‘and papers generally.’
‘Let me see.’
She handed him the bag and he glanced through briefly, examining the papers until he came to her passport. Without hesitation he took it, placing it in an inside pocket of his jacket.
Holly opened her mouth to protest but was checked by his glance. It was hard, forbidding, and it compelled her silence.
‘Good,’ he said, handing the bag to her. ‘You have all you need.’
‘I need my passport.’
‘No, you don’t. Do it my way and don’t argue.’
‘Now, look-’
‘Do you want my help or don’t you?’
‘Of course, but I-’
‘Then take my advice and stay as quiet as you can. From now on, not a word. Try to look stupid. Practise that if you have to, but don’t speak.’
‘But I had to leave a suitcase further down the train,’ she burst out. ‘I must get it.’
‘Why?’
‘My clothes-’
‘You don’t need them. And trying to recover your possessions would lead you into danger.’
Into the arms of the police, he meant, and she realised he was right. Holly would have been grateful for his warning but for a feeling he was chiefly concerned about the inconvenience to himself.
The train was slowing, gliding into Rome railway station, coming to a halt. Immediately a man appeared wearing the uniform of a chauffeur and signalled through the window. The judge signalled back, and a moment later the man entered the compartment.
‘The car is waiting, signore,’ he said, bestowing only the briefest glance on Holly.
Liza immediately put her hand in Holly’s and stood up.
‘I think you should use the wheelchair,’ her father said.
Liza thrust out her lower lip and shook her head. ‘I want to go with you,’ she said, looking up at Holly.
‘Then I’ll take you,’ she said. ‘But I think you should go in the wheelchair.’
‘All right,’ Liza said, docile as long as she had what she wanted.
The platform was the last on the station. Beside it was a wall, with a large archway almost opposite their carriage. It took only a few moments to leave the train and move beneath the arch to where a limousine was waiting. Liza sat contentedly in the wheelchair while Holly pushed her, praying that this would give her an extra disguise against any police eyes that were watching.
At the car door the chauffeur took the chair and packed it into the trunk. The judge got into the front, while Holly and Berta sat in the back with Liza between them.
Holly tried to believe that this was really happening. Even the noiseless, gliding movement of the car, as it left the station, couldn’t quite convince her.
A moveable glass screen divided the front from the back of the car, and the judge pulled this firmly across, shutting them off from each other. Holly saw him take out a mobile phone and speak into it, but she couldn’t hear the words.
They turned south and sped smoothly on until the crowded city fell away behind them, the road turned to cobblestones and monuments began to appear along the way.
‘They’re ancient tombs and this is the Via Appia Antica,’ Liza told her. ‘We live further down.’
About half a mile further on they turned through a high stone arch and began the journey along a winding, tree-lined road. The foliage of high summer was at its most magnificent, so the house came into view piece by piece, and it wasn’t until the last moment that Holly saw its full glory.
It was a mansion, obviously several hundred years old, made from honey-coloured stone.
As the car stopped a middle-aged woman emerged, making for the rear door, to open it, while the chauffeur opened the front door for the judge.
‘Good evening, Anna,’ the judge said briefly. ‘Is everything ready for our guest?’
‘Yes, signore,’ the housekeeper said respectfully. ‘I personally attended to the signorina’s room.’
So she was expected, Holly thought, remembering the phone call in the car. This and the smoothly efficient movements of the servants increased her sense of well-oiled wheels, which might be conveying her away from danger, but would roll over her just as easily.
He had called her his guest, but the judge did not welcome her as one. It was Liza who took her hand, drawing her into the house and displaying her home with pride. Inside the hall there were more servants, all giving her the controlled curious glances of people who had been warned ahead of time, then hastily looking away.
‘I will take the signorina to her room,’ Anna said. ‘Follow me, please.’
The way led up a grand staircase that curved to the next floor, ending in luxurious marble tiles on which her heels echoed up to the door of her room.
The room itself was startling, with a marble floor and an exposed stone wall that gave it an air of rustic charm without lessening its elegance. Two floor-length windows flooded the room with light. The bed, which was large enough to sleep three, was a four-poster, hung with ivory net curtains.
The rest of the furniture was in dark wood with a rich sheen, and ornately carved. To Holly’s eye the items had the look of valuable antiques. She had reason to know this, having recently received a terrifying education in antiques.
‘Are you sure this is the right room?’ she asked, overwhelmed.
‘Signor Fallucci insisted on the very best guest room,’ Anna replied. ‘He says that every attention must be paid to you.’
‘That’s very kind of him,’ she murmured.
‘If you will follow me, signorina…’
Anna showed her through a door to a bathroom with walls also of exposed stone, an antique marble basin and hand-painted tiles. Thick ivory towels hung on the walls.
‘If the signorina is satisfied-’
‘Yes, it’s lovely,’ Holly said mechanically. She could feel a net closing about her.
‘If you would care to rest now, a meal will be sent to you here.’
When she was alone she sat down on the bed, feeling winded. On the face of it she’d fallen on her feet, but that wasn’t how it felt. The more she was welcomed and pampered, the more unnatural it all seemed, and the more nervous she became.
Everything made it clear to her that Judge Fallucci was a supremely powerful as well as a wealthy man. He was using both to prepare a niche for her, so comfortable that she wouldn’t want to leave.
But the fact was that she could not leave, even if she wanted to. He’d taken her passport; she had little money and no clothes. Now she had to depend on this stranger, who had seized control of her for his own purposes.
Despite the luxurious surface of her surroundings, she was a helpless prisoner.
CHAPTER TWO
SUPPER, when it arrived, was a feast for the gods. Soup made with ray fish and broccoli, lamb roasted in a s
auce of garlic, rosemary, vinegar and anchovy, followed by tozzetti, sweet cookies made from sugar, almonds and aniseed.
With every course came the proper wine, rough red, crisp white or icy mineral water. Everything was perfect. Nothing had been left to chance.
When she had finished eating Holly went to the window and watched the last rays of the sun setting over the garden, which stretched out of sight, a maze of pines, Cyprus trees and flowers, threaded by paths, along which a tall man was strolling.
‘Signor Fallucci walks there every evening,’ Anna said, just behind her. She had come into the room to collect the tray. ‘Always he goes to visit his wife’s grave.’
‘She’s buried here?’
‘In a patch of ground that was specially consecrated.’
‘How long has he been a widower?’
‘Eight months. She died in a train crash, last December, and the little girl was badly hurt.’
‘Poor little mite.’
‘You can just see the monument, there-where the setting sun just touches the tip. Every evening he stands before it for a long time. When it’s dark he walks back to the house, but here there is only more darkness for him.’
‘I can imagine,’ she breathed.
‘He says he will see you in his study in twenty minutes,’ Anna added, departing with the tray.
Earlier, the high-handed message would have annoyed her. Now, watching him moving in the dusk, she realised that there had been a subtle change. He looked lonely, almost crushed. She began to feel a little more confident. Perhaps he wasn’t so fearsome after all.
At the exact time she knocked on the study door, and received a cool, ‘Avanti!’
Entering, she found herself in a room, dominated by a large oak desk, with a table lamp that provided the room’s only light. Outside its arc she was dimly aware of walls lined with leather-bound books.
He was standing by the window, looking out, and turned when she entered. But he didn’t move out of the shadows, and she couldn’t make out much more than his outline.
‘Good evening, signorina.’ His voice seemed to come from a distance. ‘You would prefer that we talk in English?’
‘Yes, thank you, Signor Fallucci.’
‘Your room is to your liking?’
‘Yes, and the meal was delicious.’
‘Of course.’ His tone suggested this was the natural order of things. ‘Otherwise my staff would have heard my displeasure. Would you care to sit down?’
He indicated the chair facing the desk. It was a command, not a request, and she sat.
‘I know something about you from my daughter,’ he said, seating himself opposite her. ‘Your name is Holly, you are English and you come from Portsmouth.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Didn’t you tell Liza that you lived in Portsmouth?’ he said sharply. ‘She thinks you did.’
‘That’s a mistake, and I’ll explain if you’ll let me finish.’ For all her resolution to tread carefully she couldn’t keep an annoyed edge out of her voice. She was damned if she’d let him cross-examine her as though they were in court.
He leaned back in his chair and made a gesture that meant, ‘Go on.’
‘I come from a little town in the English Midlands. Portsmouth is down on the south coast and I know it quite well because I’ve spent some holidays there. I tried to tell Liza that, but the place means a lot to her because of her mother. So I talked about it, as much as I could remember, and I think she seized on that, built on it and just blotted out the bit she didn’t need. She’s clinging on to something that can bring her a scrap of comfort. Children do it all the time.’
‘And not just children,’ he murmured.
There was a silence.
‘Please go on,’ he said at last.
‘I don’t know what else there is to say.’
He’d been half-turned away from her. Now he swung around and spoke in a hard voice.
‘We have a difficult situation. I’m a judge and you are on the run from the police.’
‘You don’t know that,’ she challenged. ‘They didn’t identify me in the compartment today.’
‘Very shrewd. Clearly they know little about the woman they are seeking, not even that she goes by the name of Holly-whatever her real name may be.’
He was silent, watching her. When she didn’t speak he shrugged and said, ‘You could, of course, give me any name you like.’
‘Not while you’re holding my passport,’ she replied.
He nodded and a glimmer of a smile flickered over his face.
‘You were trying to trip me up,’ she said furiously.
‘If I was, I didn’t succeed. Good.’
‘And if I had succeeded?’
‘Then I’d have been disappointed in you. As it is, you present me with a problem.’
‘You could have solved it in a moment this afternoon.’
‘That would have been impossible,’ he said heavily. ‘You know why.’
‘Liza. Yes, you couldn’t have done that to that poor little girl.’
‘And it’s left me in a very awkward position,’ he said, half angrily.
‘But you didn’t actually tell the police any lies.’
‘I can’t console myself with such nit-picking.’
‘So now you want to know all about me, and what I’m supposed to have done,’ she said, bracing herself.
His reply astonished her.
‘At this moment, the very last thing I want is to know all about you. I know that you are a decent person, incapable of evil.’
‘How can you know that?’
‘Because I’ve met a thousand criminals and I know the difference. You develop an instinct. My instinct tells me that at worst you involved yourself in some foolishness that you didn’t understand. And also,’ his voice slowed and he added reluctantly, ‘also because of the way Liza clung to you. That little girl’s instinct is even surer than mine. If you had a criminal heart she would never have turned to you and wept in your arms.’
Holly was silent, amazed. She would not have expected such insight from this man.
Suddenly he rounded on her. ‘Am I wrong?’ he asked sharply.
‘No,’ she said. ‘You’re not wrong.’
‘Good. Then I need to know a little about you, but let’s keep it to the minimum. Give me a rough idea, but no details and no names.’
‘It was as you said. I got caught up in something bad, not realising what was really happening. When I discovered the truth I ran, fast.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-eight.’
‘Who knows you’re in Italy?’
‘Nobody. I have no family.’
‘What about your work colleagues?’
‘None. I’m not in work just now.’
‘There must be someone in England who’ll think it strange if you don’t return by a certain date.’
‘There isn’t. I live alone in a small rented house. I didn’t know how long I’d be away, so I told my neighbour to expect me when she saw me. I could vanish off the face of the earth and it would be ages before anyone noticed.’
She said the last words in a tone of discovery, as it was borne in on her how completely isolated she was. It was something she had vaguely recognised, but it was only now that the reality was brought home to her.
And if I’d had my wits about me, she told herself, I wouldn’t have admitted it to him. Now he knows how totally I’m in his power.
In the silence she could sense him surveying her, probably thinking how dull and unsophisticated she was for her age. It was true. She knew nothing, and it had left her vulnerable to Bruno Vanelli. Vulnerable in her heart and her life, in ways that she was only now beginning to understand.
When she’d met Bruno she’d been mostly ignorant of the world and men, and he had guessed that and played her like a fool.
Which was what I was, she thought bitterly. A fool.
‘Tell me about that suitcas
e you were so anxious to recover,’ the judge said. ‘Is there anything incriminating in it?’
‘No, I just didn’t like losing my clothes.’
‘Anything there that can identify you?’
‘Nothing.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘Because of Uncle Josh.’
‘Uncle Josh? He’s travelling with you?’
‘No, of course not. He’s dead.’
‘He’s dead but he tells you what to pack?’ he recited in a voice that strongly suggested he was dealing with a lunatic.
‘I know it sounds batty, but it’s the truth,’ she explained.
‘Batty? You’ll have to excuse me. I’m discovering unexpected holes in my English.’
‘It means crazy, weird. I feel a bit weird. In fact, very weird.’
His answer was to fill a glass and put it into her hand. It turned out to be brandy.
‘Give yourself a moment to calm down,’ he said in a gentler voice. ‘Then tell me about Uncle Josh and how he directs your packing from his grave.’
There was a slight quirk to his mouth that might almost have been humour.
‘Years ago,’ she said, ‘he went on holiday and on the journey someone stole his suitcase. There were some papers in it that contained his address. When he got home he found his house ransacked.
‘Since then none of my family have ever packed anything that could identify us. Papers have to go in a bag that you keep on you. It’s an article of faith. You swear allegiance to your country and you vow not to leave bits of paper in suitcases.’
Holly choked suddenly as the sheer idiocy of this conversation came over her. Now nothing mattered but a wild desire for maniacal laughter. She controlled it as long as she could, but then her resistance collapsed and she shook.
The judge rose quickly, rescuing her glass and setting it down out of danger.
‘I suppose this was inevitable,’ he said. ‘If you’re going to have hysterics you’d better have them and get it over with.’
She jumped up and turned away from him, unwilling to let him see how vulnerable she felt at this moment.
‘I am not having hysterics,’ she said firmly. ‘I just-don’t know what’s happening.’
‘Then why are you shaking?’ he said, moving behind her and placing his hands on her arms.