The Runaway Visitors Read Online Free PDF Page B

for this camping trip. He felt protective towards Amanda, who was young for her age, and was genuinely fond of both his sisters, but he wanted the company of male friends. Amanda, too, was rather at a loss. There was a family not far away with two girls of about her own age, but they could speak no English and Amanda no Italian, so that shy smiles had remained the limit of their acquaintance. ‘Then let’s have Italian lessons,’ Victoria proposed at once, ‘and then you’ll be able to say something to them, and they’ll be able to help you.’ And she herself was glad to begin Italian lessons, for even with the small amount of housework she had given herself to do, time was hanging heavy on her hands. They had taken several trips into Florence, but these were by no means the picnic they sounded; for the traffic was appalling, it was nearly always impossible to find a place to park the car, Italians were in such a hurry, with their hooting and swerving and almost scraping her car, that they unnerved Victoria. On one occasion, when she had driven into Florence alone to buy sandals, she parked at last, after driving round and round the centre, on a taxi rank. Immediately, two taxi drivers rushed at her to tell her in rapid Italian that she couldn’t do that, by which time Victoria was so frustrated and annoyed that she turned on them in a fury, saying: ‘Will you tell me, then, where the hell I can park?’ and they, confronted by such beautiful anger, by flying gold hair and flashing eyes and an imperious voice addressing them in a strange language, fell back, surprised, softened.
    ‘That’s right,’ said a familiar deep voice behind her. ‘Tell them where they get off.’
    She turned again swiftly, the burnished hair describing another arc round her head. Charles Duncan was standing beside her, his eyes alight with amusement and admiration.
    ‘They’re quite right, you know,’ he said sympathetically. ‘You can’t really park there.’
    ‘I can’t park anywhere in this benighted city,’ she said stormily.
    ‘Yes, you can, if you know where,’ he said soothingly. ‘I’ll show you.’ He opened the door to the passenger seat for Victoria and took the wheel himself. ‘After driving all the way down from London,’ he said, ‘you mustn’t let yourself be put out by these vociferous Italians.’
    ‘They’re all mad,’ she declared.
    ‘No, they’re not, but they love to make a noise, and they love to rush and to make their presence felt. The way you treated them was ideal; they’ll always respect somebody else’s noise and determination. . . . Now this courtyard is the property of a friend of mine. It’s locked at night, but during the daytime I’m sure she’ll allow you to use it. I’ll ring her myself and arrange it.’ He parked the car in the quiet and peaceful courtyard, now a mass of flowering oleander, and asked:
    ‘Where were you making for when I found you?’ and when she told him, he said: ‘Well, you can’t get them now, because the sandal shop will be closed for lunch; so come and have a drink with me and perhaps that will put you in a better frame of mind.’ Victoria went with him, but she was already in a better frame of mind. The calm way in which he had taken over her car, the quietness of the courtyard he had discovered to her, the absence of the rushing traffic, had already smoothed her down. She felt sorry for her display of temper, and did not realise that it had delighted Charles Duncan, contradicting as it did the snow maiden impression she had so far created.
    They went to a large open square, much of which was liberally covered with the tables and chairs from cafes on each side of it;
    each cafe delineating its boundaries by a line of low green hedge planted in long wooden boxes which could be moved if necessary. Charles chose a table and seated Victoria where she could watch the coming and going of the crowd, and seemed surprised when she asked for a Martini to