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Ben spent some time checking what he could see of the horizon all round, occasionally allowing his eyes to linger on Francesca’s slim, windswept form. She must be feeling cold. He stepped over and pulled the blanket round her neck. She smiled gratefully but was still shivering.
“You should go back into the cabin,” he said, his voice sounding weak and husky to his own ears. He didn’t want her to go yet.
She shook her head. “I hate it down there. It makes me feel sick. I would rather be cold up here.”
“I’ll get you another rug.”
“There isn’t one. There were only two and I have wrapped Papa in one. It helps him to sleep.” She smiled at him. “Really, you should have one. It is you who has been up here in the cold all the way from La Procida.”
“I’m not cold. The lining of this jacket is warm. And I’ve had something to eat to recharge my batteries.” Ben suddenly felt daring. “It’s the wind coming in from behind which is chilling you. Here – this will keep you warm.”
He moved behind her, opened the front of his jacket and wrapped it round her, clasping his hands round her waist to hold it in position.
“You appreciate that I’m only sharing my body-warmth with you out of a sense of generosity,” he murmured in her ear.
She said nothing. Was she working out how to rebuff his forwardness? Yet he had the feeling that she was moving slightly against him. Her hair was tickling his face and he could smell the tang of salt on her cheek. She shivered again and the next second she had twisted in his arms and was kissing him with an urgency and an excitement that took his breath away.
The boat described a crazy S-bend as Francesca let go the wheel.
“Here, I’d better take over,” said Ben. “We don’t want to disturb your father.
He took his hands from round her waist and got the cruiser back on course. Francesca swivelled within his arms to face him and slid her hands up his back and round his neck. They were like chips of ice.
“You English! You are so slow. If I had been here with an Italian he would not have been talking about what was good for my brother. He would have had other things on his mind.”
“A young Italian girl of high birth is not supposed to know about things like that,” said Ben. “She should never allow herself to be alone at sea with any young men.” All the time he was acutely aware of her small, hard breasts pressing against the thin T-shirt under his jacket. He tried to keep his eyes on the sea ahead.
“Do not worry,” she soothed. “I have never been to sea on my own with a young Italian man. My parents would never have allowed it. Besides – I have been keeping myself for a young Englishman.”
“Even if he is so slow?”
“We have a saying in Italy which translates something like this – if the journey is long and slow it makes the arrival even more important.”
“I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or not,” said Ben, bending to kiss her again.
After a while it was Francesca who stopped him. “Perhaps you are not so slow,” she joked. “You should not put your hand in that place when my father is on board. Also it is not good for your steering of the boat.”
Ben was silent for a while. “Will you come with me on your own when I take the boat back to your friends at La Procida?”
“I shall not let you go without me.” She laughed gaily at the thought.
Ben studied the sea ahead and thought, with tendrils of her hair flicking across his face. His view of the future had suddenly changed. Now there was an urgent reason for going on with the fight against the Vitelli. And the penalty for failure had become much greater. As soon as he could he must get Francesca and her father to a safe place. Then he could face his pursuers unencumbered.
“What are you thinking?” She was watching his face. “You are looking very serious.”
He smiled a little shame-facedly. “I was thinking about the future.”
“Tell me about the future – our future.” She half-turned from him and hooked her shoulder under his armpit.
For the next half an hour they talked of the things that dreams are made of, discussing plans that both of them knew were unlikely to happen. The boat steadily ploughed its way across the wide bay, usually so soft and beautiful, but today a cold, wet and unpleasant place. Ben didn’t even notice the discomforts. He wouldn’t have changed his place for the most luxurious surroundings imaginable.
The buildings of Naples were already beginning to grow large on the horizon when the helicopter found them again. It came up low from astern and was overhead before either of them saw it. It roared overhead with an ear-shattering noise and climbed ahead of them, looping round and crossing behind them again.
“You’d better get below and get the old man into a safe position,” said Ben. “They may start shooting.”
Francesca opened the door, slid back the hatch and took a step down into the cabin. However she went no further. From that position she looked up and studied the helicopter closely. “I cannot see a gun. I do not think they will want to shoot us. I believe that we have something which they want very much. That is why they chase us so hard.”
“Well, I don’t see what is so important – unless it’s your father. They won’t want anyone to know they’ve been keeping him prisoner while pretending he’s dead.”
“That may be the reason,” she agreed.
However it seemed she was right about the shooting for, after a couple of minutes, the helicopter made off in the direction of Naples.
“We’ll have to watch out when we get to the harbour,” said Ben. “I think they’ll try to organize some sort of reception committee.”
“We will go straight to the harbour police. My father is still quite an important man in Naples, especially since they will think he has come back from the dead. The police will protect us.”
“OK. You can direct me.”
Ben settled down again to concentrating on keeping the boat on a straight course, now more alert for other craft. In the next twenty minutes they only came close to one Capri steamer, ploughing past them on its way to the island. The vessel was pitching heavily as it shouldered into the rough sea and the decks were clear of any curious watchers.
Away to their right the top of Vesuvius was hidden in thick cloud which boiled up its lower slopes like a slow moving stormy sea. The land began to close in around them. Today one of the most beautiful bays in the world was a grey, unfriendly scene. Ben began to wonder what would happen in the next half-hour.
It was Francesca who first noticed the other boat. She drew Ben’s attention to it, pointing almost dead ahead. Her eyesight must have been excellent. Screwing up his eyes, his searching gaze could just make a small blur coming in their direction from Naples port. At this distance it was impossible to make out what it was or even its size. It seemed to be moving fast for it was growing at a rapid rate as it headed almost straight for them. Ben began to feel uneasy as he saw the dark blue hull rise for the first time above the turbulent grey sea and then drop out of sight again.
Even though there was no certainty that the other boat was interested in them, Ben wasn’t going to take any chances. He decided it would be prudent to give them a wide berth. So he swung the wheel to take them in a more Northerly direction towards Cape Posillipo.
He had to repeat this manoeuvre three times in the next five minutes as the other craft moved closer to their path. In the end they were pointing away at an angle of almost ninety degrees from the route they should have been taking and they were beginning to get close to the land. Each time they changed course the other boat followed until it was closing on their starboard quarter. There was now no doubt that it was pursuing them. Ben studied the vessel as carefully as he could while still steering his own boat. It was a fast cruiser with a sleek superstructure and looked quite a lot larger than their own boat. No doubt the Vitelli would have access to something big and fast.
He swung the wheel ove
r again and headed directly away from them, opening up the throttles to full power as he did so. The noise and vibration increased greatly. The wind was gusting against their left side, making the boat sway and roll. By now it was jumping in great, staggering leaps from one wave-crest to the next. But he knew that somehow they had to be far enough ahead of their pursuers when they reached land to give themselves time to find shelter or someone to help them. Looking ahead, he could see a strange hump-backed headland. Beyond that was a bay almost completely surrounded by land.
“What is that place ahead?” he asked Francesca.
She came up to his side, clinging on to the rail on top of the bulkhead as the boat bucked around. She focused on the coast ahead. “I think it is the Gulf of Pozzuoli.”
“Is there anywhere to land there – any harbours?”
“There is a harbour at Pozzuoli but I do not know what it is like. It is many years since I last went there. The town is partly closed because of the action of the volcano Solfatara of which grandpapa told you.”
Ben looked quickly behind. As far as he could see the other boat wasn’t getting much closer now they were running at full throttle. But it was now dead astern and was preventing them from turning away from the coast ahead.
“I think,” said Francesca prophetically, “that we should keep away from Pozzuoli.”
“We haven’t got much choice. We’d have to turn right round to get out now and they would catch us straight away.”
She pulled a face. “It is not a good place to choose.”
Ben was inclined to agree but it was really too late now to do anything else. It seemed likely that the Vitelli had set out to drive them into this narrow trap. Even at this minute they were passing the strange headland which looked almost like an island with a castle on top and the land was closing in right round them.
“I’m sorry Francesca,” he said. “It seems that Pozzuoli has chosen us.”
The Mafia Emblem Page 55