Angels of the Flood (40 page)

‘But you were implicated too. People may not believe you didn’t know what you were signing after Simona died. Aren’t you worried about that?’

Francesca almost laughed. ‘Believe me, Kate, I’ve given this a lot of thought, but no prison cell could be worse than the lies I’ve been trapped in all these years.’

‘Are you sure, Francesca? Why risk everything now?’

‘I have to, Kate. Surely you understand that.’

‘I guess I do.’

She sounded doubtful and Francesca wondered if someone as straightforward as Kate could ever realize why it was so vital she live out the rest of her days as her true self. Kate must find it impossible to imagine what it was like to live a lie. There was another dream that had haunted her for years. She was in a house, neither La Rocca nor the Villa Beatrice but some place that contained the atmosphere of both houses: she was wearing a mask, a beautiful mask, a bit like Deception in the first painting she’d sent to Kate. And when the time came to remove it, she couldn’t, because the mask had stuck to her skin. Or else her skin had grown into the mask. She was trapped, and the fake flesh was growing over her eyes…

She shuddered. Later there would be time to talk to Kate about these things. For now, it was enough that Kate believed in her and was prepared to help her achieve her goal. ‘Mario mustn’t guess what I’m up to,’ said Francesca, firing up the engine and turning the car round so they could head back to La Rocca. ‘God knows what he’d do to save his skin.’

T
HUNDER WAS CLOSE. HIGH
white clouds blotted out the sun, but the air was still oppressively hot. Scarcely aware of his passenger, Mario drove swiftly along the narrow roads through the hills, his only thought to get back to La Rocca before it was too late.

Apartment 89, Torrens Heights was the flat he’d bought for himself in Montreal: He’d always known that so long as there was a chance her parents might be prosecuted for fraud, Simona, as he had trained himself always to think of her, would remain silent. But since her father’s death his own security was less certain and he’d laid elaborate plans for his escape, should escape ever become necessary.

In Canada, Dr Mario Bassano would no longer exist. The flat—which Mario himself had not yet seen—had been bought in the name of Dr Guido Neroni, a man fortunate enough to have various bank accounts in the country which contained sufficient funds for him to live comfortably until it was safe to access his assets in Switzerland. Gaining the necessary documentation for his new life—including the CV of a doctor who had died tragically young—had been complex and time-consuming, but it was all now in place.

But at a price. Mario had realized some years before that his salary, though good, was nowhere near enough to finance a whole new life. He needed capital. The solution to his problems presented itself when he met Luigi Rinaldi, a Milan art dealer who was not too fussy about the provenance of the works he sold. Signor Rinaldi was invited to value some of the paintings at La Rocca when Simona was raising money to pay for the Fondazione. He was scrupulously accurate—except for half a dozen works whose current value he grossly underestimated. A private sale was arranged for two of them. His clients got a bargain while both Mario and he split the difference; Simona was none the wiser. This excellent arrangement was repeated with two more paintings three years later.

It was highly unfortunate that Simona must have decided that the final pair, being of limited value, would serve as a way of contacting Kate Holland, with the result that the time may well have arrived for him to put his escape plan into action.

From time to time in recent months he’d found himself looking forward to starting again as Dr Neroni. There was much in his present existence that had been compromised; sometimes he thought he’d stopped liking Mario Bassano altogether. The new doctor was not about to make the mistakes of the old one. Dr Neroni would probably confine himself to private practice. Mario had no doubt that he would be able to build up a fine reputation in a new country. He was good at his work and always popular with patients. He even had a scheme for establishing a school devoted to the therapeutic techniques he’d developed over the years—all he needed was a clean slate, a chance to start afresh. If ever Simona decided to destroy everything they’d achieved together over these past years, then Dr Mario Bassano would be out of the country and starting his new life within twenty-four hours. All that was necessary for the success of his plan was sufficient warning. There must be no surprises.

A lorry, an impossibly slow lorry, was blocking his way on a long, winding hill. Mario rode its bumper for half a mile or so, then leaned on the horn and cursed.

‘What’s the hurry?’ asked David.

The lorry changed down into first in a cloud of dust and slowed to a crawl. Mario swung out to the left on a right-hand turn but there was no room to overtake. He jammed the flat of his palm on the horn then pulled out further as the road straightened. His foot was hard down on the accelerator when a windscreen glared in the dust cloud ahead and he just had time to swerve back in behind the lorry. A pickup truck rattled down the hill past him.

‘Jesus!’ exclaimed David. ‘Are you trying to get us both killed?’

Mario didn’t answer. Sweat was pouring off his face. Getting past the damned lorry had become the most important task of his life. Simona had got Kate to come to the Villa Beatrice and had lied to him about it. She must have been planning this for months, and now that it might be necessary for Dr Guido Neroni to start his existence, Mario knew with absolute certainty that he would hate it. A fresh start in a cold North American city would be for him grey nothingness, all the people and places he loved left far behind. At best he might be able to eke out a half-life among strangers in an unfamiliar landscape, an exile not just from his country and home but from his very self. He had to act now, to prevent the destruction of everything that made his life worth living.

White-faced, he cursed the pigheaded driver whose crap lorry was threatening his entire future, then, pulling out again, he saw his chance, changed down into second, pressed on the accelerator and roared past. He swerved back in front of the lorry just in time to avoid smashing into an elderly man on a Vespa who was so shaken by his narrow escape that he pulled off the road altogether and stopped.

‘Christ!’ David had been transfixed by the sight of the old fellow swerving onto the rough ground. ‘What’s got into you?’

Mario eased up a fraction, then said with exaggerated calm, ‘I’m worried about Simona.’

‘So getting us both killed is going to help Simona?’

‘I think Kate may be in danger, also.’

‘Kate? What kind of danger?’

‘I should have explained to you before,’ said Mario with a sigh. ‘I should have warned you, but I had not realized how bad the situation was until you told me about the pictures.’

David ran his fingers through his hair. ‘What the hell do the pictures have to do with anything?’

‘Simona is a sick woman, David. Ever since Francesca died she has been—well, let us be generous and call it fragile. She was there, remember. She witnessed her sister being killed. The accident was not how people think—not how Simona thinks she remembers it. I have worked long and hard to protect her from her nightmares and my efforts have been rewarded. In spite of everything, Simona’s made a good life and she deserves to be proud of what she has done with the Fondazione.’

‘But?’

‘I hate having to say this, David, and I’m only telling you because I think she may have got to Kate. Ever since the accident, Simona has suffered from delusions. Not all the time—they come and go and for months, years even, she can appear perfectly rational and sane. But then something happens to trigger off a relapse—something like you and Kate showing up at La Rocca—and she enters a fantasy world. And in that parallel world she believes herself to be the innocent victim of massive injustice. She is under a compulsion to destroy the people who, according to her deluded view of the situation, have done her these terrible wrongs.’

‘And that includes you?’

‘Oh yes.’ Mario smiled grimly. ‘I am the number-one culprit.’

‘Is that why she tried to attack you?’

‘She tried to
murder
me, David. Not once, but three times. I’ve always managed to cover it up, and now when the subject comes up, I make light of it, for her sake, but they were serious attempts, believe me. She becomes like a wild animal.’

‘Jesus.’ David was thoughtful. Then, ‘But why would she want to have a go at Kate?’

‘Because Kate was there when Francesca died. Like her mother, I think Simona still blames her for her sister’s death, which is totally unfair, of course, but when Simona gets into one of her psychotic states, fairness doesn’t enter the picture.’

‘I still don’t see why she should blame Kate, just because she was there.’

‘It was more than just being there. As always, there is a grain of truth to feed Simona’s delusions. Let’s say that if Kate hadn’t been there, Francesca would most likely still be alive today.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said David.

‘It’s complicated,’ said Mario, slowing down for the narrow bridge over the river. ‘Later I can explain, when the danger is past and we have more time. But those pictures… If she has gone to such lengths to lure Kate back to Villa Beatrice, then it may well be that she is planning some kind of revenge for what she still sees as Kate’s part in her sister’s death.’

‘Jesus,’ said David again.

They turned the car off the road and began the winding ascent to the Villa Beatrice and La Rocca.

‘If my suspicions are correct,’ said Mario grimly, ‘then we should never have left them alone together this morning. Kate is in real danger. I only hope we are in time.’

‘K
ATE, I DON’T KNOW
if I can go through with this.’

Francesca sat on the edge of her bed, a small overnight case open beside her. Apart from a knitted silk top, it was empty.

‘Why not?’

‘It’s all… too big.’ Francesca gestured hopelessly. The exultation she’d known beside the river had vanished and she felt sick and empty. ‘I’m… I’m frightened, Kate. So many other people are going to get hurt, and all because of me.’

Kate stood in front of her, her feet rooted in the land of ordinary people, so solid and sensible and so horribly far away. ‘So what’s the alternative?’ asked Kate. ‘Carrying on as before, is that what you want? Living the rest of your life as someone else?’

‘I can’t go back to that. But…’ Francesca shook her head.

‘But what?’

‘I… I haven’t told you everything.’ She was whispering now, not sure if it was ever going to be possible to get the words out. ‘It was different down there, in the open air. But when I come back to this place, where my uncle lived, it all changes…’

‘Why, Francesca?’ Kate knelt down in front of her so their eyes were level. ‘Your uncle is dead. This is your home now.’

‘But…’ Francesca twisted her head, unable to look into Kate’s eyes. ‘Do you remember the
camerino?’
She was aware that Kate nodded. Bile was rising in her throat as she forced herself to say, ‘Kate, oh, Kate, he
killed
people. He had photographs of their bodies. He… he enjoyed looking at them and he made me look at them too. He said I was special, that I was like him and I’d understand… it was… horrible.’

‘Oh my God,’ Kate breathed, her face ashen. ‘You poor baby.’

She reached out to put her arms round her, but Francesca drew back. ‘No, don’t touch me.’

‘Why not?’

Francesca shook her head.

She said, ‘When I got the idea for the Fondazione, the first thing I did was have the
camerino
pulled down. Now most people don’t even know it existed.’

‘You did the right thing,’ said Kate. ‘You made something positive and strong come out of it all. You ought to be proud.’

Francesca was silent for a few moments, gripping Kate’s hands tightly, then she raised her head and said, ‘Thank you, Kate.’ A burden was shifting from her heart. Not the whole burden, that was never going to be entirely gone, but enough. Feeling stronger again she said, ‘It would kill me to go back to how things were, and I’m tired of paying the price for others.’

‘Okay,’ said Kate, getting on her feet again. ‘Let’s pack. Why don’t you come and stay with me in London for a bit? There’s plenty of room in my flat.’

‘Thanks, but it wouldn’t work. If we disappear together, that’s the first place they’d look. And there’s so much to do.’ Suddenly furious with herself, Francesca stood up and began throwing things into her suitcase. ‘God, I’m so useless. I should have worked this out years ago. All I’ve ever thought about is telling you. Now I don’t know what to do next. Do you think I ought to tell the police, or get a lawyer? And what kind of lawyer do I want? Maybe it would just be easiest to make an announcement in the paper or—’

‘All that matters right now is getting you away from here. Damn!’ Kate had crossed to the window and was looking down on the driveway as Mario’s car crunched to a halt on the gravel. ‘They’re back.’

For a moment Francesca was frozen with fear. But it was old fears, the fears of a woman who’d been forced to make a false life in order to protect others. As her terror ebbed, she drew herself up to her full height and said firmly, ‘Well, I guess we’re going to have to fake it, Kate, just till lunch is over. Mario will go home after that. He usually spends Saturday afternoon with his daughters.’

‘He can’t stop you from leaving if you want to.’ Kate still hadn’t understood the complexity of it all. ‘Why don’t you just tell him we’ve decided to go off on our own for a couple of days—or even just for lunch? Mario doesn’t have the right to tell you what to do.’

Francesca took her suitcase off the bed and shoved it out of sight. It was impossible to explain that Mario had been her closest ally as well as her gaoler: breaking free was going to be the hardest thing she’d ever done. She said, ‘I know, Kate, but just for now, let’s go down and pretend nothing has happened.’