Sara Craven Tribute Collection

She couldn’t let him see how relieved she was. Instead she tried to sound brisk and matter-of-fact. ‘I’m going to need the car. Does Fabio have the keys?’

He nodded. ‘He might wake…’

‘Only if there’s a missile attack.’

‘But I am not staying here. I am coming with you, signorina. When he does wake, he will be like a crazy man, and I do not want to be here.’

She couldn’t blame him, but she needed him like a hole in the head. She supposed he wanted to be sure she would keep her word.

She nodded. ‘Whatever you say, Marco. Get the keys and my bag, and we’re out of here.’

She watched him go into the room where Fabio was still snoring. After a minute, he reappeared. ‘Signorina— I cannot find them. I am afraid to search his pockets.’

Clare bit down on her impatience. ‘Don’t worry, Marco. I’ll look myself.’

There was nothing in his pockets, Clare discovered, rigid with distaste. Then, as he turned his head restlessly, cursing and grumbling obscenities in his sleep, she heard a faint chink of metal and found the car keys under his pillow.

‘Avanti,’ she said quietly. ‘I think he’s coming out of it.’

She waited in agony as Marco, who insisted on driving, fumbled with the ignition and clashed the gears. As they moved off, bouncing down the dusty track, she thought she heard a shout from behind them, and saw that Marco had registered it too, that he was looking in the mirror and braking.

She said urgently, ‘Keep going. I told you I’d look after you, and I will. But if you let me down, I’ll throw you to the wolves.’

He sent her a miserable look, his forehead beaded with sweat, then obediently put his foot on the gas.

The track bordered fields of sunflowers for nearly a mile. The road, when they found it, was not much better, carving its way through scattered woodland and scrub. But Marco insisted they were going in the right direction.

Clare sat forward suddenly with a gasp. ‘Oh, God. The Minerva. I—I forgot about it. Fabio still has it.’

‘No, signorina. It is still in the boot of this car. Last night he wished only to celebrate—to get drunk—so he left it there.’

They were coming to a junction. Clare said cheerfully, ‘Oh, dear. It just isn’t his day…’ And stopped with a gasp as a police car swung off the major road towards them, effectively blocking their passage.

‘Dio.’ Under his tan, Marco was as white as a sheet, as a second police vehicle followed. ‘They are coming for me.’

‘It’s all right,’ Clare soothed. ‘Stop the car, and leave all the talking to me.’

But, with a sob of fright, he pulled the wheel over and swung the car off the road into the trees.

‘Marco, this is crazy.’ Clare tried to speak calmly. ‘You can’t drive in this. Now stop the car, and everything will be…’ The words choked in her throat as Marco misjudged the distance between two trees and the offside crumpled on impact with a scream of grinding metal.

Clare was thrown forward, but her seat belt held. Marco, who wasn’t wearing his belt, hit himself on the steering wheel and sat back, blood pouring from his nose and a cut on his head.

‘Here.’ She grabbed a handful of tissues from her bag, and held them to his face as the police surrounded the car.

She thought hysterically, This can’t be happening. It’s like some ghastly action replay…

Her door was dragged open. She was aware of faces staring in at her. A babel of voices. Someone was asking her if she could move. She unfastened her seat belt and got out, steadying herself on the side of the car as the ground suddenly dipped and swayed.

Then the crowd around her were falling back, making way, and she saw Guido striding towards her, eyes blazing, face grim.

‘You are hurt?’ he demanded as he reached her, and curtly, over his shoulder, ‘an ambulance—at once.’

She realised there was blood on her hands, and on the linen jacket, and tried to laugh feebly. ‘Guido—it’s not mine. It’s poor Marco’s…’

She got no further. He was looking past her to where Marco had just been pulled from the car, and there was an expression on his face Clare had never seen before—bleak—almost murderous.

He reached him in three strides, lifting the younger man as if he’d been a rag doll. Shaking him, his hands gripping his throat.

Clare moved then, pushing her way through, throwing herself at Guido, trying to drag him away.

‘Don’t—please don’t hurt him. He helped me. I promised I’d make it all right for him.’ She pummelled him with her fists. ‘Guido—darling—let him go.’

‘Are you mad?’ His voice was hoarse. ‘He collaborated with that piece of vermin. Why should I spare him?’

‘Because he’s your man.’ There were tears running down her face. ‘Because his father worked for you—and his grandfather before that. Because it’s your land—your estate—and you are Bartaldi.’

Slowly Guido released his grip, and Marco slid to the ground at his feet, crimson-faced and choking.

‘Yes, he’s been a fool, and worse than a fool,’ she went on quickly. ‘But he’s sorry, and I would never have got away without him. I gave my word that I’d look after him. That I wouldn’t let him be arrested.’

‘And what gives you the right to make such a dangerous promise?’ His tone lashed her.

She looked up at him, longing to kiss the rigidity from his mouth. To smooth away the lines of strain from his dark face.

She said quietly, and very simply, ‘Because I’m Bartaldi’s woman. Now take me home—please.’

The silence was electric as he looked into her eyes, then he took her hand and raised it to his lips, before turning to the nearest policeman. ‘Take the lady to my car, if you please, while I see what is to be done here.’

By the time he joined her reaction had set in, and she was shaking like a leaf. He gave her a frowning glance. ‘I should take you to the hospital.’

‘I hate hospitals,’ she said. ‘And I’ll be fine.’ She paused. ‘Guido, you won’t let them put poor Marco in jail, will you? His mother’s sick, and he is one of your people…’

‘You’ve made out your case, mia cara.’ There was an odd note in his voice. ‘I can refuse you nothing.’

She leaned back, closing her eyes, as the car moved smoothly forward. Well, the die was cast now. She’d offered herself, and he would take her. She supposed dully that he would buy her somewhere to live—an apartment in Rome, perhaps—and he would visit her there when he was able. She wasn’t altogether sure how these arrangements worked.

But she did know that she could only ever occupy a small, separate part of his life, and she would have to make it enough.

She said, ‘How did you know where to find me?’

‘Ever since you told Tonio about “Marco’s cousin” we have had Fabio watched. We thought Paola would be most in danger. I never once thought he would dare to touch you.

‘When you disappeared last night, I thought at first that you had simply—left me. Then we found Violetta’s car keys near the campanile, and realised the Minerva had gone too, and a sighting of Fabio’s vehicle was reported.’ He spoke quietly, without emotion. ‘Marco was merely going to be picked up for interrogation.’

He paused. ‘I hope you did not make any rash promises about helping Fabio to evade justice?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I hope they lock him up for ever.’