The Danger

'Yes?'

'It could transmit and receive on aircraft frequencies.'

I blinked. 'That's not usual, is it?'

'Not very. And it was tuned to the international emergency frequency… which is monitored all the time, and which certainly did not pick up any messages between kidnappers. We checked at the airport this morning.'

I shook my head in frustration. Pucinelli went off with eagerness to his interrogations, and I returned to the villa.

Alessia said, 'Do you mind if I ask you something?'

'Fire away.'

'I asked Papa but he won't answer, which I suppose anyway is an answer of sorts.' She paused. 'Did I have any clothes on, when you found me?'

'A plastic raincoat,' I said matter-of-factly.

'Oh.'

I couldn't tell whether the answer pleased her or not. She remained thoughtful for a while, and then said, 'I woke up here in a dress I haven't worn for years. Aunt Luisa and Ilaria say they don't know how it happened. Did Papa dress me? Is that why he's so embarrassed?'

'Didn't you expect to have clothes on?' I asked curiously.

'Well… ' She hesitated.

I lifted my head. 'Were you naked… all the time?'

She moved her thin body restlessly in the armchair as if she would sink into it, out of sight. 'I don't want…' she said; and broke off, swallowing, while in my mind I finished the sentence. Don't want everyone to know.

It's all right,' I said. 'I won't say.'

We were sitting in the library, the evening fading to dark, the heat of the day diminishing; freshly showered, casually dressed, waiting in the Cenci household routine to be joined by everyone for a drink or two before dinner. Alessia's hair was again damp, but she had progressed as far as lipstick.

She gave me short glances of inspection, not sure of me.

'Why are you here?' she said. 'Papa says he couldn't have got through these weeks without you, but… I don't really understand.'

I explained my job.

'An advisor?'

'That's right.'

She thought for a while, her gaze wandering over my face and down to my hands and up again to my eyes. Her opinions were unreadable, but finally she sighed, as if making up her mind.

'Well… advise me too,' she said. 'I feel very odd. Like jet lag, only much worse. Time lag. I feel as if I'm walking on tissue paper. As if nothing's real. I keep wanting to cry. I should be deliriously happy… why aren't I?'

'Reaction,' I said.

'You don't know… you can't imagine… what it was like.'

'I've heard from many people what it's like. From people like you, straight back from kidnap. They've told me. The first bludgeoning shock, the not being able to believe it's happening. The humiliations, forced on you precisely to make you afraid and defenceless. No bathrooms. Sometimes no clothes. Certainly no respect. No kindness or gentleness of any sort. Imprisonment, no one to talk to, nothing to fill the mind, just uncertainty and fear… and guilt… Guilt that you didn't escape at the beginning, guilt at the distress brought on your family, guilt at what a ransom will cost… and fear for your life… if the money can't be raised… or if something goes wrong… if the kidnappers panic.'

She listened intently, at first with surprise and then with relief. 'You do know. You do understand. I haven't been able to say… I don't want to upset them… and also… also…'

'Also you feel ashamed,' I said.

'Oh.' Her eyes widened. 'I… Why do I?'

'I don't know, but nearly everyone does.'

'Do they?'

'Yes.'

She sat quiet for a while, then she said, 'How long will it take… for me to get over it?'

To that there was no answer. 'Some people shake it off almost at once,' I said. 'But it's like illness, or a death… you have to grow scar tissue.'

Some managed it in days, some in weeks, some in years; some bled for ever. Some of the apparently strong disintegrated most. One couldn't tell, not on the day after liberation.

Ilaria came into the room in a stunning scarlet and gold toga and began switching on the lamps.

'It was on the radio news that you're free,' she said to Alessia. 'I heard it upstairs. Make the most of the peace, the paparazzi will be storming up the drive before you can blink.'

Alessia shrank again into her chair and looked distressed. Ilaria, it occurred to me uncharitably, had dressed for such an event: another statement about not wanting to be eclipsed.

'Does your advice stretch to paparazzi?' Alessia asked weakly, and I nodded, 'If you like.'

Ilaria patted the top of my head as she passed behind my chair. 'Our Mr Fixit. Never at a loss.'

Paolo Cenci himself arrived with Luisa, the one looking anxious, the other fluttery, as usual.

'Someone telephoned from the television company,' Cenci said. 'They say a crew is on the way here. Alessia, you'd better stay in your room until they've gone.'

I shook my head. 'They'll just camp on your doorstep. Better, really, to get it over.' I looked at Alessia. 'If you could possibly… and I know it's hard… make some sort of joke, they'll go away quicker.'

She said in bewilderment, 'Why?'

'Because good news is brief news. If they think you had a really bad time, they'll keep on probing. Tell them the kidnappers treated you well, say you're glad to be home, say you'll be back on the racecourse very soon. If they ask you anything which it would really distress you to answer, blank the thoughts out and make a joke.'

'I don't know… if I can.'

'The world wants to hear that you're all right,' I said. 'They want to be reassured, to see you smile. If you can manage it now it will make your return to normal life much easier. The people you know will greet you with delight… they won't find meeting you uncomfortable, which they could if they'd seen you in hysterics.'

Cenci said crossly, 'She's not in hysterics.'

'I know what he means,' Alessia said. She smiled wanly at her father. 'I hear you're paying for the advice, so we'd better take it.'

Once mobilised, the family put on a remarkable show, like actors on stage. For Ilaria and Luisa it was least difficult, but for Cenci the affable host role must have seemed bizarre, as he admitted the television people with courtesy and was helpful about electric plugs and moving furniture. A second television crew arrived while the first was still setting up, and after that several cars full of reporters, some from international news agencies, and a clatter of photographers. Ilaria moved like a scarlet bird among them, gaily chatting, and even Luisa was appearing gracious, in her unfocused way.

I watched the circus assemble from behind the almost closed library door, while Alessia sat silent in her armchair, developing shadows under her eyes.

'I can't do it,' she said.

'They won't expect a song and dance act. Just be… normal.'

'And make a joke.'

'Yes.'

'I feel sick,' she said.

'You're used to crowds,' I said. 'Used to people staring at you. Think of being…' I groped, '… in the winner's circle. Lots of fuss. You're used to it, which gives you a shield.'

She merely swallowed, but when her father came for her she walked out and faced the barrage of flashlights and questions without cracking. I watched from the library door, listening to her slow, clear Italian,

'I'm delighted to be home with my family. Yes, I'm fine. Yes, I hope to be racing again very soon.'

The brilliant lighting for the television cameras made her look extra pale, especially near the glowing Ilaria, but the calm half-smile on her face never wavered.

'No, I never saw the kidnappers' faces. They were very… discreet.'

The newsgatherers reacted to the word, with a low growing rumble of appreciation.

'Yes, the food was excellent… if you liked tinned pasta.'

Her timing was marvellous: this time she reaped a full laugh.

'I've been living in the sort of tent people take on holiday. Size? A single bedroom… about that size. Yes… quite comfortable… I listened to music, most of the time.'

Her voice was quiet, but rock-steady. The warmth of the newsmen towards her came over clearly now in their questions, and she told them an open sports car had proved a liability and she regretted having caused everyone so much trouble.