One Summer in Italy…

position crashed over her. The police were coming in. And she was in the hands of a judge. Now there was no hope.

A man in a police uniform entered, and immediately froze at the sight of the judge, whom he clearly recognised. He spoke in Italian, which Holly just managed to follow.

‘Signor Fallucci, forgive me, I did not know-a small matter.’

‘What is this small matter?’ The judge sounded as though speaking was suddenly an effort.

‘We are searching for a woman who, we have reason to believe, is on this train. Her name is Sarah Conroy.’

He was forced to raise his voice to be heard above Liza’s sobbing, and turned to Holly.

‘Signorina, is your name-?’

But before he could complete the question Liza raised her head. Her face was red and tears streamed down her face as she cried,

‘Her name is Holly and she’s my friend. Go away!’

‘I only-’

‘She’s Holly,’ Liza screamed. ‘And she’s mine, she’s mine!’

‘Hush,’ Holly whispered. ‘Hold on to me.’

Liza was already clinging around her throat with arms so tight that Holly was almost choking. She stayed holding the little girl, offering what comfort she could.

If she’d been thinking clearly she would have realised that Liza was obscuring her face from the policeman, and her noisy sobs were covering any suspicious Englishness in Holly’s voice. But right now she was beyond understanding. She cared only for Liza’s shattering grief and whatever she could do to ease it.

So she gathered her in an even tighter embrace, murmuring words of comfort and tenderness until the sobbing little girl in her arms grew less tense.

The judge had seemed almost in a trance, but now he roused himself with an effort.

‘I think you should go now,’ he said. ‘My daughter is not well, and it isn’t good for her to be upset.’

By now the young policeman had noticed the wheelchair and the supports on Liza’s legs. He nodded to show his understanding.

‘I’ll leave you in peace. Forgive me. Good day, signore, signorina.’

He couldn’t get out fast enough.

For a while they travelled in silence. Holly met the judge’s eyes, trying to read them, but found them cool and impenetrable.

‘Why did you do that?’ she asked.

He glanced at his little daughter, as if to say she was answer enough. Which was true, Holly thought. He had had no choice, and yet-

‘Would you have preferred the alternative?’ he asked.

‘Of course not, but you don’t know me-’

‘That will be remedied when I’m ready.’

‘But-’

‘It will be best if you say no more,’ he replied in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘We shall soon be in Rome, and later I will tell you as much as you need to know.’

‘But when we get to Rome I shall be leaving-’

‘I think not,’ he said in a tone of finality.

‘Is Holly coming home with us?’ Liza asked, smiling at the prospect.

‘Of course,’ he told her.

‘But-my plane-’ Holly tried to say.

This time he did not answer in words, but the flicker of his eyes was enough to inform her that he, not she, was calling the shots.

Liza showed her happiness by twining her hand in Holly’s and beaming at her father.

‘Thank you, Poppa,’ she said, as though he had just bought her a precious gift.

The compartment door slid back and Berta entered, looking nervous at the sight of her employer.

‘You should not have left Liza alone,’ he growled.

‘Scusi, signore-but she was not alone.’

The judge seemed disposed to argue, but then he looked at his little daughter, snuggling happily in Holly’s arms, and the sight seemed to strike him silent.

Now that Liza had secured her object her tears dried like magic.

‘You’ll like our house,’ she told Holly. ‘I’ll show you all over the gardens and…’

She chattered on and Holly tried to keep up with her, putting in the odd word, although her mind was whirling. While she smiled at Liza she was intensely aware of the man in the opposite seat, watching her with sharp, appraising eyes.

He was sizing her up, she guessed, mentally taking notes, trying to come to a decision. In other words, he was behaving like a judge deciding the verdict, with the sentence to follow.

He might have been in his late thirties, although his stern face and haughty demeanour made him seem older. He was handsome in a fierce, uncompromising way that had more to do with something in his eyes than with the shape of his features.

Suddenly he spoke, indicating the small bag that hung from her shoulder. ‘What do you have in there?’

‘My passport,’ she said, ‘and papers generally.’

‘Let me see.’

She handed him the bag and he glanced through briefly, examining the papers until he came to her passport. Without hesitation he took it, placing it in an inside pocket of his jacket.

Holly opened her mouth to protest but was checked by his glance. It was hard, forbidding, and it compelled her silence.

‘Good,’ he said, handing the bag to her. ‘You have all you need.’

‘I need my passport.’

‘No, you don’t. Do it my way and don’t argue.’

‘Now, look-’

‘Do you want my help or don’t you?’

‘Of course, but I-’

‘Then take my advice and stay as quiet as you can. From now on, not a word. Try to look stupid. Practise that if you have to, but don’t speak.’

‘But I had to leave a suitcase further down the train,’ she burst out. ‘I must get it.’

‘Why?’

‘My clothes-’

‘You don’t need them. And trying to recover your possessions would lead you into danger.’

Into the arms of the police, he meant, and she realised he was right. Holly would have been grateful for his warning but for a feeling he was chiefly concerned about the inconvenience to himself.

The train was slowing, gliding into Rome railway station, coming to a halt. Immediately a man appeared wearing the uniform of a chauffeur and signalled through the window. The judge signalled back, and a moment later the man entered the compartment.

‘The car is waiting, signore,’ he said, bestowing only the briefest glance on Holly.

Liza immediately put her hand in Holly’s and stood up.

‘I think you should use the wheelchair,’ her father said.

Liza thrust out her lower lip and shook her head. ‘I want to go with you,’ she said, looking up at Holly.

‘Then I’ll take you,’ she said. ‘But I think you should go in the wheelchair.’

‘All right,’ Liza said, docile as long as she had what she wanted.

The platform was the last on the station. Beside it was a wall, with a large archway almost opposite their carriage. It took only a few moments to leave the train and move beneath the arch to where a limousine was waiting. Liza sat contentedly in the wheelchair while Holly pushed her, praying that this would give her an extra disguise against any police eyes that were watching.