‘No, stay for always.’
‘I wish I could, I really do, but I have to go. When Berta comes back-’
‘I hope she never comes back,’ Liza said sulkily.
‘Why? Is she unkind to you?’
‘No, she means to be kind, but…’ Liza gave an eloquent shrug. ‘I can’t talk to her. She doesn’t understand. She thinks if I eat my food and do my exercises-that’s all there is. If I try to talk about…about things, she just stares.’
That had been Holly’s impression of Berta too; well-meaning but unsubtle. It hadn’t seemed to occur to her that she should not have left the child with a stranger, even for a moment.
But perhaps she’d hurried and, even now, was on her way back. Meaning just to take a quick look, Holly turned to the door and ran straight into the man standing there.
She hadn’t heard him enter, and didn’t know how long he’d been there. She collided with him before she saw him, and had an instant impression of a hard, unyielding body towering over her.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded sharply in Italian. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Signore-’ Suddenly she couldn’t breathe.
‘Who are you?’ he said again in a harsh voice.
It was Liza who came to her rescue, limping forward and saying hurriedly, ‘No, Poppa, the signorina is English, so we only speak English.’ She took Holly’s hand, saying firmly, ‘She comes from Portsmouth, like Mamma. And she’s my friend.’
A change came over him. With an odd feeling, Holly remembered how Liza, too, had changed. She had become joyful, while this man seemed to flinch. Yet they were reacting to the same thing. It was a mystery.
Liza drew her back to the seat, keeping hold of her hand as if to say that her new friend was under her protection. Even though she was so young, her strength of will was clear. She had probably inherited it from her father, Holly thought.
He eyed Holly coldly.
‘You turn up in my compartment, and I’m expected to accept your presence with equanimity?’
‘I’m-just an English tourist,’ she said carefully.
‘I think I begin to understand. There’s a commotion further down the train. But I imagine you know that.’
She faced him. ‘Yes, I do know.’
‘And no doubt it has something to do with your sudden appearance here. No, don’t answer. I can make up my own mind.’
‘Then let me go,’ Holly said.
‘Go where?’
His tone was implacable. And so was everything else about him, she realised. Tall, lean, hard, with dark, slightly sunken eyes that glared over a prominent nose, he looked every inch a judge: the kind of man who would lay down the law and expect to be obeyed in life as well as in court.
She searched his face, trying to detect in it something yielding, but she could find no hope. She tried to rise.
‘Sit down,’ he told her. ‘If you go out of that door you’ll run straight into the arms of the police, who are examining everyone’s passports.’
She sank back in her seat. This was the end.
‘Are you a suspicious person?’ he asked. ‘Is that why Berta has vanished?’
Liza giggled. ‘No, Berta has gone along the corridor for a few minutes.’
‘She asked me to look after your daughter while she was away,’ Holly said. ‘But now you’re here-’
‘Stay where you are,’ he ordered.
She had half risen in her seat, but his tone of command was so final that she had no choice but to fall back.
‘Are you really running away from the police?’ Liza asked her. ‘How exciting!’
Her father closed his eyes.
‘Is it too much to hope that you’ll remember I am a judge?’ he asked.
‘Oh, but that doesn’t matter, Poppa,’ the child said blithely. ‘Holly needs our help.’
‘Liza-’
The child scrambled painfully out of her seat and stood in front of him, taking his outstretched hand for support and regarding him with a challenging look.
‘She’s my friend, Poppa.’
‘Your friend? And you’ve known her for how long?’
‘Ten minutes.’
‘Well, then-’
‘But who cares?’ Liza demanded earnestly. ‘It doesn’t matter how long you’ve known someone. You used to say that.’
‘I don’t think I actually said-’
‘You did, you did.’ Liza’s voice rose as she began to be upset. ‘You said, with some people you knew at once that they were going to be terribly important to you. You and Mamma-’
Without warning she burst into tears, drowning out the rest of her words.
Holly waited for him to reach out and hug his child, but something seemed to have happened to him. His face had acquired a grey tinge and was suddenly set in forbidding lines, as though the mention of his dead wife had murdered something inside him. It was like watching a man being turned into a tombstone.
Liza’s tears had turned into violent sobs, yet still he did not embrace her. Unable to bear it any longer, Holly scooped her up so that the little girl was sitting in her lap, her face buried against her.
At that moment the door of the compartment slid back. Holly drew in a sharp breath as the full horror of her 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.
