Angels of the Flood (10 page)

Every nerve was strained, but even so, she didn’t hear it coming. An awareness of movement made her turn suddenly, just in time to see the owl swoop past, a glimmer of pale feathers and speed only yards from her place on the hillside. Kate caught her breath. The silent predator was beautiful and deadly and utterly regardless of her presence.

Kate had never felt like such an interloper. This mountaintop belonged to wild creatures. She had no right to be there, trespassing on their world.

A crack of thunder decided her. The elusive nightingales would have to wait for another time.

As she stood up she heard a louder noise in the scrubby bushes that clung to the hillside just below the Lookout. Something big was moving around down there. She hated to imagine what size of animal would cause such a disturbance. She told herself that noises are amplified at night. Perhaps it wasn’t as large as it sounded—a hedgehog, or something. But did they have hedgehogs in Italy?

She clicked on the torch and began to walk back down the path. No need to hurry, she told herself. No reason to panic. She resisted the temptation to quicken her pace and break into a run. That could be dangerous. She was easing her way carefully along the narrow stretch of path where Simona had fallen. Coming to the place from above, the drop which Simona had so narrowly avoided seemed even more terrifying than before. Her heart was thumping and she cursed herself for not having gone back with Mario and Simona. No view is that good, she told herself, and as for nightingales…

Another crash in the bushes below. From up here whatever was making that noise sounded large as a cow. Or a person. Kate slowed up just enough to turn and look down. When she shone her torch into the blackness its beam flickered with the shaking of her hand. Something was moving through the stunted trees and scrub. It looked horribly like the figure of a man, but that didn’t make sense. Surely Simona had told her there was only one path between La Rocca and the summit, and anyway, why would anyone else want to go clambering over the mountain this late at night?

Her ears were straining to hear the smallest noise above the rasping of her breath and the slip and scuffle of her feet on the path, so the explosion when it came was deafening. There was a whistling noise as the air was cut by the bullet’s path, then a shattering crack, like cymbals clashing between her ears, when it struck the rock.

‘Hey, stop!’ Kate’s reflex was instant. ‘I’m here!’ It had flashed through her mind that whoever was out hunting this late at night thought they had the mountain to themselves.

The second shot disabused her. This one connected with the rock even closer to her head.
Jesus.
Some maniac down there was aiming at her! Kate didn’t shout again. She crouched down behind the shelter of a boulder, clicked off the torch, then took off towards the house. Never mind that it was an impossibly awkward position for running, never mind that her shoe came off and her trousers ripped on a branch of thorn… Kate was transformed into a concentrated arrow of flight, hurtling down towards the lights of the house. She was running faster than she’d run in years but still it wasn’t fast enough. Her body felt slow and cumbersome, as though she was trying to force herself to move through thick, clinging mud. Her lungs screamed with pain, her legs were heavy, like lead weights. And all the time she felt so huge and unmissable she could have been surrounded by white light and visible for miles around, waiting for the shot and whistle of the gun. Next time…

The path dipped down. Kate stumbled, her knees fell on jagged stones and there were thorns in her palm. She righted herself, plunged on… and there was the house ahead. The back door open. All she had to do was reach it, get over the threshold, escape the darkness.

Blood was pounding in her ears. She was gasping. Terror was playing tricks with her hearing. As she flung herself into the pool of light from the back door, she could have sworn she heard harsh laughter, high above her head.

‘Kate, what is it?’ Simona was sitting quietly in the drawing room, a white bandage round her ankle.

‘Someone—’ she could hardly speak, ‘someone—shooting.’

‘Shooting?’ Simona stood up in alarm.

‘At—me.’

‘What?’

‘Someone—just tried—to shoot me.’

Appalled, Simona was at her side in an instant. It occurred to Kate, in spite of everything, that Mario’s bandage must be very effective: Simona was hardly limping at all.

Then Kate’s legs gave up the strain of holding her upright and she slumped down on a chair. ‘Some fucking maniac out there was shooting at me,’ she gasped. She heard her voice saying the words. In here, in firelight and candlelight and surrounded by Simona’s beautiful things, the statement sounded ludicrous. Preposterous. It couldn’t be true. Hysterical laughter bubbled up close to the surface.

Simona had crouched down, her arm round Kate’s shoulder. ‘Tell me what happened.’

‘Christ, I wish I knew. I was coming back down from the Lookout. There was someone below me, in the scrub. Then they shot at me, twice.’

‘I’d better warn Dino.’ Simona stood up swiftly. Then, suddenly, she clapped her hand to her forehead in a theatrical gesture. ‘Oh my God! Dino!’

‘Dino?’

‘It must have been him.’

‘But why on earth—? Why would Dino want to shoot me?’

‘He didn’t know it was you, Kate. I told him we were going up to the Lookout, but when he saw me and Mario coming back to the house, he must have assumed you were back too. Oh, my God, I don’t believe it! That man is so
stupid!’

‘But why was he shooting?’

‘He’s our nightwatchman. This place is a prime target for burglars, everyone for miles around is convinced it’s still full of priceless treasures. Oh, Kate, I’m so sorry this happened. But don’t worry, you weren’t in any real danger. Dino is so blind he couldn’t shoot straight to save his life and he only ever fires blanks.’

‘What? Simona, those were bullets.’

‘Impossible.’

‘Believe me, I heard them hit the rock.’

‘You must have imagined it.’

‘Jesus, Simona. I was almost
killed
out there and now you’re telling me I’m imagining it!’ Kate was shaking.

‘Oh, Kate, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… Let me pour you some brandy. Here, have my shawl.’

Simona was all concern. Kate was still shivering, as though with immense cold, but the brandy and the shawl helped.

‘I’ll go and find Dino,’ said Simona. ‘And work out what’s going on.’ She looked worried.

Kate didn’t like the idea of being left alone. Her city-dweller’s relish for solitude had deserted her. ‘Is Mario still around?’

‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ Simona was vague. ‘I think he just left. Stay here, Kate. I’ll be back in a minute.’

She hurried from the room. Only a slight limp, Kate noticed. She could hear raised voices from the back of the house. She stood up and began to pace restlessly up and down the room. From time to time she sipped her brandy and felt the warm glow spread from her throat to the pit of her stomach. Logs crackled in the grate. Slowly, slowly, her heart rate returned to normal, her breathing eased.

But that sense of being a moving target, huge and unmissable as she raced down the stony path—that feeling was harder to shake off.

‘W
ILL YOU COME TO
bed, now,
signora?’
Giulia stifled a yawn.

The old woman was pretending she hadn’t heard. She knew more tricks than a circus monkey. She stayed at the window, holding onto the ledge and leaning out as she had done for nearly half an hour. Giulia had tried to get her away from the window, but without success. ‘Did you see that?’ the
signora
called out, to no one in particular. ‘Did you see how she ran? Ha!’

‘It’s late,
signora.’
Giulia was pleading. ‘I’ve been up since six. Why won’t you let me put you to bed?’

No answer, of course.

It was no joke looking after the
signora.
Giulia’s friends thought she had it easy, but she’d rather be working in a café or a shop. At least then you could go home at the end of the day. You’d have time off to spend with your mates. Sometimes Giulia thought she was little better than a slave. The old woman looked so fragile and refined, like one of those dignified old ladies in the films, but she was a nightmare to handle. Like a child, but more cunning, more devious. Like a monster, sometimes. She’d never admit it to anyone, but Giulia was frightened of the
signora.
It was hard to know what she was thinking about—and when you did know, well, that was even worse. Giulia had never known anyone so eaten up with spite and bitterness as the older Signora Bertoni—and Giulia had mixed with some pretty rough characters in her short life.

Even when the old witch was being nice, you had to watch your back. Like last month, when she’d given Giulia a little brooch from the box on her dressing table. ‘Take it, take it,’ she’d said. ‘It’s worthless anyway and I never liked it. Go on, have it, it’s yours.’ But the first time Giulia wore it, the next Sunday, the
signora
screeched like a boar in a trap. ‘My brooch! How dare you steal my precious brooch! Give it back right now!’ It was no use explaining; the crazy old fool was all set to call the police. Giulia got quite scared in the end. Even if the stupid woman didn’t call the police, she was working herself up to have a fit right there and die of apoplexy. Giulia couldn’t think of a more suitable end—but she knew there’d be hell to pay if anyone discovered her lack of care had contributed to the old woman’s death.

‘
Signora,’
she said dully, not expecting Annette to pay any attention. ‘Come away from the window. It’s cold. You’ll catch your death.’

‘Stupid girl, it’s not
my
death you need to worry about.’ Her old voice was harsh and ugly as a crow’s. ‘Did you see how she ran? Ha! Fell down, too. Good! Serves her damn right.’

Giulia didn’t have a clue what the
signora
was talking about. And she didn’t want to know either. All that bothered her was that her charge had been standing by the window for ages now, peering out into the darkness as though she was looking for something. Then there were those shots, two shots, and the old woman almost fell over with excitement. Crazy, that was her trouble. Most likely the men were frightening off some kids from the village. Giulia didn’t like the way they used guns round here. One day someone was going to get hurt. She remembered when Mollina’s son had been peppered with shot a few years back. The Bertonis had to pay the family money to keep that one quiet, though the boy wasn’t badly hurt. Just flesh wounds. She’d seen him boasting about it in town. All the local kids liked to trespass: it was a game for them, seeing how far they could go before someone saw them.

If she could, Giulia would have chucked the job in months ago. She’d begged her dad to let her work somewhere else, anywhere else. She didn’t mind where. But he wouldn’t hear of it. ‘Keep it in the family,’ he said. Well, it was all right for him to say, he didn’t have to put up with the old bitch all day long.

‘Signora…
’

To Giulia’s amazement, Signora Bertoni turned away from the window. She was grinning, as though someone had just given her a treat. ‘What?’ she said. ‘You still here? Then you might as well put me to bed.’

Giulia couldn’t believe her luck. The
signora
leaned on her arm and tottered slowly to the bed. She allowed herself to be put between the sheets and lay back against the pillows with none of the usual fuss and struggle.

‘What a good girl you are,’ said the
signora,
her harsh voice sounding almost mellow. ‘Just like your father. He’s a good man, Dino. I can always rely on him.’

The
signora
was still smiling when Giulia bid her goodnight and put out the light.

E
ACH TIME KATE CLOSED HER EYES
she saw the uneven path in the moonlight, felt terror pumping through her body as she ran…

Shreds of panic still clung to her, driving off sleep. She sat up and switched on the light, told herself not to be such a drama queen. Look on the bright side, her sensible voice told her. If she was fated to spend a sleepless night, then she couldn’t have chosen a better room. Five-star insomnia was guaranteed at La Rocca.

Like all the rooms in the house, this one was high-ceilinged, with lofty beams and tall windows shuttered against the chill night air. There was not much furniture, but the few pieces were exquisite: a huge half-canopy antique bed, an eighteenth-century painted wardrobe complete with dancing nymphs and swags of fruit and leaves, a couple of chairs and a writing table and thick rugs underfoot. Three of the paintings, a fifteenth-century annunciation, a landscape by Claude and an orchard scene by Sisley, were well worth staying awake for. No wonder Simona employed someone to patrol the grounds at night.

There had been no satisfactory explanation for the shooting. Dino was nowhere to be found, and though she didn’t say so, it was obvious that Simona still believed he only ever fired blanks. His eyesight had deteriorated recently and he’d stopped going hunting last year. Kate must have imagined the impact of the bullets against the rocks.

Kate knew that wasn’t true; she was angry at not being believed. They parted coolly.

Now, Kate told herself it must have been Dino. Maybe he’d been scaring off predators. Maybe he just liked frightening the Bertonis’ guests. She’d thought he was creepy when she’d seen him walking down the stairs with Simona’s mother on his arm, the fragile old lady and the oafish-looking man with the bulbous head, like a parody of a devoted old couple. And it was creepy the way he never stopped smiling. Maybe he’d been smiling as he raised his ancient gun to his shoulder, looked down the sights with his blurry, imperfect eyes, and took aim…

Kate pulled her dressing gown on and padded to the window.

For the first and, she sincerely hoped, the last time in her life Kate had been a moving target in the moonlight—and now she was told it had been an accident. A terrible mistake, so Simona had said. The danger was past and she was safe.