Suspicions
Arriving in Largo Duomo, we took up positions on the steps of the cathedral in the shade offered by one of the walls. Lucia leaned back and studied those who passed by in a deliberately casual manner, while I peered at the world through the eye-holes I’d cut out of my newspaper.
Here we remained for the rest of the morning, apart from an occasional move to dodge the sun in its journey around the piazza, but we didn’t see anyone who looked like a kidnapper – or anyone looking like a kidnapper’s victim.
At midday, Lucia waltzed off to the shops with a fistful of my money, returning, a little later, with loaves and mortadella which she proceeded to hack into baguettes on the cathedral’s steps. Then we washed them, and a fair amount of Potenza’s dust, down our throats with the local red plonk. And, while we ate, the square around us emptied as the more sensible section of the city’s population retired for their midday siesta.
‘Should we move on?’ I asked after lunch. ‘To be perfectly honest, I can’t imagine that Richard’s kidnappers are the sort who visit cathedrals.’
‘Sì, Matteo,’ she said and rose to her feet.
We meandered onwards, through a shop-lined street which, eventually, opened into another ancient piazza surrounded by ochre-coloured buildings. On one side of the square was the arcade of a large theatre; on another, a church which was even larger than the cathedral we’d just left. Its enormous doors were carved all over with what appeared to be scenes of ancient life. Lucia nudged me.
‘They are stories from the Bible,’ she said.
Only the mass of cars parked in the centre of the piazza spoilt the atmosphere of timelessness. If you could ignore them – and, believe me, you couldn’t – you might be a time-traveller making a journey of five hundred years into the past. For the moment, however, Lucia and I headed for the shade of the theatre.
Squeezing through the jumble of cars, I was surprised to see a British number plate, for this was an area a long way off the tourist trail. And, what was even more worrying, the vehicle was a black BMW. Seizing Lucia’s arm, I hurried her across the cobbles and into to the shade.
‘What is wrong?’ she asked.
‘That car.’ I nodded in its general direction. ‘It’s the sort that Corbett drives. Could you stay here and watch it, please? I’ll go back to the hotel and get the Multipla, then we can follow it. If anyone goes to the BMW, make a note of them. Whatever you do, though, don’t let them see you. If these people are who I think they are, you don’t want to annoy them.’
She smiled and seated herself elegantly upon a nearby empty bench.
‘Sì, Matteo, but you must not leave me for long.’
‘I promise I’ll be as quick as I can.’
When, eventually, I arrived at Albergo Valentino, Gabriella Marchesi was outside, sweeping the car park. Seeing me approach, she paused in her work and smiled.
‘You have quarrelled with Signorina Marchesi?’
‘No, Gabriella. I’ve only come to get the car.’
‘A pity,’ she said, frowning as she saw me go to the Multipla and unlock its door.
She was still watching as I drove from the car park and gave a little wave as I went round the bend. It was as I entered Potenza’s one-way system that I realised Lucia still had the map. In next to no time I was utterly lost and it was much later than I’d intended when I eventually arrived in the piazza where Lucia was standing guard.
Pleased to see she was still in the same position, I drove up in front of the theatre and opened the door for her to hop in.
‘Where have you been?’ she demanded. ‘I was very worried, Matteo.’
‘I’m sorry. You’ve got the map, so I got lost. Has anyone come to the car?’
‘No.’
‘Then we must watch and wait.’
‘But you cannot stay here,’ she said. ‘Park over there, Matteo, in the shadow of the church.’
I did as she said. We settled ourselves down into the seats of the Multipla and prepared for a very long wait.
I had only closed my eyes for a moment – or so it seemed – when Lucia poked me in the ribs.
‘Matteo!’ she hissed. ‘Wake up!’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Look at the car!’
I rubbed my eyes and peered around. Two men I didn’t recognise were at the doors of the BMW. One took out a key and unlocked it, both got in and drove away. Immediately, I started up the Multipla’s engine and followed them – at as great a distance as I dared allow.
We left the centre of the town and entered its southern outskirts, descending a winding road which went down into a deep valley. There was a river at the bottom which we followed for a while. Soon we came into an area of new, and rather depressing, housing estates. A little later, our road turned sharply away from the river.
Now the BMW picked up speed as it left the town behind. It took a left-hand bend – and disappeared. For a while I continued along the road, but there was no sign of the car. I found an empty gateway, turned, and drove back – much slower.
It was at the bend where we’d last seen the BMW that Lucia noticed a narrow lane leading off the main road. We’d missed it at first because it was partially obscured by trees. I turned up the track, proceeding cautiously. As we drove past the gates of a villa, Lucia cried out.
‘Look, Matteo! There is the black car!’
It was parked at the top of the drive which led up to the great house, but I couldn’t stop at such a conspicuous place. I continued along the track and, when it widened, pulled in.
‘What shall we do now?’ asked Lucia.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘the probability is that Richard’s inside that villa, so I shall -’
‘We,’ interrupted Lucia.’
‘We shall come back here tonight and get him out. But first I need to get a good rope. Do you have climbing shops in Italy?’
Lucia frowned in deep thought.
‘In the North, perhaps, among the Alps. I have never seen such shops in either Bologna or Pisa.’
‘The thing is,’ I said, ‘Richard and I will have to do some climbing tonight, so we need a rope we can rely on. A washing line won’t do.’
Lucia shook her head slowly.
‘We can look in Potenza, Matteo. There is nowhere else ….’
So we did, but all that the shops had to offer was a blasted washing line. I had no choice – I bought it.
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