‘We could maybe spend a couple of hours tomorrow morning taking a good look around Bologna and then head north to Ferrara and then Padua. They’re both lovely cities, but less well known than Venice and Pisa. I used to live in Padua so I should be able to show you a few places that are off the beaten track.’
This all sounded great to Emma, although her number one priority at the moment was trying to engineer a bit of one-to-one time with Mark so as to do what Erasmus had recommended and tell him how she felt. Annoyingly, the others appeared perfectly happy to sit and chat until sunset and they started thinking about dinner. Mark dashed off to check in and have a shower and Emma very nearly went with him, but bottled out at the last moment. So it was that they were all together at eight o’clock as they walked through the still warm streets in search of a restaurant, with Emma fretting silently.
Dinner was good, but nothing like as good as the food they had enjoyed over the weekend. Marina and Mark told her that Bologna and the flat lands to the north of here were famous for pasta and, of course, she knew the most iconic of all pasta dishes was spaghetti bolognese. Mark was quick to point out that this wasn’t strictly accurate.
‘Rocco, our chef at the villa, told me the locals here would never dream of putting spaghetti with their bolognese sauce. They think thin pasta doesn’t collect the full flavour of the meaty sauce and they prefer something chunkier like tagliatelle, or even pappardelle.’ He grinned at them. ‘Sorry to sound a bit nerdy.’
Rich immediately opted to try the local speciality to see whether it matched up to the American version while Emma limited herself to a chicken salad. She was feeling unusually nervous, still determined to tell Mark how she felt, even though she was ever more convinced that they were on a hiding to nothing.
At the end of the meal, after a powerful espresso, she finally managed to get him alone. Rich and Marina headed off to bed while she and Mark decided to take a stroll around the old town centre. It was still very warm and she felt decidedly sticky, but this might also have been nerves. They walked in silence for some minutes, heading away from the main square and into a maze of narrow streets. It was as they were walking down a deserted lane, little more than a back alley, that she finally heard him start to tell her what she had been hoping to hear for so long.
‘Emma, this past week’s been the most wonderful week I’ve spent in years.’
‘We’ve been to some wonderful places.’
‘Yes, but I’m not talking about the places. The reason it’s been so amazing is because of you.’
Emma caught her breath, conscious that he was maybe reaching some sort of epiphany. She didn’t say a word, but just reached over and caught hold of his arm with both her hands, leaning closer to him as he continued.
‘I’ve had a tough few years.’ He hesitated and she could tell he was struggling to find the right words. ‘Mentally and physically, they haven’t been easy.’ She heard him take a deep breath. ‘My whole life’s changed beyond all recognition and it’s taken me a long, long time to get my head round it.’
As he spoke, a figure appeared, coming towards them down the narrow lane and she pressed herself tighter against Mark to allow him to pass. But he didn’t pass. He stopped, right in front of them, blocking their way, and she felt Mark tense. The man was about the same height as Mark and thickset. His long, straggly hair was unkempt, his eyes wild and his expression menacing. A bolt of fear suddenly ran through Emma and she shrank back.
‘Sono senza soldi. Dovete aiutarmi.’ His voice was low and hoarse, his attitude confrontational, as he told them he had no money and they had to help him. No please, no thank you. This wasn’t a request; it was an order. Emma reached for her purse, but as she pulled it out of her bag, the man’s hand suddenly snaked out and caught hold of it, tearing it roughly from her grip. Instinctively, she tried to grab it back, but as she did so, there was a movement in the shadows beside them and a second man emerged and, to her horror, he was brandishing a vicious-looking knife.
‘Turn around and run away or you’ll regret it.’
Emma couldn’t quite understand everything he growled at them, but his message was crystal clear. The man holding her purse grinned and turned to Mark. ‘But, first, I want your wallet.’
Emma felt Mark push her gently backwards until he was between her and the two men. She saw him reach into the back pocket of his shorts and pull out his wallet. As his hand emerged holding it, he addressed them.
‘Here, take it. I don’t want any trouble.’
Then, as the first man reached for it, Mark tossed it into the air and, as the man lunged for it, things happened very quickly; so quickly that afterwards, even when she was able to think rationally once more, Emma couldn’t recall the exact order of what happened next. Mark somehow sprang sideways and shot his foot upwards at an impossible angle at amazing speed, catching the man with the knife under the jaw and sending him backwards into the wall with a sickening thud. Before this man had even slumped to the ground, Mark’s fist caught the other man on the side of the head and, simultaneously, he chopped him to the floor with another kick. Emma saw Mark drop to one knee, there was the sound of another blow, and then silence.
‘Emma.’ His voice was unexpectedly calm. ‘There were two policemen back by the chemist’s shop just before we turned off. Can you go back and tell them to come here, please?’ As she stood there, rooted to the spot by the speed and violence of what she had just witnessed, he spoke again and she finally reacted. ‘It’s all right, Emma. I’ve got things under control. Just fetch the police, would you?’
‘Are… are you all right?’ Her voice was little more than a whisper.
‘I’m fine, Emma, now go. Police. Okay?’
She turned and ran back down the alley as fast as she could and out into the main street again. To her considerable relief the two policemen were still standing a bit further along, under the arches of the portico. As they heard her running footsteps, they turned towards her and she hastened to pass on Mark’s message. Her Italian was flaky, but they quickly understood and she led them back into the alley at a run.
* * *
Mark and Emma were taken to the police station in a police car while their two assailants were removed in an ambulance under guard. On the way, she was dimly aware of Mark talking quietly to the police officers and when they got to the police station she was given a little plastic cup of strong coffee and asked to wait while Mark disappeared into a side office to give a full account of what had happened.
As she sat on a long wooden bench in the echoing corridor, she did her best to pull herself together. She had no previous experience of anything like this and she could feel her hands trembling. In spite of the warm evening, she suddenly began to feel cold but she did her best to tell herself she was just in shock, and gritted her teeth to stop them from chattering. Mercifully, Mark came back before too long. He must have realised the state she was in as he sat down close beside her and stretched his arm around her shoulders, hugging her tightly against his chest. She felt him lean down towards her and kiss the top of her head. In spite of the circumstances, it felt good and she snuggled even closer against him.
‘I’ve told them what happened. The two men are already known to them and I get the impression they’ll throw the book at them. They don’t like knife crime here.’ She felt his arm give her a reassuring squeeze. ‘Anyway, it’s all over now and we’re fine. We just have to wait until they’ve typed up the statement and then we can go.’ He squeezed her again. ‘How’re you holding up?’