humiliations, forced on you precisely to make you afraid and defenceless. No bathrooms. Sometimes no clothes. Certainly no respect. No kindness or gentleness of any sort. Imprisonment, no one to talk to, nothing to fill the mind, just uncertainty and fear… and guilt… Guilt that you didn't escape at the beginning, guilt at the distress brought on your family, guilt at what a ransom will cost… and fear for your life… if the money can't be raised… or if something goes wrong… if the kidnappers panic.'
She listened intently, at first with surprise and then with relief. 'You do know. You do understand. I haven't been able to say… I don't want to upset them… and also… also…'
'Also you feel ashamed,' I said.
'Oh.' Her eyes widened. 'I… Why do I?'
'I don't know, but nearly everyone does.'
'Do they?'
'Yes.'
She sat quiet for a while, then she said, 'How long will it take… for me to get over it?'
To that there was no answer. 'Some people shake it off almost at once,' I said. 'But it's like illness, or a death… you have to grow scar tissue.'
Some managed it in days, some in weeks, some in years; some bled for ever. Some of the apparently strong disintegrated most. One couldn't tell, not on the day after liberation.
Ilaria came into the room in a stunning scarlet and gold toga and began switching on the lamps.
'It was on the radio news that you're free,' she said to Alessia. 'I heard it upstairs. Make the most of the peace, the paparazzi will be storming up the drive before you can blink.'
Alessia shrank again into her chair and looked distressed. Ilaria, it occurred to me uncharitably, had dressed for such an event: another statement about not wanting to be eclipsed.
'Does your advice stretch to paparazzi?' Alessia asked weakly, and I nodded, 'If you like.'
Ilaria patted the top of my head as she passed behind my chair. 'Our Mr Fixit. Never at a loss.'
Paolo Cenci himself arrived with Luisa, the one looking anxious, the other fluttery, as usual.
'Someone telephoned from the television company,' Cenci said. 'They say a crew is on the way here. Alessia, you'd better stay in your room until they've gone.'
I shook my head. 'They'll just camp on your doorstep. Better, really, to get it over.' I looked at Alessia. 'If you could possibly… and I know it's hard… make some sort of joke, they'll go away quicker.'
She said in bewilderment, 'Why?'
'Because good news is brief news. If they think you had a really bad time, they'll keep on probing. Tell them the kidnappers treated you well, say you're glad to be home, say you'll be back on the racecourse very soon. If they ask you anything which it would really distress you to answer, blank the thoughts out and make a joke.'
'I don't know… if I can.'
'The world wants to hear that you're all right,' I said. 'They want to be reassured, to see you smile. If you can manage it now it will make your return to normal life much easier. The people you know will greet you with delight… they won't find meeting you uncomfortable, which they could if they'd seen you in hysterics.'
Cenci said crossly, 'She's not in hysterics.'
'I know what he means,' Alessia said. She smiled wanly at her father. 'I hear you're paying for the advice, so we'd better take it.'
Once mobilised, the family put on a remarkable show, like actors on stage. For Ilaria and Luisa it was least difficult, but for Cenci the affable host role must have seemed bizarre, as he admitted the television people with courtesy and was helpful about electric plugs and moving furniture. A second television crew arrived while the first was still setting up, and after that several cars full of reporters, some from international news agencies, and a clatter of photographers. Ilaria moved like a scarlet bird among them, gaily chatting, and even Luisa was appearing gracious, in her unfocused way.
I watched the circus assemble from behind the almost closed library door, while Alessia sat silent in her armchair, developing shadows under her eyes.
'I can't do it,' she said.
'They won't expect a song and dance act. Just be… normal.'
'And make a joke.'
'Yes.'
'I feel sick,' she said.
'You're used to crowds,' I said. 'Used to people staring at you. Think of being…' I groped, '… in the winner's circle. Lots of fuss. You're used to it, which gives you a shield.'
She merely swallowed, but when her father came for her she walked out and faced the barrage of flashlights and questions without cracking. I watched from the library door, listening to her slow, clear Italian,
'I'm delighted to be home with my family. Yes, I'm fine. Yes, I hope to be racing again very soon.'
The brilliant lighting for the television cameras made her look extra pale, especially near the glowing Ilaria, but the calm half-smile on her face never wavered.
'No, I never saw the kidnappers' faces. They were very… discreet.'
The newsgatherers reacted to the word, with a low growing rumble of appreciation.
'Yes, the food was excellent… if you liked tinned pasta.'
Her timing was marvellous: this time she reaped a full laugh.
'I've been living in the sort of tent people take on holiday. Size? A single bedroom… about that size. Yes… quite comfortable… I listened to music, most of the time.'
Her voice was quiet, but rock-steady. The warmth of the newsmen towards her came over clearly now in their questions, and she told them an open sports car had proved a liability and she regretted having caused everyone so much trouble.
'How much ransom? I don't know. My father says it wasn't too much.'
'What was the worst thing about being kidnapped?' She repeated the question as if herself wondering, and then, after a pause, said, 'Missing the English Derby, I guess. Missing the ride on Brunelleschi.'
It was the climax. To the next question she smiled and said she had a lot of things to catch up with, and she was a bit tired, and would they please excuse her?
They clapped her. I listened in amazement to the tribute from the most cynical bunch in the world, and she came into the library with a real laugh in her eyes. I saw in a flash what her fame was all about: not just talent, not just courage, but style.
I spent two more days at the Villa Francese and then flew back to London; and Alessia came with me.
Cenci, crestfallen, wanted her to stay. He hadn't yet returned to his office, and her deliverance had not restored him to the man-of-the-world in the picture. He still wore a look of ingrained anxiety and was still making his way to the brandy at unusual hours. The front he had raised for the media had evaporated before their cars were out through the gate, and he seemed on the following day incapably lethargic.
'I can't understand him,' Ilaria said impatiently. 'You'd think he'd be striding about, booming away, taking charge. You'd think he'd be his bossy self again. Why isn't he?'
'He's had six terrible weeks.'
'So what? They're over. Time for dancing, you'd think.' She sketched a graceful ballet gesture with her arm, gold bracelets jangling. 'Tell you the truth, I was goddam glad she's back, but the way Papa goes on, she might just as well not be.'
'Give him time,' I said mildly.
'I want him the way he was,' she said. 'To be a man.'
When Alessia said at dinner that she was going to England in a day or two, everyone, including myself, was astonished.
'Why?' Ilaria said forthrightly.
'To stay with Popsy.'
Everyone except myself knew who Popsy was, and why Alessia should stay with her, and I too learned afterwards. Popsy was a woman racehorse trainer, widowed, with whom Alessia usually lodged when in England.
'I'm unfit,' Alessia said. 'Muscles like jelly.'
'There are horses here,' Cenci protested.
'Yes, but… Papa, I want to go away. It's fantastic to be home, but… I tried to drive my car out of the gate today and I was shaking… It was stupid. I meant to go to the hairdressers. My hair needs cutting so badly. But I just couldn't. I came back to the house, and look at me, still curling onto my shoulders.' She tried to laugh, but no one found it funny.
'If that's what you want,' her father said worriedly.
'Yes… I'll go with Andrew, if he doesn't mind.'
I minded very little. She seemed relieved by her decisions, and the next day Ilaria drove her in the Fiat to the hairdresser, and bought things for her because she couldn't face shops, and brought her cheerfully home. Alessia returned with short casual curls and a slight case of the trembles, and Ilaria helped her pack.
On that evening I tried to persuade Cenci that his family should still take precautions.
'The first ransom is still physically in one suitcase, and until the carabinieri or the courts, or whatever, free it and allow you to use it to replace some of the money you borrowed from Milan, I reckon it's still at risk. What if the kidnappers took you… or Ilaria? They don't often hit the same family twice, but this time… they might.'
The horror was too much. He had crumbled almost too far.
'Just get Ilaria to be careful,' I said hastily, having failed to do that myself. 'Tell her to vary her life a bit. Get her to stay with friends, invite friends here. You yourself are much safer because of your chauffeur, but it wouldn't hurt to take the gardener along too for a while, he has the shoulders of an ox and he'd make a splendid bodyguard.'
After a long pause, and in a low voice, he said, 'I can't face things, you know.'
'Yes, I do know,' I agreed gently. 'Best to start, though, as soon as you can.'
A faint smile. 'Professional advice?'
'Absolutely.'
He sighed. 'I can't bear to sell the house on Mikonos. My wife loved it.'
'She loved Alessia too. She'd think it a fair swap.'
He looked at me for a while. 'You're a strange young man,' he said. 'You make things so clear.' He paused. 'Don't you ever get muddled by emotion?'
'Yes, sometimes,' I said. 'But when it happens… I try to sort myself out. To see some logic'
'And once you see some logic, you act on it?'
'Try to.' I paused. 'Yes.'
