I Remember You (24 page)

‘Leon—gone mad!’ she said.

‘Leon?’ Peter said, from behind Tess, and Tess whirled round.

‘Leonora Mortmain,’ she said. ‘The one I told you about, the old one—oh, my God, Peter, what’s she—’

By the tiny fountain, the other side of the road, stood Ron, holding his hands up in an angry gesture of denial. He looked flustered and awkward, and in front of him, shaking her head, shaking it again and again, was a small figure in black, leaning on a stick. Leonora Mortmain.

‘Come over with me,’ said Tess desperately, as the incessant traffic miraculously stopped for a few seconds. They ran across the worn-out stripes of the crossing, towards the shouting couple, Andrea next to them.

‘You’re cracked!’ Ron was shouting. ‘Bloody cracked in the head, that’s what!’ His nose was scrunched up, and one eye was twitching. ‘I ain’t listening to you no more, you lying old bitch!’

‘You killed her!’ Leonora Mortmain screamed at him, her cracked, old voice hoarse. ‘You took her away from me, and then you killed her!’ It was a terrible sound; Tess stopped in her tracks. Tourists walking past them also stopped.

‘Is she OK?’ a woman with an Irish accent asked Tess gently. ‘That lady? She’s OK?’

‘Yes, thanks,’ said Tess, not believing herself. ‘I think she’s just a bit…confused.’

‘She followed us from the hotel,’ Ron said loudly. ‘Tess, she followed us. She’s mad!’

Andrea was standing at a distance, wringing her hands. She stepped forward, then, putting her arm gently on Ron’s. ‘Doesn’t matter, Ron,’ she said, with a calm Tess had not seen her possess before. ‘Look, Mrs Mortmain,’ she said, her jaw slightly protruding. ‘What’s the problem, eh? Ooh, watch out.’

A moped swerved past them—they were still, strictly speaking, in the road—and Andrea clutched the older woman by the arm. ‘Get off me!’ Leonora Mortmain cried, her hoarse voice like the screech of a bird. A man walked past with a
dog, just an ordinary mongrel, smaller than a labrador, and it gave a soft growl. She jumped, pursing her lips, her eyes blazing wild like a little child’s.

‘I hate dogs,’ she said. ‘I hate dogs.’ She stared at Ron. ‘You know I hate dogs.’ She fiddled with her hands, her fingers writhing against her stomach, and then she looked up, suddenly, and said, ‘You took her away, didn’t you!’ She glanced around, as if suddenly realizing where she was. ‘Where is he?’ she asked, her eyes swivelling alarmingly fast.

‘Where’s who?’

Her face was a rictus of lines. ‘Philip. Where’s Philip?’

Tess misheard her. ‘Philippa? Oh, Mrs Mortmain—’

‘Not her. Not her!! I don’t want her. I said Philip! Where is he?’

‘Who’s Philip?’

The old woman stamped her stick impatiently on the ground. ‘
Philip!
I keep asking, where is he? They keep saying he’s coming…and then he doesn’t. He doesn’t come.’

Another moped shot past, this time sliding so close that Andrea gave a little scream as it stroked her skirt. Ron pulled her towards him, and Leonora too, but it was too late. The old woman’s eyes opened wide, for the final time.

‘You
are
just like me, like me,’ she said, staring at Tess with a look of blazing annoyance, almost hatred. And then her mouth clamped shut and she sank, slowly, to the ground, still staring at Tess until her eyes finally closed.

A couple of years ago, Tess had watched a programme about the restoration of the famous statue of David by Donatello, which was taking place in the Bargello Museum in Florence. The restorer was a young woman who, for eighteen months, had done nothing but gently clean the surface of the metal, so the young man’s beautiful body, poised between puberty and adulthood, was gleaming and soft perfection once more. She had worked with total dedication, the result being that each day she cleaned less than three square centimetres. And it would be worth it, she explained to the camera, for something so precious.

Tess was reminded of this all through that awful night, though she didn’t know why. Afterwards she thought it was a sign, perhaps, of how contradictory Italians are. So seemingly willing to surrender to chaos, and yet so extraordinarily organized, patient, kind, unsentimental. The ambulance that drove them to the hospital—as she sat, staring blankly, Peter asking questions in Italian, Mrs Mortmain’s tiny, stiff body lying on a stretcher—drove like a thing possessed, even though the hospital was only a couple of minutes away, the driver waving, cursing, even banging the windscreen. She had heard the ambulances’ sirens all week, ululating around
Rome. It seemed completely unreal that she should be in one now.

Thank God for Peter, she kept thinking. He had called the ambulance, he had asked them to explain what was going on. He was clearly terrified too, but she didn’t know what she would have done without him. He translated for her as they raced through the streets.

‘She says your—Mrs—lady—she’s had a stroke, probably, a kinda big one, but they need to see what damage has been done.’ He patted her hand. ‘It’ll be fine. I’m sure. The hospital’s—’ He pointed, down to the river. ‘It’s right there. The Isola Tiberina.’

Tess had noticed, as she was crossing the Tiber a couple of times, an island in the middle of the river. ‘There’s a hospital there?’

He pointed again. ‘Yep. It’s very old. Been there since, like, Roman times I think. But it’s really good.’

‘Great,’ she said, though it wasn’t, really. ‘So it’s—’

‘Literally two minutes away, Tess. It’s going to be fine.’

She wished he wouldn’t keep saying that. It wouldn’t be fine. It wasn’t fine.

Ron and Andrea had gone back to the hotel, to tell the others. Not knowing what else to do, as the ambulance arrived Tess had quickly rung Beth Kennett, the college principal, to break the news to her. The usually calm Beth had not been very reassuring.

‘Oh, God. It’s not just it’s happened to someone,’ she said. ‘It’s that it’s happened to
that
someone. Shit.’

‘Sorry,’ said Tess, not knowing what to say. She hadn’t done it on purpose, caused one of her charges to have a massive stroke. She watched as Mrs Mortmain was loaded onto a gurney and a crowd gathered around her, the afternoon sun beating down on them.

Beth sounded desperate. ‘Oh, God,’ she said again. ‘Who’s her family? I’d better call them.’

Tess paused. ‘Well, she hasn’t really got any.’

‘There must be
someone
. She can’t have no one in the world,’ Beth said.

‘I don’t know…’ Tess said. She felt as if she were being rude, highlighting the victim’s lack of family. ‘She was quite—er—solitary.’ Beth sounded brisk. ‘No husband? Why’s she called “Mrs”?’

‘She always was,’ Tess said. ‘I don’t know.’ She realized just how much she didn’t know. ‘She didn’t marry. I think. Actually, that’s a point. I don’t know who the next of kin is at all.’

‘Well, that’s what I mean,’ Beth Kennett said. ‘There must be someone. And we need to tell them.’

Tess had watched as the ambulance driver slammed the door. He gestured to her, and Peter motioned her towards the ambulance. Tess thought for a second. ‘Carolyn Tey would know. I’ll ask her. She’d know how to get hold of Jean, anyway.’

‘Jean?’

‘Her housekeeper.’

‘God, it’s like another world,’ said Beth, breathing out with something between a splutter and a sigh. ‘Fine. Can you let me know? I’ll need to talk to her. Damage control, apart from anything else. And we need to discuss what you do next, how you bring them all home, her home too, depending on what her family says, if we can get hold of them. How awful. Keep me posted, Tess. You poor thing.’

The sudden kindness in her voice made Tess wobble a bit, as the shock of what had happened, the heat, the lack of sleep, all started to catch up with her. She nodded, unable to speak, and then realized that merely meant silence. ‘Thanks,’ she croaked.

‘
Andiamo!
’ the driver had called. ‘
Signorina, basta, basta!
’

Tess said her goodbyes and climbed into the back of the ambulance. She caught a last glimpse of the bridge, the tourists swarming around the fountain again, almost as if this had
never happened there. The vehicle sped off, and she jolted a little. Someone put their hand on her leg and she jumped.

She looked up: it was Peter. She clasped his hand.

‘Thank you,’ she said, trying to sound brave. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’ She looked out of the window at the scenery rushing past, trying to make things out, but everything was a blur.

The hospital was extremely old, but the wing where the ambulance took them was relatively new, with period seventies decorations oddly contrasting with marble statues of priests in clerical outfits. It was staffed by nuns. They were not kind, but they were efficient, showing Tess and Peter to a row of seats, telling them to wait. And wait and wait. They sat in a long, long corridor that seemed to go on for ever, down towards who knew what. It was very quiet, strangely so, as if the presence of the nuns subdued everyone, patients, doctors, those waiting for news.

Peter was silent. He held her hand, stroking her leg again.

‘You should go,’ Tess told him several times. ‘I’ll be fine, here, honestly.’

‘No, you won’t,’ said Peter truthfully. ‘I’ll go if you want me to go, but I can speak to someone, if anyone ever appears to tell us what’s going on…’

‘It’s fine, someone’ll be here soon.’ Tess moved his hand off her leg, again.

He smiled at her. ‘I don’t like doing nothing.’ He got up, with the confidence of the American in an international situation, and set off to find a nurse, a doctor, anyone who might be able to help them.

Realizing they had been sitting down now for the best part of an hour, Tess got up too, and went outside, out onto the old bridge. She dialled the phone again, thanking the Lord once again that in a rare moment of efficiency—for such a crisis as this—she’d entered all her companions’ numbers in, before the trip. ‘Hello?’ she said.

‘Who’s that?’ a reassuringly familiar voice demanded.

‘Jan, it’s me, Tess. I thought I’d dialled Carolyn’s number. Is she there?’

‘No, she’s downstairs. How is she? Where are you?’

‘I’m at the hospital, and we’re waiting for news.’

‘She’s still alive then, is she?’

Tess paused. ‘As far as I know…yes, she’s still alive.’ It was so odd, her mouth framing these words. ‘Has Carolyn got through to Jean?’

‘She’s rather upset,’ Jan said.

‘Of course,’ said Tess, gritting her teeth.

‘Diana’s doing it,’ said Jan.

‘Diana?’ Tess was surprised. ‘She’s got Jean’s number, then?’

‘She said she knows who to contact.’ Jan sounded just the tiniest bit put out. ‘I have to slightly say, Tess dear, it has been Chaos here for the past hour. Anyway, order has been restored. I did actually think that Diana might slap Carolyn. She got rather hysterical. Anyway, she’s made the call. Jean will know what to do, she’s a sensible woman.’

Tess had only met Jean Forbes a couple of times, but she knew this was true. She stared up past the hospital, out to the early-evening sky. ‘I hope so,’ she said. I feel wholly responsible, she wanted to say, but she didn’t. ‘Well, keep me posted, if they get hold of anyone.’

There was murmuring in the background; Tess could hear Jan’s excitable tones, muffled by something—a hand?—over the phone. Then a voice said, ‘Tess? Diana here.’

‘Oh, Diana,’ Tess said, relieved. ‘Great to—’

‘Is she still alive, then?’

‘Yes,’ said Tess. ‘She’s still alive. Listen, did you—’

‘Don’t worry about it at this end,’ Diana said. ‘Got through to them, Jean knows, she’s told Clive Donaldson.’

‘Clive—?’

‘Eddie Tey’s successor.’ Tess remembered him. ‘Solicitor. Handles all the Mortmain business in Langford. They’ve got
another set in London, proper posh lot but for the moment he’ll know what’s best. There are things they have to do in a situation like this.’

‘Things like what?’ Tess asked.

Diana said, without preamble, ‘Look, I can’t explain all that now. You’d better go, Tess. Goodbye.’ And the line went dead. Tess went back inside.

‘Where did you go?’ Peter was standing there with a doctor, a smart-looking woman in a white coat. ‘This is your lady’s doctor.’

‘
Buona sera
—’ Tess began, knowing a conversation with medical lingo in Italian was beyond her. ‘
La vecchia femina…
’

‘Good evening,’ said the doctor, in a low, scarcely accented voice, giving her a swift look. ‘I am Francesca Veltroni, I am Signora Mortmain’s doctor.’

‘Hello,’ said Tess, shaking her hand. ‘Dr Veltroni—how is she?’

‘I am afraid the prognosis is not good,’ said the doctor. She pronounced each word deliberately, carefully, separating
not
and
good
with a glottal stop. ‘Signora Mortmain has suffered an extremely serious stroke. She is not conscious.
Penso che
—’ she paused. ‘I think she will not recover from this, Miss—’ and she looked down at her notes—‘Miss Tennant. But we will know more in the morning, I think, about how stable her condition is.’ She raised her delicate eyebrows at Tess, who looked uncertainly at Peter, standing next to her. He was nodding, taking it all in. Gratitude to him washed over her. She smiled at him, and he smiled back, gave her a wink.

‘You can go back to your hotel,’ Dr Veltroni said. ‘You are nearby?’

‘Just in Trastevere, a ten-minute walk.’

The doctor nodded. ‘That is con—’ she hesitated over the word—‘convenient. I would, if I were you, go back to your companions tonight, and please try to sleep. Tomorrow, we look again at Signora Mortmain. Perhaps the situation will be better.’

‘Dr Veltroni, should she stay here? Or go back to England?’

‘She is in a stable condition,’ Dr Veltroni said. ‘As I have said, we will know more in the morning. Of course she can stay here. But her family might want to take her home, to make alternative arrangements for her care.’

‘That’s just it,’ said Tess. ‘There are no alternative arrangements.’ She smiled at the doctor, thinking of the scared group back at the hotel, the mortally ill woman in the room next door, Beth Kennett pacing in her office at Langford College, and she tried to quell the rising tide of panic, to summon all her strength to deal with it all, now.
I don’t know what to do
, she thought, as both Peter and the doctor, strangers a week ago, stared expectantly at her.
They are all relying on me, and I don’t know what on earth to do.