Horns blared, lights flashed in the darkness and Ferne
ground her hands together as the cab battled its way through
the slow-moving Milan traffic.
'Oh no! I'm going to miss the train. Please!'
The driver called back over his shoulder, 'I'm doing my
best, signorina, but the traffic here is like
nowhere else in the world.' He said it with pride.
'I know it's not your fault,' she cried. 'But I've got a
ticket on the night train to Naples. It leaves in a quarter
of an hour.'
The driver chuckled. 'Leave it to me. Twenty years I am
driving in Milan, and my passengers do not miss their trains.'
The next ten minutes were breathless but triumphant, and at
last the ornate façade of Milan Central Station came into
view. As Ferne leapt out and paid the driver, a porter appeared.
'Train to Naples,' she gasped.
'This way, signorina.'
They made it to the platform looking so frantic that heads
were turned. But suddenly Ferne stumbled and went sprawling
right in the path of the porter, who sprawled in turn.
She wanted to yell aloud at being thwarted at the last
moment, but miraculously hands came out of nowhere, seized
her, thrust her on board, the bags following after her. A
door slammed.
'Stai bene?' came a man's voice.
'I'm sorry, I don't speak Italian,' she said breathlessly,
clutching him as he helped her to her feet.
'I asked if you are all right,' he said in English.
'Yes, but—oh heavens, we're moving. I should have
given that poor man something.'
'Leave it to me.'
There was a narrow opening at the top of the window and the
man slid his arm through, his hand full of notes which the
porter seized gratefully. Her rescuer waved and turned back
to face her in the corridor of the train that was already
gathering speed.
Now Ferne had a moment to look at him, and realised that she
was suffering delusions. He was so handsome that it was
impossible. In his thirties, he stood, tall and impressive,
with wide shoulders and hair of a raven-black colour that
only Italians seemed to achieve. His eyes were deep blue,
gleaming with life, and his whole appearance was something
no man could be permitted outside the pages of a novel.
To cap it all, he'd come galloping to her rescue like the
hero of a melodrama, which was simply too much. But, what
the heck? She was on holiday.
He returned her gaze, briefly but appreciatively, taking in
her slender figure and dark-red hair. Without conceit, but
also without false modesty, she knew she was attractive; the
expression in his eyes was one she'd often seen before,
although it was a while since she'd responded to it.
'I'll refund you that tip, of course,' she said.
A woman had appeared behind them in the corridor. She was in
her sixties, white-haired, slender and elegant.
'Are you hurt, my dear?' she asked. 'That was a nasty fall
you had.'
'No, I'm fine, just a bit shaken.'
'Dante, bring her to our compartment.'
'OK, Aunt Hope. You take her, I'll bring the bags.'
The woman took Ferne gently by the arm and led her along the
corridor to a compartment where a man, also in his sixties,
was standing in the doorway watching their approach. He
stood back to let them in and ushered Ferne to a seat.
'From the way you speak, I think you are English,' the woman
said with a charming smile.
'Yes, my name is Ferne Edmunds.'
'I too am English. At least, I was long ago. Now I am
Signora Hope Rinucci. This is my husband, Toni—and
this young man is our nephew, Dante Rinucci.'
Dante was just entering with the bags, which he shoved under
the seats, and then he sat down, rubbing his upper arm.
Are you hurt?' Hope asked anxiously.
He grimaced. 'Pushing my arm through that narrow space has
probably left me with bruises for life.' Then a grin broke
over his face. 'It's all right, I'm only joking. Stop
fussing. It's our friend here who needs care. Those
platforms are hard.'
'That's true,' Ferne said ruefully, rubbing her knees
through her trousers.
'Would you like me to take a look?' he asked hopefully,
reaching out a hand.
'No, she would not,' Hope said, determinedly forestalling
him. 'Behave yourself. In fact, why don't you go to the
restaurant-car and order something for this young lady?' She
added sternly, 'Both of you.'
Like obedient little boys, both men rose and departed
without a word. Hope chuckled.
'Now, signorina—it is signorina?'
'Signorina Edmunds. But, please, call me Ferne. After what
your family has done for me, let's not be formal.'
'Good. In that case—'
There was a knock on the door and a steward looked in.
'Oh yes, you want to make up the berths,' Hope said. 'Let's
join the men.'
As they went along the corridor, Hope asked, 'Where is your
sleeping berth?'
'I don't have one,' Ferne admitted. 'I booked at the last
minute and everything was taken.'
By now they had reached the dining-car, where Toni and Dante
had taken a table. Dante stood up and graciously showed her
to the seat beside him.
'Here's the ticket inspector,' Hope said. 'Let's get the
formalities out of the way before we eat. They may be able
to find you a berth.'
But from that moment things went horribly wrong. As the
others showed their paperwork, Ferne scrabbled hopelessly in
her bag, finally facing the terrible truth.
'It's gone,' she whispered. 'Everything. My money, the
tickets—they must have fallen out when I fell on the
platform.'
Another search produced no result. Disaster!
'My passport's gone too!' she gasped. 'I've got to go back.'
But the train was now travelling at full speed.
'It doesn't stop until Naples,' Hope explained.
'They'll stop to throw me off when they find out I've no
ticket and no money,' Ferne said frantically.
Hope's voice was soothing. 'Let's see what we can do about
that.'
Toni began to speak to the inspector in Italian. After a
while he produced his credit card.
'They're issuing you another ticket,' Hope explained.
'Oh, that's so kind of you. I'll pay you back, I promise.'
'Let's not worry about that now. First we have to find you a
berth.'
'That's easy,' Dante said. 'My sleeping-car is a double, and
I'm only using one berth, so—'
'So Toni can come in with you and Ferne can come in with
me,' Hope said, beaming. 'What a splendid idea!'
'Actually, Aunt, I was thinking—'
'I know what you were thinking and you should be ashamed.'
'Yes, Aunt, anything you say, Aunt.'
But he winked at Ferne, and she couldn't help being charmed.
The mere idea of this handsome, confident man doing what he
was told was so idiotic, and his air of meekness so clearly
an act, that she had to smile and join in the joke.
The inspector exchanged some more words with Toni before
nodding and hurrying away.
'He's going to call the station now and tell them to look
out for your things,' Toni explained to Ferne. 'Luckily you
discovered the loss quickly, so they may pick them up before
anyone else finds them. But, just in case, you must cancel
your credit cards.'
'How can I do that from here?' Ferne asked, baffled.
'The British consulate will help you,' Dante declared,
taking out his own mobile phone.
In a few moments he had obtained the emergency number of the
Milan consulate, dialled it and handed the phone to Ferne.
The young man on duty was efficient. Quickly he looked up
the numbers of the credit-card companies, assigned her a
reference number and bid her goodnight. Calls to the finance
companies achieved the cancellation of her cards and the
promise of new ones. This was as much as she could hope for
for now.
'I don't know what I'd have done without you,' she told her
new friends fervently. 'When I think what could have
happened to me.'
'Don't think about it,' Hope advised. 'All will be well. Ah,
here is the waiter with a snack. Hmm, cakes and wine are all
very well, but I should like a large pot of tea.'
'English tea.' Toni gave instructions to the
waiter, who nodded solemnly, evidently familiar with this
peculiarity among his customers.
The tea was excellent, so were the cakes, which the others
piled onto her plate.
'When did you last eat?' Hope asked.
'Properly? Oh—some time. I left on the spur of the
moment, caught the train from London to Paris, then Paris to
Milan. I don't like flying, and I wanted to be free to stop
and explore whenever I wanted. I had a few days in Milan,
shopping and seeing the sights. I meant to stay there
overnight and go on tomorrow, but I suddenly changed my
mind, packed up and ran.'
'That's the way to live!' Dante exclaimed. 'Here today, gone
tomorrow; let life bring what it will.' He took Ferne's hand
and spoke with theatrical fervour. 'Signorina, you
are a woman after my own heart. More than a woman—a
goddess with a unique understanding of life. I salute
you—why are you laughing?'
'I'm sorry,' Ferne choked. 'I can't listen to that guff with
a straight face.'
'Guff? Guff? Is this a new English word?'
'No,' Hope informed him, amused. 'It's an old English word
and it means that you need a better scriptwriter.'
'But only for me,' Ferne chuckled. 'I expect it works
wonderfully on the others.'
Dante's face was the picture of outrage.
'The others? Don't you realise that you are the only one who
has inspired me to lay my heart at her feet? The only—
Oh, all right; I usually get a better reception than this.'
His collapse into realism made them all laugh.
'It's nice to meet a lady with such an adventurous approach
to life,' he added. 'But I expect it's only while you're on
holiday. You'll go back to England, your sedate nine-to-five
life, and your sedate nine-to-five fiancé.'
'If I had a fiancé, what would I be doing here alone?'
she demanded.
This made him pause, but only for a moment.
'He betrayed you,' he said dramatically. 'You are teaching
him a lesson. When you return, he will be jealous,
especially when he sees the compromising pictures of us
together.'
'Oh, will he indeed? And where will these pictures come from?'
'It can be arranged. I know some good photographers.'
'I'll bet you don't know anyone better than me,' she riposted.
'You're a photographer?' Hope asked. 'A journalist?'
'No, I do theatrical work.' Some inexplicable instinct made
her say to Dante, 'And he wasn't sedate. Anything but.'
He didn't reply in words, but his expression was wry and
curious. So was the way he nodded.
'Let the poor girl eat in peace,' Hope admonished him.
She watched Ferne like a mother hen, finally declaring that
it was time for bed. The four of them made their way back
along the corridor and said goodnight. Ferne and Hope went
into one sleeping car, Toni and Dante went on to the next.
As Ferne hung up the trousers she'd been wearing, a few
coins fell out onto the floor.
'I'd forgotten I had some money in my pocket,' she said,
holding them out.
'Three euros,' Hope observed. 'You wouldn't have got far
with that.'
They sat down on the bed, contentedly sipping the tea they
had brought with them.
'You said you were English,' Ferne recalled. 'And yet you
speak as though you've been here for some time.'
'Over thirty years,' Hope told her.
'Do you have any children?'
'Six. All sons.'
She said it with an air of exasperated irony that made Ferne
smile and say, 'Do you ever wish you had daughters?'
Hope chuckled. 'When you have six sons, you have no time to
think of anything else. Besides, I have six daughters-in-law
and seven grandchildren.
'When our last son married, a few months ago, Toni and I
decided to go on our travels. Recently we've been in Milan
to see some of his relatives. Toni was very close to his
other brother, Taddeo, until he died a few years ago. Dante
is Taddeo's elder son, and he's coming back to Naples with
us for a visit. He's a bit of a madman, as you'll discover
while you're staying with us.'
'I can't impose on you any further.'
'My dear, you have no money or passport. If you don't stay
with us, just what are you going to do?'
'It just seems dreadful for you to be burdened with me.'
'But I shall love having you. We can talk about England. I
love Italy, but I miss my own country, and you can tell me
how things are there now.'
'Ah, that's different, if there's something I can do for you.'
'I look forward to you staying with us a long time. Now, I
must get some sleep.'
She got into the lower bunk. Ferne climbed to the top one,
and in a few minutes there was peace and darkness.
Ferne lay listening to the hum of the train speed through
the night, trying to get her bearings. It seemed such a
short time since she'd made the impulsive decision to leave
England. Now she was here, destitute, reliant on strangers.
While she was pondering the strange path her life had taken
recently, the rhythm of the train overtook her and she fell
asleep.
She awoke to find herself desperately thirsty, and
remembered that the snack bar was open all night. Quietly
she climbed down and groped around in the darkness for her robe.
The three euros she'd found would just be enough for a
drink. Holding her breath and trying not to waken Hope, she
crept out into the corridor and made her way to the dining-car.
She was in luck. The snack bar was still open, although the
tables were deserted and the attendant was nodding off.
'I'll have a bottle of mineral water, please,' she said
thankfully. 'Oh dear, four euros. Do you have a small one?'
'I'm afraid the last small bottle has gone,' the attendant
said apologetically.
'Oh no!' It came out as a cry of frustration.
'Can I help?' asked a voice behind her.
She turned and saw Dante.
'I'm on the cadge for money,' she groaned. 'Again!
I'm desperate for something to drink.'
'Then let me buy you some champagne.'
'No, thank you, just some mineral water.'
'Champagne is better,' he said in the persuasive voice of a
man about to embark on a flirtation.
'No, water is better when you're thirsty,' she said firmly.
'Then I can't persuade you?'
'No,' she said, getting cross. 'You can't persuade me.
What you can do is step out of my way so that I can leave.
Goodnight.'
'I apologise,' he said at once. 'Don't be angry with me, I'm
just fooling.' To the bartender he added, 'Serve the lady
whatever she wants, and I'll have a whisky.'
He slipped an arm about her, touching her lightly but firmly
enough to prevent her escape, and guided her to a seat by
the window. The barman approached and she seized the bottle
of water, threw back her head and drank deeply.
'That's better,' she said at last, gasping slightly. 'I
should be the one apologising. I'm in a rotten temper, but I
shouldn't take it out on you.'