By the time Anna was pulling me away, I had put aside my antagonism towards Stella’s new lover; I had also, it appeared, experienced ‘closure’ with Stella, which probably meant I was too drunk to care, and largely forgotten Anna’s status as a sort of living monument, as, it appeared, had she – visions of Stella’s friends hooting with laughter as they tried on her wig (we all agreed it suited T’Pau best), oblivious to being literally up there on stage for all of La Luna to see.

  Fortunately, as we managed to ease our way out, the rest of the bar was either inebriated like us, or we were too drunk to notice they weren’t – admittedly, the crowd did part remarkably easily, Anna leading the way, the ponytail of her wig screwed lopsidedly in front of me as we headed outside. We stood swaying in the alleyway, the crowd having thinned and apparently genuinely oblivious to our presence. Anna adjusted her wig.

  ‘Okay?’ she said.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘It’s been quite a night.’

  ‘It has.’

  ‘Thanks for coming for me. After the kidnap, I mean.’

  ‘I’m sure you could have handled yourself.’

  ‘But it’s the thought that counts. Hey, one more favour.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Would you mind walking me home? I’ve gotta admit, I’ve no fucking idea where we are.’

  I took her arm. We weren’t actually very far from Anna’s hotel. I had never got further than the frescoed reception, although naturally Rose had been up to Anna’s room, which she had described as ‘pretty posh’. Would I make it up now? To be honest, I was too far gone to care, which was probably for the best.

  It also led to what I said next – something that had been on my mind since I had caught that reflection of Rose and Anna in the biglieterria window and now floated to the surface upon a cushion of alcohol fumes.

  ‘You really told him, Pierluigi.’ Anna let out a laugh.

  ‘Silly old letch. Aren’t those days supposed to be over? Obviously, Italy didn’t get the memo.’ She giggled. ‘Hashtag: Me too. Must have been lost in translation.’

  ‘The Italians do kind of pick up on this stuff but, it’s difficult to explain: they’re a cynical lot. While on the surface they’ll make the right noises, it’s far harder to get under their skin, to really change people’s attitudes. It’s a survival strategy, sort of. Speaking of which, did something once happen to you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I saw the way Clara looked at you when she was talking about what went on in movies. I got the sense …’

  Anna broke away from me, wrapped her arms around herself. Said nothing as she walked, her heels clicking on the paving slabs.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘to intrude, I’m pissed …’

  ‘Angry you mean?’ She was looking straight ahead.

  ‘No, I mean …’

  ‘I know what you meant, bozo.’ She grabbed my arm back. ‘I speaka the Eengleesh Eengleesh. Well, honey, let me put it this way: there wasn’t any “me too” when I was trying to make it, it was every girl, and boy, for themselves. Damn it, this thing’s going to make my head explode.’ She tore off her wig. I looked around, but it was late, there was barely anyone about.

  We turned down Via Oberdan, a narrow, pedestrianised street, deserted this time of night. ‘I don’t know, hon, I’m glad there’s more respect and all, but Hollywood was worst in the thirties when times were so uptight a couple couldn’t even be shown together in bed – all the abusive shit just went more under the covers, ha!

  ‘You know what all that philosophy taught me?’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Life’s fucking short.’

  ‘And they say Italians are cynical.’

  ‘A cynic? Moi? Honey, I’m just a Yokey from …’

  She gasped. Up ahead, a man had stepped out of the shadows and into our path. Bulky with a smooth-skulled silhouette, the blood red glow of his cigarette burned like a cinder in the dark.

  I steered us sharply towards the other side of the street. The man didn’t budge. I looked around, hoping it was nothing, but clocked another useful-looking type approaching fast from behind, clearly focused on us.

  I squeezed Anna’s arm. ‘Get ready to run,’ I said. ‘And don’t look back.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘No time,’ I said. ‘Just do it. Shout for help: “aiuto”.’

  ‘A-oo-toe?’ We were almost level with the first.

  I could hear the beat of the man behind me.

  ‘Go.’ I gave her a shove. Just in time, it seemed. A foot came between my ankles. As I tripped, I saw Anna taking off.

  She shot past the other guy, who flicked his cigarette as she tore down Oberdan yelling ‘Aiuto!’ at the top of her lungs.

  I somehow recovered my footing, and slammed into a wall.

  My pursuer was on top of me.

  Yet just as through my drunken fug I’d instinctively understood this was trouble, seeing Anna take off without the cigarette guy so much as trying to block her way, I realised this wasn’t about the celeb at all.

  It was about me.

  Time turned elastic.

  I was able to parry some blows, even land a couple of punches, while at the same time understand my assailant was stronger, more experienced.

  The rock hard fist in the ribs.

  Another against the chest.

  I was propelled back against the wall, watched a juggernaut blow sweep aside my parry to connect with my jaw.

  I felt my knees begin to give. Shunted myself back against the wall to keep upright.

  But I knew with stone cold certainty I was beat.

  ‘Basta. Hold him.’

  A space opened in front of me, but there was no way forward – my assailant had my arm twisted outward, a hand ready to break it at the elbow, as the second man stepped forward. No cigarette now.

  A pistol.

  He bore down on me with such firm-jawed intent, it barely seemed to matter that I recognised him – the sergeant – as he raised the gun, curling his thick index finger around the trigger.

  He was going to switch me off like a light and there was nothing I could do about it.

  Chapter 28

  ‘A-oo-toe!’

  The flash, the bang.

  But I was still blinking. Breathing.

  There it was again – even before I heard the pistol clatter to the ground, the sergeant after it.

  The grip tightened on my arm and the shock shuddered through me, too, as the sparking machine connected with my other assailant.

  We burst apart as if struck by lightning. I fell onto the cobbles, rasping as more explosions illuminated the street.

  I was on my hands and knees. I looked up – the sergeant was on his front, outstretched arms twitching, eyes drilling into me. A hand reached down and he was struck by another blue bolt to the neck. He juddered, jaw clenching.

  His eyes closed.

  A plaintive electric sigh emanated from the hand, a ruby light outlining long fingers.

  ‘Damn it,’ said Anna Bloom, straightening up. ‘Out of juice. Quick.’ She grasped my arm. ‘Can you walk? Can you run?’

  I was jelly-legged but could stand. I looked at the two men splayed, apparently unconscious, upon the cobbles, and began to move forward. I stumbled. She caught me, and I clung to her with both hands.

  We were crossing a street, we were weaving between traffic, we were climbing some steps. Into a marble reception. Into placid light.

  ‘What happened, signora?’ someone asked in English.

  ‘We were attacked,’ she said. I slumped onto a sofa. ‘Quick, call the police.’ She went back to the doors and pulled them closed. Slammed the bolts.

  ‘Signora,’ said the night porter. ‘Our other guests …’

  ‘Well, they can darn well ring the bell, can’t they.’ She came over to me. ‘Are you all right? Daniel?’

  Anna’s wig had gone, possibly lost somewhere in the street. I noticed she wasn’t wearing any shoes, either. Looking up at her, I had the uncanny feeling I was in a film.

  I pushed myself up. ‘The Carabinieri,’ I said. ‘Call them.’

  ‘I’m on the line to the Polizia,’ said the porter, holding the receiver.

  ‘Fine,’ I said wearily. I winced at a twinge in my ribs.

  ‘You’re all right?’ said Anna.

  ‘I will be.’ One of those bastards had landed a punch on an old fracture. They said they were supposed to mend stronger. It didn’t feel like it.

  ‘What was that, anyway?’ I said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That.’ I groggily worked my sore jaw. ‘In your hand. Unless you actually are a goddess …’

  ‘Oh you mean my flashlight?’ She sat down beside me and pulled out a black metal tube from her back pocket.

  ‘A hell of a torch.’

  ‘Well, that’s what it looks like.’ She flicked a switch and a dull light glowed from the front. ‘It’s more convincing when it’s charged. But it works a treat, huh? I take it in my hand luggage. No one ever asks, but it packs one helluva punch. Thirty thousand volts, military standard.’

  ‘A stun gun.’

  ‘You think I’m going anywhere unarmed, honey? Back home I have a concealed carry licence. You have any idea how many nutjobs want a piece of me? This is my, um, weapon of last resort, you might say.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, rubbing my jaw. ‘Thank you for coming back for me.’ I squeezed her hand.

  ‘Hey, are you crazy? Honestly, I was pretty pissed, as you say, myself. Not thinking clearly. I was half-way down the street by the time I realised it was you they were after, not me, and I wasn’t about to bugger off. Isn’t that another thing you Brits say?’

  ‘He had a gun, though. You really could have got killed.’

  She smirked. ‘All right. Maybe I didn’t realise that right away. I mean, it was dark, right? I kicked off my shoes – oh.’ She held a hand to her mouth. ‘My shoes. Ha. Well, someone’s gonna be lucky. And I figured I would sneak up and … zap and we’d get the hell out of there. But when I did see it, well.’ She shrugged. ‘Hey, I was committed.’

  Anna squeezed my hand back and kept hold, the pair of us sitting there with the night porter hovering around us until finally through the windows I saw blue lights, heard the slam of car doors.

  The doorbell rang, a pair of Polizia ambled into the reception, then were pointed in our direction. Their looks of recognition and frank delight when they saw who was sitting there (and it wasn’t me). My imaginary headline in the next day’s Carlino changing, albeit the photo below of the pair of us approaching the Manzini remained the same.

  ‘Signora,’ the cops said in unison. They pulled out their notebooks and it was unclear whether they were going to ask for details or an autograph.

  The doorbell rang again, the porter opened it to an elegant figure in a tailored, double-breasted suit. He could very easily have been one of the hotel’s guests, but was, in fact, there on business.

  Ispettore Alessandro walked up behind the two cops and rested a hand on each of their shoulders.

  ‘Sorry, boys,’ he said. ‘This is a Special Ops matter. Signora Bloom.’ He gave a small bow and I was somehow impressed he didn’t kiss her hand. ‘Daniel. I see you’ve had a spot of trouble.’ Another first for the evening – hearing the Ispettore, too, exercise his English which, like Stella’s, was disconcertingly excellent. It did make me wonder why neither of them had ever once felt inclined to help me when I’d struggled to find the right word in Italian. But perhaps they thought they had been helping me.

  ‘And you’ve arrived here how, precisely?’ I asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I asked the porter to call you guys but he’d already called the Polizia.’

  The Ispettore made an amused smile. ‘Oh, Polizia, Carabinieri, Daniel, you know it’s much the same. Now, tell me what happened.’

  ***

  ‘And you’re sure it was this sergeant you saw with the machine gun?’ said Alessandro.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘A colleague was looking into it, I’ll chase him up for the name. I was just heading home, as it happens – tomorrow morning, we have a hospital visit. It looks like you could do with one, too.’

  When I touched my ribs it felt like they’d been poked with a cattle prod, or Anna’s ‘flashlight’. I could feel shock setting in, too, a curious cocktail I was sufficiently acquainted with to recognise – prickly, sweat-clammy skin yet an inner, creeping cold. But I wasn’t about to wait in casualty at this time of night.

  The Ispettore raised an eyebrow. ‘Would you like me to give you a lift home?’

  I looked at Anna. She gave me a wan smile, clearly in the process of coming down herself.

  ‘It might be better if I headed back,’ I said. ‘I’d like to check on Rose. Will you be all right?’

  The Ispettore thumbed at the cops still dawdling in the doorway. ‘I’m sure our friends will be happy to pass the rest of the shift in the lobby.’

  ‘I’ve no idea what that was about,’ said Anna. ‘But I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me. You go check on Rose, although I wouldn’t worry too much – with those high walls …’

  ‘The ancestors knew what they were doing.’

  We embraced. Anna leaned into me, resting her warm forehead against mine, rolled down to kiss me lightly on the lips.

  ‘Apart from the attempted murder,’ she said, ‘it was a lovely evening. And thank you for saving me from my kidnapper.’

  ‘You’re welcome. We should try it again, only without the murder part.’

  ‘Or the kidnapping. The ex-girlfriend, well …’ She looked as if she was considering it. ‘I guess we could leave that in – she was a lot of fun. I can see what she saw in you.’

  ‘Don’t you mean, you can see what I saw in her?’

  ‘Oh.’ Anna let go, turning away and beginning to head for the lifts. ‘I know what I meant.’

  The Ispettore’s limo swept through the dark streets.

  ‘An eventful evening,’ said Alessandro. ‘I didn’t realise there was a kidnap, too.’

  ‘She was joking. But this attempt on my life, Ispettore. It’s a miracle I’m still alive – those guys meant business.’

  ‘Try not to worry, Daniel – we’ll get this sergeant. Unless he spotted you watching him in the woods, he has no reason to believe you can identify him, so should have no reason to flee, and be therefore reasonably easy to apprehend. And by tomorrow we should be able to wrap this up at the hospital.’

  ‘What’s this business about the hospital, Ispettore?’

  ‘It’s thanks to you, Daniel – I think we may have found that fellow you stabbed in the ribs. You were right – a patient was admitted to the military hospital in Via dell’Abbadia. In fact, I was planning to give you a call and see if you’d like to accompany us, but,’ he frowned, ‘perhaps it would be better if you rested up.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’

  The car pulled up outside the Faidate Residence and both the Ispettore and his driver got out with me, the driver scanning the dark pools beneath the portico opposite with a torch, his gun drawn.

  ‘Message me, Daniel, once you are inside and have checked everything is shipshape.’ The Ispettore’s words belied his usual lackadaisical manner. ‘We will pick you up at eight tomorrow. I’ll post a car outside, just until we are sure we have this other chap in custody.’

  I clicked the fob and the gate swung open.

  It seemed peaceful enough in the courtyard, as if the entire family was asleep, as well they should be. Only a light from Alba’s house was on, the door ajar, a window partly open. I could hear a baby’s cry.

  Behind me, the gate began to close on the Ispettore puffing on an electronic cigarette. He nodded at me through the vapour.

  Through the open window I could see Claudio slumped in an armchair in a vest and tartan boxers, the baby, not yet known as Daniela, cushioned on his big belly. He looked wearily up at me and smiled.

  I crossed the courtyard and mounted the stone steps.

  The musk of old clay and stucco. Those phantom frescoes, the gentle shadows that met me on each landing as the electric light came on.

  I remained on edge in case the sergeant was lurking around a corner ready to put a bullet in my skull, but here in our ‘fortress in a city street’ I did feel safe. A common error, I supposed, but one that on this occasion fate permitted me: I arrived at our balcony in one piece.

  I unlocked the front door and stepped into our apartment, going straight to the kitchen counter and removing a carving knife from the rack – an expensive Japanese one Rose had persuaded me to buy when she was enthusiastic about cooking for about five minutes – weighing it in my hand with the experience borne from my earlier encounter. It would do. I went through the apartment turning on the lights, until there was only my girl’s room left. Fortunately, she did me a favour by opening the door herself, bleary-eyed, as I hid the knife behind my back.

  ‘What are you doing? Why’s it so bright?’

  ‘Sorry, I was looking for … my keys.’

  ‘Your keys?’ She looked at me as if I was mad. ‘How could you have got in without them?’

  ‘I know – I put them down somewhere and forgot.’

  ‘Are you drunk?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I admitted. ‘A little.’

  ‘And what happened to your jaw? Is Anna with you? She’s got a six o’clock tomorrow.’

  ‘No.’ My daughter gave me an appraising look.

  ‘Go to bed, Dad,’ she said. ‘You can worry about your keys in the morning.’

  ‘All right.’ After she went to the bathroom, I returned to the kitchen and replaced the knife.

  I sent the Ispettore a thumbs up.

  Chapter 29

 

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