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.
At the car door the chauffeur took the chair and packed it into the trunk. The judge got into the front, while Holly and Berta sat in the back with Liza between them.
Holly tried to believe that this was really happening. Even the noiseless, gliding movement of the car, as it left the station, couldn’t quite convince her.
A moveable glass screen divided the front from the back of the car, and the judge pulled this firmly across, shutting them off from each other. Holly saw him take out a mobile phone and speak into it, but she couldn’t hear the words.
They turned south and sped smoothly on until the crowded city fell away behind them, the road turned to cobblestones and monuments began to appear along the way.
‘They’re ancient tombs and this is the Via Appia Antica,’ Liza told her. ‘We live further down.’
About half a mile further on they turned through a high stone arch and began the journey along a winding, tree-lined road. The foliage of high summer was at its most magnificent, so the house came into view piece by piece, and it wasn’t until the last moment that Holly saw its full glory.
It was a mansion, obviously several hundred years old, made from honey-coloured stone.
As the car stopped a middle-aged woman emerged, making for the rear door, to open it, while the chauffeur opened the front door for the judge.
‘Good evening, Anna,’ the judge said briefly. ‘Is everything ready for our guest?’
‘Yes, signore,’ the housekeeper said respectfully. ‘I personally attended to the signorina’s room.’
So she was expected, Holly thought, remembering the phone call in the car. This and the smoothly efficient movements of the servants increased her sense of well-oiled wheels, which might be conveying her away from danger, but would roll over her just as easily.
He had called her his guest, but the judge did not welcome her as one. It was Liza who took her hand, drawing her into the house and displaying her home with pride. Inside the hall there were more servants, all giving her the controlled curious glances of people who had been warned ahead of time, then hastily looking away.
‘I will take the signorina to her room,’ Anna said. ‘Follow me, please.’
The way led up a grand staircase that curved to the next floor, ending in luxurious marble tiles on which her heels echoed up to the door of her room.
The room itself was startling, with a marble floor and an exposed stone wall that gave it an air of rustic charm without lessening its elegance. Two floor-length windows flooded the room with light. The bed, which was large enough to sleep three, was a four-poster, hung with ivory net curtains.
