KATE COULDN’T SAY SHE hadn’t been warned.
Denied the chance to talk about the altered paintings, David fell back on the topic that he’d already admitted was his current obsession. Kate tried to give him her full attention as he told her his story, the tale of a clever young man who, on his return from Florence at the age of nineteen, had taken the easy route and slipped into a job with the family firm. This happened to be a chain of dry cleaners, but could just as easily have been car dealers or food shops or whatever: the money was good and the work was undemanding. The young man had thought he could play the game and take the money and live comfortably while he waited to discover what he really wanted to do with his life, until gradually he’d realized it wasn’t a game any more and hadn’t been for years. He was head of the firm, people depended on him, he had a wife and three children, and it was far, far too late to change direction.
So the no-longer young man had softened the edges of boredom with drink and meaningless affairs, waiting for the moment when he’d make a break for freedom and kick-start his real life. Then suddenly, a couple of years ago, the decision had been taken out of his hands. The family firm was swallowed up by a national conglomerate, his wife turned into a walking cliche and ran off with her fitness coach, and he found himself middle-aged and marooned, looking across the empty half of their bed at a photograph of a laughing young couple he no longer even recognized.
Kate tried to listen to his story, but her mind kept skittering away. She was irritated at the way the Marsyas picture had almost derailed her talk that afternoon, and some of her irritation was spilling over to include David. She tugged a grape from the bunch heaped up on the celadon plate in the centre of the table and examined the delicate grey bloom on its ruby skin, the way it absorbed the light. Her mind kept returning to the questions that nagged at her: who had sent those pictures and why?
‘Kate? Am I boring you?’
‘What? Of course not… I… well, it’s been a long day.’ With any luck, he’d take the hint and go. Maybe if she was left alone, she could forget about the whole business.
‘Not that long,’ said David tersely. And, then, ‘You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?’
‘Of course not.’ Kate stood up suddenly and began clearing away the plates. She yawned ostentatiously. ‘Coffee before you go?’
‘Not for me.’ His black eyebrows slewed towards each other in a frown. ‘There has to be some way to figure out what the pictures mean.’ He just wouldn’t let the problem alone. After all, there can’t be that many people who know how you and Francesca were connected. Try to think, Kate. If you don’t get to the bottom of it, you’re just going to be sitting here waiting for the next one to come and that’s—’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, stop going on about it!’ Suddenly Kate was shaking with anger. ‘I’m sick of thinking about the bloody pictures. Why don’t you just go! They don’t matter, can’t you understand that?’
‘Kate, I’m sorry, but—’
‘And it’s got nothing to do with you! You only make it worse. Just because you were there, you think you’ve got some kind of inside track, but you couldn’t be more wrong. You know nothing about it, absolutely nothing!’
‘Okay, okay.’ David stood up and picked up the bowl of grapes.
‘Keep out of this!’ said Kate furiously, reaching to snatch the bowl from his hands, but it slipped from her grasp just as he released his hold on it and fell to the floor with a crash. Pale green shards of china and red grapes lay scattered on the floor between them. ‘Oh, no!’ As Kate stared down at the wreckage, a sob rose to her throat, all the tension of the day releasing in a wail of dismay. ‘Damn, damn, damn!’ She dropped to her knees, frantically gathering up the jagged fragments. An edge sliced her finger and a pearl of blood appeared just below the tip.
‘Kate, stop it.’ David crouched down beside her. ‘There’s no point, I’ll clear it up for you.’
‘No! I’ll fix it!’ Frantically she scrabbled in the mess.
‘You can’t, Kate. Not even you. It’s broken into a million pieces.’ He reached out to put his arms round her but she pushed him away angrily. He drew back. ‘I’m sorry, Kate.’
‘That was my favourite bowl.’ She picked up a handful of bits and a single tear splashed down on the back of her hand.
He stood up. ‘I’ll buy you another just like it,’ he said.
‘No. Ben and I bought it in Palermo,’ she said with a sigh, sitting back on her heels. ‘David, you don’t know what it’s like.’
‘It was my fault.’
‘No, it’s not the bowl.’ She wiped her eyes, then stood up. ‘It’s the pictures. I don’t know why they’ve upset me so much but… it’s like someone’s trying to get inside my brain. Why bring it all up again after so long? What do they want me to do?’
‘Who, Kate?’
‘Francesca.’
‘Francesca’s dead.’
‘I know. It doesn’t make any sense. And I can’t stop bloody thinking about it.’ She sniffed, then patted her pockets and smiled ruefully. ‘And I haven’t even got a sodding tissue.’ She reached onto the counter and tore off a square of kitchen paper, then blew her nose. David waited quietly. He was very close to her.
‘Kate?’
‘Yes?’
She stood immobile, swayed forward just a fraction, as he leaned towards her and touched her lips with his. A shudder ran through her body, a letting go. Maybe this was the solution; maybe this was the only way to escape the tension that was tearing her apart.
‘Don’t stop.’ She moved closer, put her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth, then slipped her hands under the waist of his sweatshirt and touched the soft skin beneath. She smiled. ‘I’ve never made love to a man dressed all in pale blue before.’
‘You don’t know what you’ve been missing,’ said David huskily.
‘We can go upstairs if you like.’
But David was happy where they were. They kissed some more, then he cupped her buttocks in his hands, supporting her even as he pushed her back against the fridge. For a moment, Kate was confused by the speed at which the change had taken place between them. Was this the distraction she wanted? There was a brief fumbling, her fingers brushing against his as they struggled with zips and elastic, then his erection was hot against her hand and suddenly Kate found she was as aroused as David was. Outside, the rain had begun again, fierce summer rain, its drumming merging with the pulse beating in her ears, David’s quickened breathing and her gasp of pleasure as she allowed her mind to disengage, surrendering to the demands of touch and sensation. He began to move inside her, a flush of pleasure was spreading through her body, even while she registered the discomfort in her feet which were raised on tiptoe to match his height, and the unyielding surface of the fridge against her back and calves. And then, just at the moment when she felt herself sliding into that deep sea of sensation where words no longer have any meaning, a connection sparked in her brain, a flash of understanding, and she cried out in triumph, while waves of exultation radiated from her core to the tips of her fingers.
She held him a little longer until he came, her cheek resting against his shoulder. A new kind of energy was coursing through her.
She knew the answer to the puzzle.
She understood.
Kate flung her bedroom window wide. The rain had stopped but the air was still heavy with moisture. There was a smell of damp earth and vegetation, her little garden briefly transformed into a tropical jungle as it soaked up the wet. Traffic hummed in the distance. Somewhere, a siren whined: those distant, unknown tragedies that punctuate the London night.
‘My trousers haven’t dried yet.’ David appeared in the doorway.
‘You can stay the night,’ said Kate. ‘I’d offer you the spare room, but it’s a bit late for that. You’re a fast worker, Mr. Clay.’
‘Fast?’ He grinned. ‘I’ve only waited more than twenty-five years. Must be the slowest courtship in history.’
‘Well, if you put it like that.’
‘It’s like something out of one of those endless South American sagas.’
She smiled. Then: ‘No, don’t put on the light.’
‘Okay.’ David moved through the darkened room to stand beside her. Kate was filled with excitement. She was longing to tell him the revelation that had come to her while they were making love, had been wanting to tell him ever since, but she had a hunch his masculine ego would not appreciate discovering the main reason for her cry of triumph.
‘It’s strange, isn’t it,’ she said. ‘After so long.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘David.’ She couldn’t hold back any more. ‘I know why those details were added.’
‘You do? The rat and the bee?’
‘Not a rat and a bee.’
‘But—’
‘It’s a mouse and a wasp.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because Francesca was riding a Vespa when she was killed. And vespa in Italian means…’
‘What?’
‘A wasp.’
‘And the mouse?’
‘The car I was in, one of those little Fiats. They’re called Topolinos.’
‘Jesus. A topolino is little mouse.’
‘The little mouse eats the wasp. The Topolino destroys the Vespa.’
‘That’s sick. Ingenious, but still sick.’
‘Yes. Like they think Francesca’s death was some kind of a joke.’ She shivered. ‘It’s creepy.’ They stood for a few moments without speaking. Outside, as night filled the garden, the last blackbird abruptly stopped its song.
Eventually David said, ‘You’ll have to find out, you know.’
‘How?’
‘Visit the dealer?’
‘He’ll never tell me.’
‘Then go to the Villa Beatrice.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
Kate turned to face him. In the semi-darkness it was easy to imagine David had hardly changed from the boy who’d been her companion during those far-off weeks in Florence. It was years since she’d been with anyone who’d known Francesca. Years since she’d trodden those particular walks of memory.
She said quietly, ‘I’ve never told anyone this before but… her mother blamed me for what happened.’
‘What? But that’s ridiculous. It was an accident, wasn’t it? And you weren’t even driving the car.’
‘Of course, it’s crazy. But her family were crazy, don’t you remember?’
‘I didn’t spend time with them like you did.’
‘And even Francesca was… well, different.’
‘Was she?’
‘But… I loved her, David. I really loved her. I’ve never told anyone that before, either, because no one knew her, no one would have known what I was talking about, but you did. I guess you always feel that way about people who die young, but Francesca was… well, special. And I owe her so much. Everything, really. I’d never have done any of this if it hadn’t been for Francesca. I’d probably have stayed a secretary and been miserable all my life. She made it seem possible. I feel I owe her.’
‘But she died, Kate. In an accident. And it wasn’t your fault.’
‘I know that. But… it’s so weird. A couple of nights ago I dreamed someone was locked in a dark room. They were trapped and frightened, and they were calling out to me, trying to get me to help them, but I ignored them. And when I woke up I was shattered; it felt as if I was turning my back on someone in trouble. I felt so… guilty, but I knew it was all connected with the pictures.’
‘What are you suggesting, Kate? You think those alterations are some kind of cry for help?’
‘It could be that.’
‘Or a trap. Some mad psycho who’s still obsessing about Francesca’s death.’
‘Yes, I know.’
David sighed. ‘Kate, I know you don’t want to go back there, but supposing I came with you? Wait, hear me out. My youngest daughter’s studying in Rome. I’ve been meaning to visit her for months. We could combine the two. And I’m nearly as curious as you are now. What do you think?’
Kate didn’t answer for a long time. Eventually she said, ‘I haven’t thought about it in years. And now I don’t seem to be able to stop. Do you remember the night we met Francesca?’
‘We’d been to that restaurant.’
‘No, we’d been to the consul’s party.’
‘Oh my God, I’d forgotten about those.’
‘It was on the way back.’
‘That’s right. She was on the bridge.’
‘Do you think she would have tried to kill herself?’
‘You never could tell with Francesca, could you?’
David slipped his arm round her waist and they looked out into the darkness in silence. Starting to remember.