Angels of the Flood (32 page)

Kate stared at her. Francesca’s mother appeared to be unravelling in front of her eyes. She said, ‘Are you okay, Signora Bertoni?’

The older woman stretched her magenta lips back into what was more a grimace than a smile. ‘Why, how very thoughtful you are, Kate Holland.’ She frowned and looked away, plucking a thread of cotton off her sleeve. ‘Well, I guess that’s just how it is,’ she said, more to herself than anyone else. ‘I’ll go talk to Zio Toni. He’ll see sense, maybe. He’s not such a bad man. And he’s fond of Simona. That’s it, I’ll take her with me. She’s a cute child in her way. So you see, there’s a chance, there’s always a chance.’ She looked at Kate again, raking her face with eyes that were small pits of misery. ‘Off you go then, Kate, before… before…’ Her voice trailed into silence.

Kate glanced at Mario. He was a doctor and would know if it was all right to leave Signora Bertoni like this, but he was looking at the woman with an odd little smile on his face. ‘That’s right, Annette,’ he said and it was the first time Kate had heard him call Francesca’s mother by her Christian name. ‘Kate and I are leaving now. Is last time for us at Villa Beatrice.’

There was a commotion upstairs, the sound of doors banging and footsteps pounding along the landing. ‘Wait!’ yelled Francesca. ‘Wait for us!’ She had Simona by the wrist and was carrying two small packs as the sisters hurtled down the stairs together.

Kate, seeing how Simona was dressed, said, ‘My plaid shirt!’

Signora Bertoni turned to them with horror. ‘What’s going on? What do you think you’re doing dressed like that?’

Francesca regarded her mother in triumph. ‘We’re going with Mario and Kate,’ she said.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ snapped Signora Bertoni. In an instant her abstracted mood had vanished and she was bristling for a fight. ‘I never heard anything so outrageous in my life. Get right back upstairs and change, both of you!’

‘No, Mamma! I told you, we’re leaving. We’re going to Florence and you can’t stop us.’

‘We’ll just see about that. Simona, come here right now!’

Francesca kept hold of her sister’s hand. ‘Don’t pay any attention, Simona. She can’t force you.’ But Simona’s eyes widened with terror as Signora Bertoni strode towards her and grabbed her by the arm.

‘You go, then, Francesca,’ said her mother. ‘Get out of this house and never come back, but Simona stays right here.’

‘No!’

‘Simona, go change at once. We’re going up to see Zio Toni.’

‘No!’ yelled Francesca. ‘I won’t let you!’

Jagged with rage, Signora Bertoni let go of Simona, raised her hand and struck her elder daughter hard across the face with the flat of her palm. Francesca’s head swung away from the blow. ‘And how—’ She struck her again—‘just
how
are you going to stop me?’

‘Mamma, stop it!’ Simona wailed as Francesca reeled backwards. ‘Stop it, stop it,
stop it!
You’re always blaming her, but I’m the one who wants to go.’

Kate had run to Francesca’s side and put her arms round her. Livid red bars were already striping her cheeks and she was panting with shock. ‘It’s okay, Francesca,’ said Kate. ‘You’re coming with us.’

‘Simona…’ she gasped.

‘Of course,’ said Kate. ‘Simona comes too.’

Mario had been watching in horror. He spoke to Signora Bertoni in Italian and reached out to take Simona gently by the hand. She put herself behind him, a protecting shield. Now four were ranged against one: Signora Bertoni fell back as though beaten. Safe behind Mario, Simona was weeping quietly.

‘Are you sure you want to come with us?’ Kate asked her gently.

She nodded. ‘Quite sure.’

‘Then let’s go.’

They picked up their bags in silence. Kate still had her arm round Francesca and Simona was leaning on Mario as they headed towards the door. Just as they stepped out into the fresh air, Signora Bertoni’s voice came after them: ‘Simona, I won’t let you go.’

‘You can’t stop her, Mamma,’ said Francesca, her voice almost tender now that her mother had been defeated.

‘Who will take care of my baby?’ asked Signora Bertoni in anguish. ‘She’s just a child.’

‘She’s a woman, Mamma,’ said Francesca. ‘I’ll look after her. And so will my friends.’

Signora Bertoni followed them out into the sunshine. Suddenly her voice was sharp as a razor. ‘And which friends would those be, Francesca?’

‘Mario and Kate,’ she answered calmly. ‘And the others you haven’t met. Believe me, Mamma, Simona will be fine with us.’

‘Oh really?’ Something in the way Signora Bertoni asked the question made Kate turn to look at her and what she saw there, some spark of hope and triumph, made her suddenly fearful. ‘Just tell me one thing, Francesca,’ the woman said, each word diamond precise, ‘does Mario fuck all these so-called friends of yours, or is it just Kate?’

‘Mamma, don’t be disgusting,’ said Francesca. She was shaking, but nothing was going to stop her now. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here before she comes up with any more lies. I can’t stand much more of this.’

‘Disgusting, am I? Why don’t you ask them?’

‘There’s no need. I know they wouldn’t…’ Francesca looked from Kate to Mario and back again. Slowly the smile faded from her face and she withdrew the arm that Kate had been holding. ‘But… Kate, tell me she’s lying,’ she said in a low voice.

‘Francesca, please, Mario said that you and he were finished—’

‘Oh!’ Francesca doubled over in pain as though she’d been punched in the stomach, a far worse blow than any her mother had delivered. ‘No,’ she was gasping. ‘No, no!’

‘God, Francesca, I’m so sorry, but I never meant…’ Kate moved towards her.

‘Stay away from me!’ said Francesca, and Kate hung back helplessly. Simona escaped from Mario and went across to comfort her sister. Now Signora Bertoni had both her daughters beside her and she stood in front of them.

‘Get out of here!’ she said to Kate. ‘Get out of here, both of you.’

‘No,’ said Kate. ‘I’m not leaving like this. Francesca, please, you have to listen to me.’ Francesca turned away from her with a sob of grief and rage.

Simona said, ‘Francesca, please, let’s go.’

‘Simona, no!’ said Signora Bertoni.

Mario said quietly, ‘Come, Kate. Is better we leave now.’

‘But how can we? We can’t just walk away. We can’t—’

‘Listen to me, young lady,’ said Signora Bertoni to Kate as she stood like a guardsman over her two daughters, ‘you’re lucky I didn’t do it last night, but I swear to God, if you don’t get into that car right now and drive away from here and never come back, I’ll kill you with my own bare hands!’

For a moment Kate almost believed her threat, there was such hatred on her face.

‘We go now,’ said Mario, guiding her down the steps to his little car. ‘Before worse things—’

‘But we
can’t!’

Almost roughly, he pushed her into the car. ‘This is a bad place,’ he said, glancing back towards the house. ‘Bad place for us.’

Just as he’d got into the driver’s seat and switched on the ignition, there was a scream from the house. Simona had broken away from her mother and was running down the steps towards them.

‘Mario, wait!’ yelled Kate.

‘No!’ he said and the Topolino sped off down the drive, its tyres churning through the dry surface of the road, so that when Kate twisted round to see what was happening behind them, all she could make out were anonymous shapes moving eerily through a column of white dust.

T
HE CRISS-CROSS PATTERN OF
noises made a fine-meshed net, raising her out of the deep well of nothingness into which she’d fallen. Closest sounds first: the crackle of starched cotton as hands turned her in the bed, squeak of shoes on linoleum; unknown voices raised to cough or call out,
‘Sorella! Sorella!’
in a sea of words she couldn’t understand at all; and then the murmur of talk she recognized from some other, distant place, David and Jenny and Dido, their conversation weaving through the air above her head, English-speaking voices that must assume she couldn’t hear as they whispered among themselves about an accident and about Francesca.
‘Poor Francesca,’
as they called her. But she must be still dreaming after all. It couldn’t be real. They were talking as though Francesca were dead.

Her head hurt.

No, no. Not Francesca. Not dead, not dead. Please God, don’t let it be true.

She slid back into the dark.

Next time she surfaced there was another voice—a voice from England—was she home again? It was her mother’s voice, calm but out of place in this murmuring sea of Italian. ‘It’s all right, Katie. We’ll soon have you well again.’

‘Mum?’

‘Yes, dear. I’m right here.’

The most familiar face, out of focus but smiling at the edge of sight, was looking down at her. ‘Mum, what’s happened to Francesca?’

‘You rest now, dear. It’s all going to be all right.’

‘But Francesca—’

‘Hush, now. Don’t fret.’

So it must be true. Kate struggled to emerge from the blackness and the pain. ‘What’s happened? Where am I?’

‘You were in an accident, Katie, and now you’re in hospital, but you’re going to make a full recovery. They say you’ll be out again in a few days.’

‘But… Francesca… and Mario… where’s Mario? I want to see him. I must…’ But iron hooks of pain dragged her back into unconsciousness before she heard the answer, if there even was one.

The next time a sound detached itself from the hubbub of conversation all around her it was one that made her want to shrink back into the pillows. ‘Kate, honey, can you hear me? Kate?’

She didn’t want to hear, but she could. She opened her eyes. Dressed all in black, right down to the black gloves held in her hands and the black hat with a veil rolled back to show her chalk-white face, Signora Bertoni was seated on a chair beside her bed. Kate’s mother and a nurse were standing behind, their faces anguished. ‘It’s so kind of you to come,’ said Mrs Holland, ‘at a time like this. So terrible for you.’

Now Kate saw that the Signora’s eyes were small dark holes, red-rimmed from weeping. For the first time, her own tears welled up and trickled down her cheeks.

‘Are you in pain, Kate?’

Slowly Kate rolled her head from side to side. No, no pain to compare with the pain of losing a daughter. ‘What happened?’ she whispered.

‘Don’t you know?’ asked the signora.

‘They won’t tell me.’

‘You must remember.’

‘No.’

‘Think, Kate. Try to remember.’

Kate’s mother said, ‘It’s hard for her, Signora Bertoni. She doesn’t remember the accident at all.’

‘Really?’ Signora Bertoni smiled and said, ‘Then I’ll tell her. The girl needs to know.’ And her voice sounded almost tender, as though softened by grief. ‘Tell me, Kate. Don’t you remember anything at all?’

‘No.’

‘Not even the argument? When you and Mario were leaving?’

‘Yes.’ Kate closed her eyes in pain as the memories came back. ‘I remember the fight. And I remember you slapping Francesca. And…’

‘That’s right. Francesca and I had an… an argument. And you all went outside. Can you remember what happened after that?’

‘Yes.’ Kate’s voice was stronger as the memories came back. ‘You said you’d kill me.’

‘Signora Bertoni.’ It was Kate’s mother speaking. ‘I think she’s still delirious.’

Signora Bertoni held up her gloves, silencing Mrs Holland. ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘I understand perfectly. And then, Kate?’

‘Then I got in the car with Mario.’

‘And then?’

‘We drove away.’

‘Yes?’

‘And… and… I can’t remember any more. What happened? What happened to Francesca? How did she die?’

‘There was an accident, honey. Francesca tried to follow you on one of the Vespas, but she was upset, her judgement wasn’t too good. We think she was trying to overtake the car, to make you stop, but she must have lost control. She went into a tree beside the road and fell off. Mario swerved to avoid her and that was when you hit your head. Lucky it wasn’t worse for you. Mario reckons Francesca must have been killed instantly.’

‘Oh my God…’

Kate’s mother put her hand on Signora Bertoni’s shoulder. ‘If there’s anything we can ever do…’

‘No. Nothing. And there’s nothing more to be said, is there, Kate? Except goodbye.’ She leaned forward and the scent of her face powder was pungent as she kissed Kate on the left cheek. ‘Goodbye, Kate. Get well soon.’ And then, when she stooped to kiss her other cheek, she said in a voice so low that only Kate could hear. ‘Just remember one thing, Kate honey, you’re to blame. Francesca’s death was all your fault. If you hadn’t interfered in our private family business, none of this would have happened. Francesca would be alive right now. I guess that will be on your conscience for the rest of your life, won’t it, honey?’

She straightened up and smiled.

‘Thank you so much for coming,’ said Mrs Holland. ‘It’s very kind…’

‘Not at all.’ Signora Bertoni was pulling on her black gloves. ‘It was the least I could do.’

‘Say goodbye, Kate.’

‘No! No, it’s not true!’

Mrs Holland tried to comfort her daughter, then exchanged a few words with Signora Bertoni. Kate heard their absurdly polite conversation but she couldn’t speak. Where was Mario? She needed him, needed him to wash away the poison Signora Bertoni had dripped into her brain. What had happened to him? Why didn’t he come? Couldn’t he hear her? Hysteria was building up inside her, a huge tide of misery and rage and denial. She screamed out for Mario, pushing her mother and everyone else away, convinced that he had been killed too and no one had the courage to tell her, and eventually the nurses had to administer sedatives to plunge her back into welcome oblivion.

David came the next day. He had a bunch of carnations in his broad fist and he looked wretched. The Bertonis had been adamant they didn’t want any of Francesca’s foreign friends to go to the funeral, that it was going to be a private family event.

‘It feels all wrong,’ he said miserably. ‘Why won’t they let us say goodbye to her? It’s almost as if they blame us for what happened.’

‘Maybe they do,’ whispered Kate.