Drawn In Page 8

  “Where’d she go?” Barabbas.

  There’s puffing and panting. “No idea.”

  “Well she hasn’t just vanished.”

  I can’t hold my breath any longer. It hisses from me like air from a tyre.

  “We could split up.”

  “Good idea. You two take this side. I’ll be on the other.”

  I watch the legs form their groups and disappear.

  “You need to get away from here.” I wish Rory was more than a voice. What I really need right now is a hug. “Give them thirty seconds and retrace your steps. See if the scooter’s in working order and get yourself to a church. It’s the only way to stay alive.”

  “Wait a minute.” I say it as quietly as I can. “I thought you were desperate to be with me.” It was only a while ago he was urging me to end it all.

  “Believe me, I do. But these guys will take you to the other place. I’d never see you again.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Heaven and Hell, Nat. They don’t mix. Not ever.” It makes sense. “So get out of here while you can. At least give us one more chance to sort all this out.”

  It’s not easy. The adrenaline rush has passed. My ankle throbs. My knees and elbows sting and burn. I worry I’ll not be able to get away. Remember the knife I stole from the house. Take it out of my bag and grip the handle ready to defend myself if necessary. I wriggle along and slide out from under the car. Push myself up and limp back the way I came.

  A small crowd has gathered around Valentino. Old ladies with faces like walnuts and the men from the bin lorry. They all stop and stare when they realise I’m there.

  I ignore them all. Return the knife to the bag and lift the scooter into an upright position. I mount the seat and turn the key. The engine splutters. I try again. It spits and chokes.

  “Please,” I tell it. Stroke it with my shaking hand. Give it a moment to get itself together. Work the ignition. Not so much as a grunt this time. I give up with the nice approach. Punch the thing hard.

  “Hey, lady.” The man we nearly ran over. “Where do you think you’re going?” He runs towards me, scowling. It’s like I’ve got a target painted on my back and everyone has seen it.

  I turn the key. The engine bursts into life. I twist the throttle and set off away from my pursuers without looking behind.

  The smell of petrol follows me as the scooter revs high. I need to change gear. Wish I knew how. The machine stutters. Something’s not right. The petrol gauge tells me all I need to know. Empty.

  The engine jerks. Cuts out altogether.

  I freewheel. Cruise to the roadside. Get off and rest the Lambretta against a tree. It may not have got me far, but it’s got me out of trouble.

  “A church.” Rory reminds me of what I need to do next. It shouldn’t be difficult to find one here, they’re all over the place. I scan the skyline until I find what I need, a spire pointing to the gloomy sky. It’s a hundred yards away, give or take. I set off hobbling as quickly as I can. Count the strides as I go, trying to take my mind from the pain.

  It works.

  The thin building nestles itself between a swanky cafe and a palatial house. Above me, the heads of gargoyles stick out their tongues. They remind me of Rose and Thorn. I go up the steps and try the handle. It turns and pushes open easily. If only the rest of the world would cooperate like this.

  It takes me a while to adjust to the light.

  Candles flicker on either side. The stained glass depiction of the crucifixion ahead is suitably dark and miserable. There’s a hint of incense in the air. The shuffle of my feet echoes as I limp to the pews.

  I collapse into the seat. Rest my head on my arms and close my eyes. If anyone walks in, they’ll think I’m praying.

  My wet clothes suck the heat from my body. The chill seeps through my skin and attacks my core. If I get out of this in one piece, I’m bound to get a cold.

  I check my watch. Half past two. The doctor will be with Arturo soon. Unless there’s a miracle, I’ll miss my list of instructions on how to care for him. Worse still, his best friend is dead and I’m the one who’ll have to break the news. The realisation hits me like a train.

  “Is there anything that you need?”

  The voice comes from behind. It sounds too soft and gentle to wish me harm, but I didn’t hear the man approach and that’s just not normal. I put my hand into my bag. Take hold of the knife again and prepare to lunge. I raise my head and turn to see who it is.

  Behind me stands a priest in full dress, a silver cross gleaming at his chest. Above his collar is a big smile on a young face which doesn’t match his grey hair. His eyes sparkle in spite of the darkness.

  “No thank you.” I remove my hand from the bag and leave the knife where it is. “I came here to work out a few things.”

  “I wish more people of your age would do the same.” He sits next to me. Leaves an acceptable distance between us. “Can’t I at least get you a cup of coffee? I have a flask over behind the lectern.”

  “Do I look that bad?”

  “I’ve seen worse.”

  “Then I’d love one.”

  He stands and walks over to the back of the church. Genuflects at the altar and disappears for a moment. “Milk and sugar?” he shouts.

  “Please.” The milk just like always, the sugar to replace the energy I’ve expended today.

  He carries it over. Passes me the cup and saucer. He hasn’t spilled a drop.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t bring any biscuits.” His hair is gelled into place and his nails are perfectly manicured. “All we have is communion wafers and I’m not sure I should be cracking those open just yet.”

  “It’s fine.” I wrap my fingers around the cup. Let the warmth spread through my hands. Feel better already.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  I sip my coffee. It’s strong and hot, which makes it exactly what I need. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “You could try.”

  If I knew where to start.

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” Maybe that’s the best place.

  “Yes I do.” He sits back and strokes his chin. “The way I see it, they’re spirits who haven’t managed to lose their connection to the material world.”

  “So you wouldn’t think I was crazy if I told you that I have a ghost that follows me around?”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s not one of those floating sheets or anything. It’s just a voice. My ex-boyfriend’s.”

  He smiles at that. “Sometimes the things we see and hear don’t exist on the outside. They’re just what we need to keep with us in our hearts and minds.”

  I wonder if that means he thinks I’m mad. The kind look of his eyes says otherwise. “Rory died seven months ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “Me too.” Every time I’m reminded, it’s like I’m hearing the news for the first time.

  “Then it could be that you have unfinished business.”

  “That’s what my doctor says.”

  “You feel guilty?”

  Pressure builds behind my eyes. I nod to tell him that I do.

  “It’s not uncommon. I see it regularly. For some, it’s just a matter of time.” He reaches over and touches my shoulder. “For others, I help them with confession and prayer. You’d be surprised at how effective that can be.”

  I believe what he says. That he could help me if it were that simple. “He wants me to join him in heaven.”

  The priest’s face creases with concern. “He must have loved you very much, but you mustn’t listen.”

  “I try to ignore him, but he won’t leave me alone.”

  “You must resist. He’s not thinking straight.” He slips his hand into his pocket and removes a set of wooden beads. Plays with them like they’re the executive toy of the holy. “God wouldn’t want you to do that to yourself. And even if you did, you wouldn’t be joining him
. Those who take their own lives end up without a final resting place.”

  “Limbo?”

  “Precisely.”

  “I’ll ignore him then.”

  “You do that.”

  “Not that it matters. It’s the devil who’ll get me first.”

  His fingers work the beads. It’s like the answer lies within them. “A young woman like you shouldn’t have such thoughts.”

  “It’s why I’m here.” I suppose I might as well tell him if I want him to help. “Barabbas is after me. The church is the only place I’m safe.”

  He looks over to the stained glass window at the back of the building. “And is this Barabbas here now?”

  “He won’t come after me in while I’m in a church.”

  “Then you’re fine.” He returns the beads to his cassock. “Do you have the contact details for that doctor of yours?”

  “No.” I do, but she’s hardly in a position to help.

  “Not to worry. Is there anyone else I can contact?”

  Maybe he’s realised he’s out of his depth.

  “I have a friend at the Duomo. Would you be able to walk me there? I think that could make everything all right.” I figure that walking in the company of a priest might offer similar protection to a church.

  “I’m not able to leave until this evening. I could call you a taxi if that would help.”

  “That’s no good. Barabbas will get me. He’s already killed one friend and beaten another half to death.” The coffee cup rattles on the saucer. The priest reaches over and takes them both from me.

  “Maybe it’s an exorcism you’re after.” It doesn’t sound as bizarre as it probably should. “Only that’s not something I’m qualified to do.” His shoulders droop. “I can contact a good friend of mine if you like. He’s been known to dabble.”

  A clatter at the door interrupts. I fall into the priest and cling on to his robes. Bury my face like a child

  I tense up and wait for those tiny imp hands to grab at me. Nothing happens. I count to ten.

  “Hello Father Luigi.” A confident voice. Not unfriendly. “Long time no see.”

  “Bernard.” The priest peels my hands from him. Eases me away and stands. “I thought you were in Rome working for the Holy Father himself.”

  Bernard is tall and slim. His suit and shoes look expensive. His aftershave smells of musk and spice. He stands between two enormous guys, thick necks and leather gloves. “I’ve moved on to even bigger things.” He walks over and gives Luigi a hug. The embrace is warm and lingering.

  “It’s good to see you again, Bernard.”

  “You too.” He stands back. Presses Luigi’s shoulders. Eyes him up like he’s a long lost relative who’s about to tell him he’s grown. “I only wish I were here under different circumstances.” He looks over at me. “It’s the girl I’m after. A business matter. I’m sure you understand.”

  Luigi looks confused. He takes my hand. “I promised I’d take care of her.”

  “Orders from on high that neither of us can ignore.” Bernard cracks a smile. His gold-capped teeth must be worth a mint. “There’s no need to worry.” He walks over and puts his hand around my waist. Pulls me towards him. “You know you can trust me.”

  I hold on to Luigi’s sleeve. He purses his lips. Looks from me to Bernard and back again. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for you now, child. But I know that everything will be all right.”

  I let go of the sleeve. Allow myself to be taken. Grab my bag and close it so no one can see inside.

  “Say a prayer for me, Father,” I say to Luigi.

  Something tells me, I’m going to need all the help I can get.

  Episode Eight

  Saint Sebastian’s modesty is protected by the smallest of loin cloths. He’s bound to a tree the way he is in nearly every picture I’ve seen of him. Arrows penetrate his flesh. One pierces his heart and the others are embedded in his side. His head lolls onto his chest. It reminds me of the last time I saw Valentino.

  The painting is mounted on the office wall. It’s framed in gold. Has a tiny plaque attached that’s too far away to read. I’m guessing it’s mid-Renaissance. Not that I recognise the artist. Maybe I’ll be able to pull off tricks like that once I’ve finished my degree.

  On the desk between Sebastian and I are a phone, a lamp and a slim computer monitor with a keypad. The empty chair on the other side waits to be filled. Raindrops race down the windows and the storm clouds outside refuse to give ground.

  Bernard crosses his legs. Thrums his fingers on his thigh. He smiles my way, but there’s nothing sincere about it.

  The silence is broken by the clacking of stiletto heels on the marble floor. Their sharp taps echo around the room and stop.

  “Miss Swift?”

  A body appears at my side to join the voice. It belongs to an elegant woman in a tight-fitting skirt and a simple cream blouse. A plain gold crucifix hangs around her neck. Her eye-brows have been plucked to within a hair’s-breadth of their lives and she smells like she’s been bathing in a vat of perfume.

  “Or may I call you Natalie?” She offers her hand. The nails are manicured and painted in the same deep red as her lipstick. I shake it.

  “Miss Swift is fine.” Until I understand what exactly is going on.

  “Ravenna.” She tells me and takes her seat. “Ravenna Rossi at your service.”

  Bernard clears his throat. Leans forward. “She was over at Luigi’s.”

  “You had a lucky escape today.” Ravenna places a leather executive case on the table in front of her. “It was very sensible of you to shelter in a church. I’m impressed.” She fiddles with the combination. Clicks the catches and opens up. Takes out a pile of papers and arranges them in front of her. “I’m sorry that your friend didn’t come out of it quite so well.”

  Her sympathy sounds cold. I can’t help feeling that she had something to do with what happened. Tears warm my eyes as I think of him lying on the street. I fish out a tissue from my bag and dab them dry.

  “It was ghastly. He didn’t deserve to die that way.” The words I throw at her carry barbs.

  “You’re right. And it was entirely unnecessary.” She shuffles the documents. “If you hadn’t come along, none of this would have happened.”

  I’m up on my feet charging at her before I can think. Reach over to grab at her hair. Am almost there when a force pulls me back.

  Bernard’s arm is wrapped around my waist. He lifts me from the floor. I kick and twist, but he has a good hold.

  “Put me down you mafia thug,” I scream. My elbow lands in his stomach. It’s like I’m hitting a wall. The guy doesn’t flinch. Just keeps hold. I keep flying at him. Realise I’m wasting my time. My rage fizzes out to nothing and takes my energy with it. I go limp and Bernard’s grip slackens.

  “Are we all done?” Bernard isn’t even out of breath.

  “Yes,” I tell him. “I think so.”

  He puts me down. I smooth out my clothes and return to my seat.

  Ravenna looks cool and unflustered as if nothing has happened. “You don’t look the type to take a tantrum. And I was told that you were a plucky one.”

  I can’t decide whether the chair has grown or whether I’ve shrunk in the face of her words.

  “The thing is,” she goes on. “Finding couriers isn’t difficult. We don’t need them often. Their hours are minimal and there are plenty of perks.” She may have grown up in the heat of Italy, but there’s ice-water running through those veins. “Not like Arturo. Artists with that talent are rare indeed. How is our friend, by the way? Has he recovered from your interference?”

  This time I manage to maintain control and let it slide. “Valentino told me he’d be fine. As long as he didn’t mess up on any more jobs, he’d be protected.”

  “Which brings me to the point of our meeting.”

  Finally.

  “You stepped in to take Arturo’s place for a contract up in Fiesole this afternoon
.”

  “He’s correct.”

  “And did everything that was required.”

  “I did my best.”

  “On this occasion, that was enough.”

  It’s a relief to hear. At least I know that Arturo is still safe.

  “In fact Bernard thought you showed a lot of promise.” She reaches into her case. Takes out a book I recognise. My sketches from the holiday so far.

  “Where did you get that?” I push myself up. Get ready to protest. Bernard’s arm shoots out and bars my way. I get the message and sit down again.

  Ravenna tilts her head back and laughs. It’s hoarse and bitter sounding. Reminds me of the wicked queen in Sleeping Beauty. “My poor dear, have you not realised yet how far our powers extend?”

  She’s right. The penny should have dropped by now. Not that it stops me from wanting to slap the smug expression from her face. If Bernard weren’t here I might give it a go, no matter how high and mighty the woman is.

  “You’re good.” She flicks through the pages of my jotter. “And it would be a shame to let your skills go to waste.”

  At last, I think I understand where this is leading.

  “As I said before,” she says. “Those with the talent and temperament to be collectors don’t come around often. I believe that you fit the bill on both counts.” She closes my book. “And for that reason, I have a proposal for you to consider.”

  I dig my thumbnail into my skin. The sharpness tells me I’m still awake. That I have to take this seriously. “I didn’t come to Florence looking for a job. I’ll be attending university in September if I get my grades.”

  “In Cambridge, I understand.”

  “How did you...?” There’s no point finishing the question.

  “That’s impressive. And I wouldn’t want to get in the way of you bettering yourself.”

  “So I could still go?”

  “Of course.”

  “And work for you on the side. Is that it?”

  “We have a need for collectors all over the world. I’m sure you can understand that.”

  I guess that wherever there are people, there’ll be death. “I suppose I could do with some money to supplement my student grant.”

  Another toss of the head and a callous laugh. “Didn’t Arturo tell you anything?”