Читать книгу Swept Away! - Lucy Gordon, Daphne Clair - Страница 9

‘DANTE,’ she hissed. ‘Dante! Get up.’

Frantically she pushed at him and he drew back, frowning.

‘They’re coming,’ she said. ‘They mustn’t find us like this.’

Muttering a curse, he wrenched himself away and got to his feet, drawing her up with him. He would have run, but Mark’s voice came through the trees.

‘Ferne, Dante, are you there?’

‘I’m going to murder that boy,’ Dante muttered. ‘He’s doing this on purpose.’

‘Don’t be paranoid.’

‘I’m not paranoid,’ Dante said in a soft, enraged voice. ‘He fancies you.’

Despite her jangling nerves, she nearly laughed.

‘Nonsense. His heart’s given to his dancing-girl friend.’

‘He’s twenty,’ Dante snapped. ‘He forgot her the minute he left England.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘Of course I know. I’ve been twenty.’

‘So that’s what young men of twenty do. And thirty. And thirty-five.’

Dante flung her the look of a man driven to madness.

Now the others were calling them. There was no choice but to walk back into the light, looking as cheerful and natural as possible. Ferne had a worrying feeling that her voice was shaking and she was sure that her smile looked unnatural.

But, more than that, she was shaking inside. She felt like someone who’d found herself unexpectedly on the edge of a cliff, and had backed off without knowing how she’d got there.

The family settled down for final drinks under the stars. Mark tried to get close to Ferne but was deterred by a scowl from Dante. If Ferne’s nerves hadn’t been jangling, she might have felt flattered and amused.

Hope ordered a pot of tea and Ferne drank it thankfully, feeling the warm liquid soothe her. Hope was looking at her kindly, and her eyebrows raised in surprise when Ferne took four sugar-lumps instead of her usual one. She needed them.

‘I’m feeling a little tired,’ she said as soon as she decently could. ‘You won’t mind if I go to bed?’

‘I’m tired too, after the flight,’ Evie said, and the party began to break up.

Ferne escaped upstairs, unable to meet Dante’s eyes. Once in her room, she plunged into an icy-cold shower. That would soon put her right.

It did, to the extent that it cooled down her flesh, but her mind remained as disturbed as before. She was accustomed to thinking of herself as calm and collected. Even in the throes of passion for Sandor she’d felt in command—something which their grande finale had surely proved.

But Dante had upset that unruffled composure, making her wonder if it was really such a virtue. Had she perhaps become a trifle smug? If so, he was rescuing her from that danger, surprising her again and again.

He insisted on haunting her mind, despite her stern orders for him to depart. But that was Dante: awkward. When she stepped out of the shower and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, he seemed to be there, eyeing her nakedness longingly, making her regret that she hadn’t allowed him to see her, because he would have liked her so much.

She pulled on her nightdress and in her mind’s eye his face fell.

‘Get out!’ she told him. ‘Go away and leave me alone.’

He obeyed, but not without a final glance over his shoulder.

There was a soft knock at her door.

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s me,’ said Dante.

She nearly said, ‘Are you back already?’ but stopped herself in time.

‘What do you want?’

‘Can I come in? There’s something I need to talk about.’

She stood back to let him in, first making sure that her robe was securely fastened. Even so, she felt as though her garments were transparent.

He was still in shirt and trousers, but now the shirt had been torn open at the throat, showing several inches of his chest. It was an attractive chest, she had to admit that, but now she was trying to be cautious. In his arms tonight she’d almost lost her head. There had been a moment in the grass when she would have done anything he wanted, because he could make her want it too.

She was sure he knew it. This was one clever, manipulative man, and she must never let herself forget that.

‘What did you want to talk about?’ she asked demurely.

‘Us,’ he said at once. ‘And what you’re doing to me. I don’t think I can stand it much longer.’

Now she was glad she’d taken the cold shower, for her body had regained its equilibrium and her mind was able to view him rationally.

‘If you can’t stand being with me, it was hardly wise of you to come here,’ she pointed out.

‘I didn’t say that,’ he replied, imitating her tone of reasoned argument. ‘It’s the “so near and yet so far” aspect that’s shredding my nerves. It should be one or the other, and I thought we might discuss it sensibly and come to a rational decision.’

The bland innocence of his face might have fooled anyone less alive to his tricks than Ferne. But by now she was back in command.

‘I quite agree,’ she said seriously. ‘One or the other. And, since I’ll be gone fairly soon, I think it we should opt for the second choice.’

‘Pardon?’

‘It would be wise for you to leave my room.’

He nodded. ‘It would be wise, wouldn’t it? If I were a wise man I’d flee and never look back. But I was never wise.’

‘Then this would be a good time to start.’

He slid an arm around her waist.

‘I know I shouldn’t have come,’ he murmured. ‘But I had to. You were so wonderful tonight. I watched you and knew I had to dance with you—and then I danced with you and knew I had to hold you in my arms and kiss you and love you…’

He drew her close as he spoke in a grip that was gentle and implacable together.

‘That’s going a little too far, surely?’ she asked lightly.

‘But I want to go too far with you. How could I want anything else when you’re so beautiful and you fire me up? I want to go too far and then further—’

‘Hush,’ she said suddenly. ‘I thought I heard a noise in the corridor. Could anyone have seen you?’

‘Not a soul. Don’t worry, I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.’

‘You, a mouse?’ she jeered softly. ‘Who do you think you’re fooling? Dante, I like you a lot, I really do, but I am not some daft little bimbo to be overcome by your charm. Don’t forget, I’ve been seduced by an expert.’

‘Are you suggesting I’m not an expert?’ he asked in outrage.

‘Well, you’re not doing brilliantly right now.’

He gave a sigh and a rueful look, much like a schoolboy caught playing truant. She almost capitulated there and then, but thankfully managed to hold firm.

‘It was worth a try, wasn’t it?’ she teased.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Like hell you don’t! You came in here saying to yourself, “Go on, give it a whirl. She might say yes, she might say no, she might slap my face. Let’s find out”.’

His sheepish expression confirmed her suspicions.

‘Well, I found out, didn’t I?’ he said. ‘But at least I didn’t get my face slapped.’

‘That’s the next stage. Now, depart while we’re still friends.’

‘Friends? Is that really all you—?’

‘Go!’

He went. Hastily.

As an attractive woman working in the entertainment business, Ferne had had a fair amount of experience in saying no to over-enthusiastic gentlemen, and she’d discovered that you could tell a lot about a man by how he behaved at the next meeting, assuming there was one. Some behaved well, some badly, some pretended that nothing had happened.

Dante, of course, had to be original, hopping behind her from tree to tree as she walked through the garden, darting out of sight when she turned until she cried, exasperated, ‘Come out, you idiot.’

‘If you’re calling me an idiot, does that mean I’m forgiven?’ he asked, presenting himself hopefully before her.

‘I guess it does.’

From behind him came a shout. ‘Dante, are you coming?’

‘On my way,’ he yelled back. ‘I’m going into town with Carlo and Ruggiero, but I couldn’t go until I knew I was back in favour.’

‘I didn’t say you were back in favour,’ she told him sternly. ‘I said you were forgiven—just.’

‘Yes, of course, there’s a difference. I’ll work on it when I get back. Bye.’

He kissed her cheek and fled, leaving her laughing and wondering what she had to do to get the last word.

But then, she reflected, did she really want the last word? It had a melancholy sound.

She spent an enjoyable day with Hope and the other women, talking about England and fussing over the children. Dante’s behaviour to her that evening was restrained and impeccable. He seemed completely oblivious to her as a woman, which was how she preferred it, she tried to tell herself.

Ferne had said she was never without her camera, and it was true, so when she came across Toni playing with Ruggiero’s baby son she hurried into action and produced some swift, spontaneous shots that had everyone exclaiming with delight.

‘I’ve been thinking what I can do to thank you for your kindness,’ Ferne said to Hope. ‘And now I know. I’m going to take pictures, dozens of them—everybody alone, in couples, with their children, without their children. Then I want you all to gather in the garden so that I can take a big one.’

‘And I’ll always have a memento,’ Hope cried, overjoyed. ‘Oh, yes please.’

Ferne started at once, going around the house, working on her idea until everyone had a solo shot, down to the tiniest child.

To these she added pictures taken secretly, when people had been unaware of being photographed and were therefore more natural. The final result was a triumphant collection that made Hope weep with joy, and give a special dinner in Ferne’s honour.

‘That was a very kind thing you did,’ Dante said as they sipped wine together. ‘Hope’s family is everything to her.’

His praise made her slightly embarrassed.

‘I did it for myself, really. Taking pictures is a kind of compulsion, and when I can’t do it I get restless.’

‘Why do you put yourself down? Who are you hiding from?’

‘Since when were you an expert in psychoanalysis?’ she asked, amused. ‘I’m not hiding.’

‘Some people would say you were hiding behind the camera, getting everyone else into focus but staying safely concealed. I’m just playing with ideas. If you want some good pictures, let me take you into town and show you old Naples, where the historic buildings still exist. You’ll find all the pictures you want.’

She agreed eagerly and they went the next day, driving down into the centro storico, as historic Naples was called. As he’d guessed, she was enthusiastic and began clicking, enchanted by the narrow, winding streets with washing strung from side to side, and the stalls selling fish and fruit.

At last they collapsed into chairs at a roadside café, and revived themselves on cake and coffee.

‘I’m so glad you thought of this,’ she sighed blissfully. ‘It’s been wonderful. This place is almost too picturesque to be true.’

Dante nodded. ‘Naples has its modern districts, places full of soulless, efficient buildings. But it also has these corners where people can still be human instead of cogs in a wheel. People here don’t just know each other, they’re neighbours, practically family. A lot of them are family. You tend to get whole apartment-blocks populated by relatives. Let’s have some—’

He stopped as a wild scream came from somewhere nearby. Suddenly there was chaos. People were running down the little streets, waving their arms and indicating something behind them.

‘Incendio!’ they screamed. ‘Incendio!’

‘There’s a fire somewhere,’ Dante said.

Following the pointing hands, they began to run until they came to a five-storey building on one side of a narrow alley, where the ground was entirely made of steps. Smoke was billowing from the windows and people were streaming out, shouting to each other.

‘They’ve called the fire brigade,’ Dante said, picking up a few words. ‘But these lanes are too narrow for the machines. The nearest they’ll get is that corner, then they’ll have to carry the ladders into this street and set them on the ground. Let’s hope their ladders are long enough. Luckily, everyone seems to be escaping the buildings fast.’

Behind them a woman was screaming, ‘Piero, Marco, Ginetta, Enrico—mio dio!’

From the bags cast aside on the pavement, it seemed that she had been shopping when the news had reached her and had run back to her children. Now they were hurling themselves into her arms and she was sending up frantic prayers of relief.

‘Salvo,’ she wept. Safe. ‘Oh, dio! Salvo. Ma no! Dove Nico?’

Nico? People began to look around. Nico? Where was Nico?

One of the boys said something and recoiled as his mother slapped his cheek.

‘What is it?’ Ferne asked, horrified.

‘Nico was coming down with them, but they lost sight of him,’ Dante explained. ‘She’s blaming them for going on without him.’

‘Nico!’ the woman screamed, gazing up at the building. ‘Nico!’

Suddenly there was a mighty rumble followed by a crash from inside the building, and smoke billowed out of the windows.

‘The inside has collapsed,’ Dante said grimly. ‘Let’s hope Nico got out.’

But the next moment there was a shout of horror. Everyone looked up to see a little boy standing on a rickety wrought-iron balcony at the top, looking down.

‘Nico!’ his mother screamed again. ‘Come down.’

She was too hysterical to realise that this was impossible, but everyone else understood, and groans went up at what seemed inevitable.

People were running to fetch ladders which they leaned up against the wall, but the boy was five storeys up and nothing reached him. Another ominous rumble from within the building warned how close danger was.

‘Move that ladder!’ Dante yelled. ‘Push it over here.’

‘But it’s not long enough,’ someone protested.

‘Don’t argue,’ he roared. ‘Just do as I say.’

Impatiently he yanked the ladder from their hands and set it up against the wall.

‘Hold it,’ he snapped.

Recognising the voice of authority, they scurried to obey. This was a new Dante, one Ferne had never seen before, a man of grim determination; his eyes were hard, his attitude set, brooking no argument, and woe betide anyone who got in his way.

She ventured to say, ‘But what will you do when the ladder runs out?’

For a moment he looked at her as though he’d never seen her before.

Then recognition kicked in, and he said curtly, ‘I’ll climb.’

He turned away without waiting for her reply and the next moment was climbing the ladder swiftly, two rungs at a time, until he reached the base of the third balcony. Seizing the wrought iron, he managed to haul himself to the upper rim while the crowd below gasped. Ferne gazed in awe, thinking how strong his arms must be to manage that.

Having mounted the balcony, he climbed up onto the rail and leapt upwards. It was only a small distance, but it was enough to take him to the base of the next balcony where he did the same thing, managing to climb up there too.

One more to go. Thank goodness, Ferne thought, that he was so tall and so long in the leg. A shorter man could never have managed those leaps.

Now he was there, soothing the child. But how was he going to descend with him? Those watching below saw Dante take a hard, considering look down, then nod as though the decision was made. He turned and knelt down so that the child could climb onto his back; his arms wound tightly about Dante’s neck. The next moment he’d swung over the balcony, going down the iron railings inch by inch until he reached the bottom and hung there.

Everyone below held their breath, wondering what he could possibly do now. He soon showed them, swinging back and forth until he could risk releasing the rail, and taking a flying leap onto the balcony below. It seemed an impossible trick, yet he managed it, throwing himself forward at the last minute so that he landed on his knees, and that the child on his back was safe and unhurt.

Nearly done. One more leap before they reached the safety of the ladder. Could he make it, or would they both plunge to earth? Down below hands were raised up as if everyone feared the worst and would try to catch them.

Dante didn’t hesitate, swinging over the balcony, working his way down the railings, then taking the leap. A roar broke from the crowd as he landed safely.

A man had climbed the ladder and now reached out to take Nico, helping him down to safety while Dante remained on the balcony, breathing hard. Cheers and applause broke out as the child reached the ground, but nobody could relax until his rescuer was also safe. At last Dante reached for the ladder and climbed down to a deafening roar.

Ferne felt the tears pouring down her cheeks. She couldn’t have said why she was weeping, whether it was fear for Dante or pride in him, but she was filled with feelings that threatened to explode.

He gave her a brief smile and went to the mother, who was in transports of delight, uttering passionate thanks that seemed to embarrass him. She was clinging to the child, who seemed dazed and unresponsive, but who suddenly seemed to awaken and look around him, searching for something. When he didn’t find it, he began to scream.

‘Pini?’ he cried. ‘Pini! He’ll die—he’ll die!’

‘Is that another child?’ Ferne asked. ‘Does he mean someone’s still in there?’

‘No, Pini is his puppy,’ said his mother. ‘He must be out here somewhere.’

‘No, no!’ Nico sobbed. ‘He’s still in there. He’ll die.’

His mother tried desperately to soothe him.

‘Caro, it can’t be helped. Nobody can risk their life for a dog.’

Nico began to scream. ‘Pini! Pini, Pini…!’

‘He’s probably dead already,’ somebody said. ‘He must have been overcome by the smoke—he won’t have suffered.’

‘No, there!’ came a shout from the crowd.

Everyone looked up, gasping at the sight of the little dog appearing at the window. He was barking and looking around him in fear and bewilderment. Screams rose from the crowd as his inevitable fate approached, and Nico began to struggle, trying to escape.

‘Pini, Pini—I’m coming!’

‘No!’ cried his mother, clutching him tightly.

‘Stay there,’ Dante said sharply. ‘Just don’t move.’

The next moment he was running headlong back to the building.

There were more screams from the crowd as they realised what he meant to do.

‘He’s crazy—does he want to be killed? Does he know what he’s doing? Stop him!’

But Ferne had seen the reckless determination in his eyes and knew that nothing could have stopped him. Terrified, she watched as he reached the house and began climbing up the ladder through the smoke that now seemed to surround everything. Every time he vanished, she was convinced she wouldn’t see him again, but somehow he always managed to reappear, higher and higher, closer to the place where the dog was looking down, yelping with terror.

By now two fire-engines had arrived, but had to stop at the end of the narrow street. Seeing what was happening, the firemen came running along the street with a detachable ladder and sent it shooting up towards Dante. Mercifully it was longer than the first one, but when they shouted at him to climb onto it he merely glanced down at them, shook his head and turned back, heading up again.

He’d reached the last balcony, but now his luck ran out. As soon as he seized it, the wrought iron pulled away from the crumbling brickwork so that one end came completely free, swinging down violently. Screams came from the crowd as Dante hung from the iron, seemingly with no way to save himself. The firemen were working the ladder, trying to get it closer to him.

Ferne watched, her heart in her mouth, unable to endure looking, yet equally unable to turn away. It was surely impossible that he could come through this alive?

Then he kicked against the wall hard enough to swing out and up. From somewhere he found the strength to reach higher, and begin to climb up the swinging balcony. He did it again and again, inching closer to the window where the dog was shivering.

Cheers rose as he finally made it, but as he reached for the dog the animal vanished into the building. Dante hauled himself in, also vanishing, and everyone below held their breath. The next moment there came a crash from inside. Smoke billowed from the window, and an appalled hush fell over the onlookers. He was dead. He must be.

Ferne buried her face in her hands, praying frantically. He couldn’t die. He mustn’t.

Then a shout of triumph went up. ‘There he is!’

Dante had reappeared at another window, further down, with the dog in his arms. Now he was closer to the ladder with the fireman at the top. A little more manoeuvring, and it was near enough for him to reach down and hand the animal to the fireman, who began to back down the rungs, leaving the top of the ladder free for Dante to follow.

It was nearly over. He reached the ladder, climbed onto it and started the descent. In another moment, he would be safe.

But then something seemed to halt him. He froze and stayed there, clinging on, leaning against the metal, his eyes closed, his head hanging down.

‘Oh heavens, he’s passed out!’ Ferne whispered. ‘It’s the smoke.’

The fireman passed the dog to another man further down, then climbed back up to Dante, positioning himself ready to catch him if he fell, reaching up to touch him.

To everyone’s relief Dante seemed to come out of his trance and look around him. At last he managed to move and complete the journey down.

As he reached the ground, the cheers broke out again. He shook his head as though to clear it and, seeming to return to reality, took the dog from the fireman and carried it to the child, who screamed in ecstasy.

If the crowd had cheered him before, they now went completely mad. A man who risked himself for a child was a hero; a man who took the same risks for a dog was a wonderful madman.

Yes, a madman, Ferne thought, trying to still her thumping heart. A glorious madman, but still a man who didn’t live on the same planet as everyone else.

He seemed strangely unwilling to enjoy the praise he’d won. They tried to hoist him shoulder-high, but now all he wanted was to escape.

‘Let’s go,’ he said, grasping her hand.