What Happens in Tuscany... (20 page)

‘I forgot to give you girls my phone number. If Victoria goes off again, Katie, and you're left on your own, give me a call. I'll look after you.' He pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and tore off a piece of the paper bag that had contained the bread. ‘Here's my mobile number.' He scribbled it down and the girls gave him their numbers in return.

Paul scooped both pieces of paper up and put them carefully in his shirt pocket, along with the pen. As he did so, a thought struck him. ‘What day are we today? Wednesday, isn't it? Well, I've got to go down to a big olive grower by the coast tomorrow. If you like, I could call and pick you up and see that you get a day on the beach. You'll be far enough away from the paparazzi not to have to worry about sneaking around. It's a lovely place, near Populonia, full of Etruscan remains and with a phenomenal sandy beach. Interested?'

‘That sounds marvellous.' Vicky sounded dead keen. Katie was quick to add her agreement. A day on the beach would be very nice. And it should, hopefully, result in Paul Taylor taking his shirt off!

‘Fine. That's a date, then. I'll call by and pick you up at eight, if that's not too early.' He glanced at his watch, finished his tea and stood up. ‘Thank you for the tea. I've got to be off. I've got all sorts of things that need doing today. I'll let myself out.' He turned and went off, leaving Katie wondering if she should have jumped up and kissed him.

No sooner had Paul let himself out of the front door than a bleep announced the arrival of a text on Vicky's phone. She glanced at the caller ID and gave a little squeal. ‘It's Filippo.' She read the message and looked across at Katie. ‘He's invited me to go to his house for lunch and a swim. This time I'll remember to take my bikini. He says he can come and pick me up from wherever we're hiding, but I can just walk down to his house, can't I?'

Katie thought about it for a moment. On the one hand, Victoria would normally be less conspicuous in a car, but a throaty, snorting, bright red Ferrari driven by a flashy, long-haired aristocrat was anything but inconspicuous. Walking would definitely be safer, but some form of disguise, a bit better than a headscarf, was essential. She looked across at Vicky. ‘Definitely walking is the answer, but we need to get you dressed up a bit. Without going the whole hog and sticking you in a burka, some sort of disguise is essential. Wait a minute, I think I've got it. We'll turn you into a man.'

‘A man?' Victoria sounded surprised, but not unwilling. ‘Ooh, I've always loved dressing up. But where can we find men's clothes?' Katie had already thought of that.

‘There's a huge cupboard at the end of the upstairs corridor. I was snooping around yesterday and I saw that it's full of men's clothes. Come on, let's see what we can find.'

They left a bemused Labrador in the kitchen as they disappeared upstairs, giggling like schoolgirls. He waited for a while and then nosed the back door open and disappeared back to Rosina's kitchen. There was always the chance of a second breakfast.

A bit later on, it occurred to Katie, as they were experimenting with disguises for Victoria, that of the two of them, Vicky's was the only face to have appeared in the newspapers. As far as the paparazzi were concerned, Katie was an unknown quantity. She mentioned it to Vicky.

‘In fact, I haven't seen my name mentioned anywhere. It's only you they're onto.'

Vicky nodded. ‘You're right. You should be able to walk around untroubled.' Following on from that thought, she had an idea. ‘Why don't you go into Florence and rent us an anonymous-looking little car. That way we can have transport that's a bit less recognisable than the BMW.'

‘Terrific idea. I tell you what. Once we've got you dressed up as a man, I'll accompany you down to Filippo's house and then I'll walk on down to the station. From there I can take the train into Florence and pick up a car.'

While Vicky continued trying on men's clothes, Katie dug out her computer and booked a car. She deliberately chose a little Fiat as it should blend in easily among all the others on the Italian roads. Job done, she put the computer away and returned to Vicky's room to inspect progress. She stopped at the doorway to her room and gawped. It was an amazing transformation.

‘Hello, mate. How's it going?' Vicky even managed to get the voice right.

‘Oh, yes, sorry. I was looking for a young lady called Victoria.'

‘No girls in here, mate. My name's Vic.' Vicky giggled and returned to her normal voice. ‘So, do you think this'll do? Am I convincing enough?'

She had found a pair of brown cord trousers and a baggy jacket that completely concealed her shape. She was wearing a pair of enormous Wellington boots and on her head she had bundled her hair into a scruffy old straw hat. The pièce de résistance, however, was the moustache and the unshaven jowls. She explained. ‘In the little cupboard out in the corridor I found the old lady's painting set, complete with charcoal. As long as I don't touch it, this should be convincing enough, at least as long as I don't get too near anybody.'

‘Somehow, I think Filippo may be in for a surprise when he sees you.'

‘That's if I make it down the road. I've had to stuff so many newspapers down these boots, I'm not sure I can feel my feet.' She clomped around a bit to make her point.

In the end she did manage to make it to Filippo's house, but she was complaining by the time she got there. As it happened, they encountered nobody on their way down, but both agreed it had been better to be safe than sorry. Katie left her with the words. ‘Don't let Filippo bring you home in the Ferrari. It's too conspicuous. Just call me when you're ready, and I'll come and pick you up in the hire car.' She glanced at her watch. ‘I should be home by three or four, maybe even earlier.'

After Vicky had disappeared through the gate into the count's house, Katie walked on down the road. As she passed the gates to the Chalker-Pyne villa, she saw only a handful of people lingering around the entrance. Compared to the scrum of previous days, this was good news. Maybe all the fuss would have died down before too long. As it was, nobody spared her a second glance, apart from one younger man who was probably just making a conditioned Italian response to a woman in shorts. He raised his fingers to his lips and blew her a kiss. She had spent long enough in Italy to know that the only sensible reaction to that was to ignore it, totally.

The train trip was quickly accomplished and she found herself at Florence main station by one o'clock. As ever, it was heaving with people and it was a struggle to fight her way through the crowds. Conscious that she had passport, driving licence and purse all in her bag, she hugged it to her, particularly when a gang of noisy, poorly-dressed little children surrounded her. She gripped the bag tightly and pushed her way through and down the steps into the sunshine. Even the kids weren't silly enough to go out in the noonday heat, so she gave a sigh of relief and escaped. It was only when she was already in Borgo Ognissanti, searching for the car rental agency, that she realised that her phone, that had been in her shorts pocket, was no longer there.

‘Bugger, bugger, bugger!' A couple of people gave her curious looks, but she hardly noticed. She was furious, mainly with herself for being so stupid. She had lived for a whole year in Florence without losing anything and now, on only her second visit to the city in a short time, she had lost her phone. And, with it, she had lost her SIM card and all her contacts. With a heavy heart, she realised that the first thing she should do was to report the theft to the police. She went back up the steps into the station, unsurprised to notice that the gang of kids had disappeared. No doubt they were at a safe distance, negotiating the sale of her phone to some adult.

By the time she had completed all the formalities at the little police office inside the station, she was exhausted. She looked at her watch and was annoyed to see that she had wasted over an hour. Above all, she came out even more furious. The policeman, once he could be persuaded to interrupt his lunch long enough to deal with her case, had made it quite clear by his expression just how stupid he thought she had been. His only saving grace had been his kind offer, probably in response to the tears in her eyes, to let her use his phone to call the phone people before somebody started making calls to Australia at her expense. The tears were tears of anger at herself, but at least they had achieved something.

She went into an ice cream shop and bought herself a huge dish of chocolate and meringue flavour ice cream and a bottle of water. She sat in the air-conditioned interior and consumed it slowly, gradually calming down as she did so. Of course it wasn't the end of the world. She had taken out travel insurance before leaving the UK, after all. It was the sheer stupidity of it, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Slowly, but surely, she regained her equilibrium.

It was almost three o'clock when she retraced her steps to the car rental office and picked up a smart little Cinquecento. This, at least, was what she had been expecting, and she began to feel a bit better about things. She set off into the near-stationary traffic, travelling at less than walking pace, slowly inching her way out of town.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar sight. Or rather two familiar sights; two familiar people. There, ahead of her on the pavement, going in the same direction as she was, but managing to do so faster than the cars, was unmistakably Paul Taylor. She recognised his blond hair, his clothes and she recognised his suntanned legs sticking out of his shorts. And alongside him was a woman. Almost certainly, it looked like Loretta. What was funny was that he had got his arm around her shoulders and she was hugging him affectionately around the waist.

Considering what Marco had told her, Paul and Loretta's period as a couple had been some years previously. It now seemed very strange that the two of them should be back together and providing such a public exhibition of affection. Katie found herself very interested indeed and, if she were honest, just a little bit jealous as well; maybe even more than a little bit jealous. She continued to watch them as the line of cars was gradually outpaced by those on foot.

Then something amazing happened. From right in front of her, a car indicated and pulled out. She had before her that most precious of finds. She had been handed a parking space in the centre of Florence! Maybe, she thought with a wry smile, her luck had changed. She didn't hesitate. She pulled in and switched off the engine. Collecting her bag, she jumped out and locked the car.

She told herself afterwards that she hadn't consciously meant to follow them, but that's exactly what she found herself doing. Staying at a discreet distance, she trailed them as they crossed the road and turned left, heading towards the river. As they turned side-on to her, there could be no doubt about it. The woman was definitely Loretta. At one point she reached up with her mouth and kissed him on the neck. She saw him hug her even tighter to him. Two blocks later, they were on the Lungarno Vespucci. As Katie cautiously rounded the corner after them, she was just in time to see them disappear, still in their passionate embrace, into an apartment block. She waited for a full minute then walked along to the door and saw a set of eight doorbells. Although she had no idea of Loretta's surname, only one of the bells had a name alongside it with that initial; L Moretti. Katie filed the name away, determined to check the next time she saw Marco. He would be sure to know.

She turned and walked slowly away. So Paul Taylor had taken up with his old flame again.
So what?
she asked herself sternly.
What's he to me and what am I to him? It's not as if anything at all has happened between the two of us yet.
She carried on walking back in the direction of the car, her mind churning over the conflicting emotions she was feeling. In particular, she found herself wondering why she had added the word “yet” to her unspoken question. Still in a daze, she found herself back at the car before she realised it. Any further reflection, however, was swiftly interrupted as soon as she pressed the key and opened the driver's door. Immediately, the car directly behind her on the road jammed on his brakes and flashed his lights, waving her out into the traffic. She jumped into the car and made haste to get away, leaving the invaluable parking space to another lucky occupant.

The drive back to Monte a Signa gave her time to reflect upon the events of the day so far. One of the complications of losing her phone was the question of collecting Vicky. Katie's parting words to her had been to phone her when she needed a lift. That wasn't going to be possible now that her phone had been stolen. Although she was loath to interrupt Vicky's tryst with Filippo, she though the best solution would be to call in at the count's house as she returned to the opera singer's villa. That way she could fix up a time with Vicky when she could come and collect her.

It was almost four o'clock when she drove up past the gates to the Chalker-Pyne villa. There appeared to be even fewer paparazzi lurking around now, which boded well for a return home before too long. She carried on until she reached the count's house. She squeezed the little car onto the verge directly opposite and climbed out. The gate was closed, but not locked. She pushed it open, walked in and up the short drive to the house. The pool was in the back garden and she headed straight there. She turned the corner and found herself faced with another unexpected and this time even more unwelcome surprise.

Vicky was lying on her back on a sunbed, her eyes closed. Bending over her was the count, wearing truly obscene black thong bathing trunks that exposed a frighteningly graphic amount of his hairy buttocks. Even more disturbing, however, was the fact that he appeared to have just removed the top part of Vicky's bikini and was holding it in his hand. Katie squeaked. And then, after squeaking, she found herself screaming.