The Mafia Emblem
Page 31
- 31 -
The sun beat down out of a cloudless sky, searching out every nook and cranny of ancient Pompeii with a pitiless attention to detail. The old paving stones of the Forum seemed positively to hum with the heat. Ben rested his hand lightly on the railing round one of the plinths and instantly whipped it away again as the hot metal sizzled his skin.
“Where the hell is she?” he silently demanded for at least the fifth time in the last half-hour. Francesca was over forty-five minutes late. Two o’clock, she had said. Now it was fast approaching three. Of course, Donna had made it worse by dropping him at half past one, just in case the girl should be early. That meant he had now been hanging round for an hour and a quarter.
Ben surveyed the crowds of weary, perspiring sightseers with a jaundiced eye. Normally he would have found the scene full of interest, but not today. Somehow he had known since he first woke up that it was going to be one of those frustrating days. It had taken him hours to get to sleep last night, partly because of the pain in his shoulder and partly through trying not to wriggle too much and therefore waken Francesca. Then, when he had finally dropped off, he had slept too long and too heavily. By the time he was properly awake the sun was already streaming through the window and across the satin covers on the bed. The ornate ceiling above his head was reflecting a bright pink from the tiled terrace outside and the long, translucent net curtains fluttered drowsily in the breeze coming through the open windows.
Somehow it was the soft hush of the air-conditioning that reminded him of the scene the night before and brought him back to full wakefulness. Then he realised he was still lying in bed half-dressed. It was not a pleasant experience. The feeling of dirt and perspiration, the stiff ache in his shoulder, the unpleasant taste in his mouth, the articles of clothing scattered about - those things he had expected. But something else was wrong.
Where was Francesca? He hadn’t heard her get up. He had no idea what she was doing. Wasn’t he responsible for her in some way?
He became aware of an urgent desire to urinate. No doubt she was occupying the bathroom - just where he wanted to go. She had probably recently lowered herself into a long, hot bath and would stay there for at least the next half an hour. Well, he would see about that!
He forced himself to get up. It was a slow business. He was still stiff and weary from his cramped, uncomfortable sleep. He worked his shoulder, massaging the bruised muscles. At least it appeared that nothing was seriously damaged in that area.
He hardly noticed his ruined trousers flapping around his legs as he crossed to the window and pulled the half-open patio door fully to the side. He stepped out onto the balcony and into the mid-morning heat. Floating up from below came the soft mixture of street and waterfront sounds, the rumbling noise of industry from around the bay. One of the aliscafi bound for Capri was just heading out of the harbour. It suddenly began to speed up as he watched, lifting itself out of the water onto its hydrofoils. A few seconds later the dull boom of its engines echoed round the high buildings which crowded the waterfront.
His sense of bodily discomfort returned. Francesca would have to hurry up or he would embarrass her. Ben left the balcony and crossed to the bathroom. He tapped on the door but there was no reply. He called out “Francesca” without receiving any response. He was sorry, but he couldn’t wait any longer.
When he opened the door it was dark inside. He even switched on the light for the specific foolish reason of checking that the bath was empty. For a few moments he felt more relief than anxiety at her absence. But, as he washed his face, his mind began to function at last. What had happened to her? He left the bathroom and crossed to the bedroom door, swung it open and collided with Donna as she bounced in, looking as lively as a kitten despite her crumpled dress.
“Oh that was nice,” she said as he let go of her.
“Have you seen Francesca?”
“Of course not. She was with you. Did you have a good night together?”
Ben ignored the sarcasm. “She’s gone.”
“Oh, my dear,” said Donna cheerfully, “what can have happened to her?”
“I don’t know,” he complained. “When I woke up she wasn’t there.”
“Run out on you, has she? I tell you, Ben, you’re gonna have trouble with that one.”
He scowled. “Will you be serious? What do you think has happened to her? I do think she ought to have said something to me before she left. She’s not used to looking after herself. She won’t have any money or anything.”
Donna walked over to the bedside table and picked up a piece of paper which was lying there. She read it and passed it to him. “Why aren’t men born with common sense?” she asked.
The note was quite short. It said: “Dear Ben. There’s something I must do very urgently. I will meet you in the Forum at Pompeii at two o’clock. Love Francesca. P.S. - I have taken a hundred euros from your wallet.”
When Ben looked up Donna was cocking an amused eyebrow at him. “I reckon that girl can look after herself a lot better than you think. Never mind, at least you seem to have her love.”
“What the hell do we do now?”
“Well,” she said, “we’ve got more than four hours before I drop you at Pompeii. Two to one I beat you into the shower.”