Lucy Gordon - Married Under the Italian Sun

There was no warning of what happened next. She felt the movement of earth beneath her feet and the next moment she was sliding away under the railing, going down, lashing out frantically for something to grab.

For one terrifying moment, she thought there was nothing. Then her fingers touched metal and she tightened, and held on. She managed to reach up her other hand and clench that too on the railing, but her relief lasted only a split second. She’d checked her descent, but she was hanging over a sheer drop.

‘Help!’ she screamed. ‘Help!’

But she might as well have been in the middle of a wilderness. Nobody on the estate knew that she was here, and it was unlikely that anyone could see her from so far below. Even if they could, it would take time for help to arrive, and she wasn’t sure how long she could cling on.

‘Help!’ she screamed again. It might be useless, but she couldn’t stop.

Still, there was nobody to help her.

She fought to get a foothold, but her legs scrambled uselessly in space. She was already running out of energy because, with her arms stretched above her head, it was hard to breathe. Now sheer terror attacked her, making breathing even harder.

She cried out again, but the wind whipped her words away and brought no answer. She would simply hang here for hours, unnoticed by anyone, until exhaustion overtook her and she fell.

A NGEL CRIED OUT AGAIN ,and this time it wasn’t a word but a long scream of agony.

‘All right, I’m coming.’

At first she wasn’t sure she’d heard the words. The wind snatched them away, then returned them in an echo.

‘Help!’ she screamed again, frantic with hope and fear.

But she could hear no reply. She’d imagined it. Nobody was coming to help her, and very soon she would be dead.

‘I’m here.’

The next moment a head appeared above her. She thought she was hallucinating as she saw it was Vittorio, but he dropped to his knees, then lay flat on the ground.

‘All right,’ he called. ‘Don’t panic. Here-’

He was reaching out his hand, wrapping his fingers around her wrist where she was still gripping the iron rail. Then the other hand, so that he held both wrists.

‘You’re going to have to let go of the rail,’ he said.

‘I can’t-’

‘You must,’ he said patiently. ‘I can’t pull you up while you’re holding it. Trust me.’

But her fingers seemed frozen, defying her will to move them. While she fought to make herself do what she must, there was an ominous crumbling sound, and a little more of the cliff slipped away beneath her. Looking up, she saw that most of it had come from the ground where he was lying, leaving a big hole beneath his upper body.

‘Don’t think about that,’ he said, his face just above her.

‘How can I? You’re lying on nothing.’

‘The hole gives me more room to pull you up. Be positive and trust me. Let go of that rail.’

Gasping, she did so, and immediately felt his hands tighten on her wrists, drawing her up, into the gap that crumbled further as she went through. He was inching back slowly-slowly-until he reached a place where he could draw himself up to his knees. As he did so his forearms were forced to take more of her weight, causing his fingers to tighten on her wrists. She gasped at the sheer power of that grip, and, with her eyes fixed on his face, she could see the terrible strain it cost him.

‘One more heave,’ he gasped.

On the words he yanked back sharply, so that Angel slid swiftly through the gap beneath the rail and landed on the ground, feeling it blessedly firm beneath her body.

She was safe, but that was only a word, and it had no power against the gasping and shuddering that seized her.

‘Oh, God,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, God!’

He put his arms right round her, pulling her hard against the length of his body and holding her there without moving or speaking. She clung to him in return, knowing that if he let her go she would start screaming. She tried to stop herself shaking but it was useless. The safety of the ground beneath her was an illusion, and only he could keep her safe.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked after a while.

‘No,’ she said abruptly. ‘I think-I’m going to have hysterics. Sorry about that.’

‘Don’t be sorry,’ he said, almost impatiently. ‘Nothing wrong with hysterics. Have them if you like.’

After that nothing could have stopped her. Her gasps turned into whooping, her shaking became violent tremors, and tears poured helplessly down her face. It didn’t seem to faze Vittorio. He just tightened his arms, so that an already firm grip became one of steel.

There was nothing gentle or tender about this. It was less an embrace than an imprisonment, but that was what she needed to guard herself from the worst, until the world became steady again, the storm passed and she managed to say, ‘Damn, damn, damn! I thought I had more guts than that.’

He loosened his grip just enough to look at her face. His own was close enough for her to feel his breath fanning her lips.

‘Why?’ he asked mildly. ‘You were a hair’s breadth away from falling to your death. Has that ever happened before?’

‘No.’

‘Then why should you think you should cope?’

‘Well, we both know now that I can’t,’ she snapped, furious with herself and, obscurely, with him.

‘So what? Did someone pass a law saying that you had to be a superwoman? Or is that just what the rest of us are supposed to think?’

‘Will you shut up?’ she snapped.

He grinned. ‘That’s better. Come on. You’re ready to stand.’

She didn’t feel ready, but he seemed to know her better than she did herself, so she allowed him to help her to her feet.

‘Where’s your car?’ he asked.

‘I walked.’

‘Then it’ll have to be my car. It’s just over there.’

His car was small and shabby. Angel eased herself thankfully into the front passenger seat, closed her eyes, and didn’t open them again until they pulled up outside the villa.

‘The padrona needs a good, stiff drink,’ Vittorio told Berta, who bustled out.

‘We both do,’ Angel said, leading the way into the large room that opened onto the garden through tall windows.

Berta produced whisky and two glasses, and Vittorio poured for them both. Angel drank hers in one gulp.

‘Do you need another?’ he asked, holding out the bottle.

‘No, thanks. I don’t normally drink spirits at all, but this was different. Thank goodness you were there. How did that happen?’

‘You mean how dare I still be on your property after you ordered me off?’

‘Not exactly. After all, you saved my life. I owe you for that.’

‘You don’t owe me any favours. It wouldn’t have suited me at all for you to die. Everyone would have thought I’d murdered you.’

His brisk, common-sense manner was a relief. There would be no need for melodramatics along the lines of, My hero!

‘Surely not!’ Angel said ironically. ‘Why would anyone think you wanted to murder me? I know you hate the sight of me, but who knows about it-apart from everyone in the area?’

He grimaced. ‘All right, you’ve made your point.’

‘Then tell me, what were you doing there?’

‘I went to look at the cliff.’

‘You knew it was dangerous?’

‘Only since late last night. Rico called me and said he’d noticed that it was dangerous at that point. He didn’t know what to do.’

‘He could have told me.’

He gave her an ironic look.

‘The poor lad is scared stiff of you. He came to me because that’s what he’s always done. I said I’d check it today, and that’s why I was there. I was going to cordon it off, then come to inform you.’