Despite her protests, the biker would not leave her, and he would not agree to wait for the police to arrive. Neither would he lend her his cell phone to call Dr. Jovi until he'd taken her somewhere warm and dry, despite her pleading. He seemed tense and jumpy, as though he couldn't stand still for a moment. He was convinced they might not come at all so late on a Saturday night in this remote area, since there were no injuries.
"Come. Let's get going."
And besides, Clio was so very, very cold. Petrified with her shivering.
She needed to get home to Florence to meet with Dr. Jovi. And also to download her photos and write up her thoughts about the little statue at the Monastery before the impressions faded. Time was short.
"What time is it? I have an appointment in Florence."
He ignored her, moving toward his bike. "We must get you clean and warm first."
"But I need…" She was too fatigued and weak to protest any longer.
He rummaged in his pannier and handed he her a t-shirt, and she considered changing into it, even in front of a stranger. Instead she used it to wipe her hands and face, and mop her sopping head. If they were quick, she could still get back to town before eight. He handed her his helmet.
"Wait!" Reality slammed her hard as she remembered her precious things. "I can't leave my car!"
"It will be towed to Montecchiello eventually. They will contact me and you can sort it out later. There is no point in staying here. You can get cleaned up and I will drive you there, or back to Florence if you prefer."
Oh, thank goodness. Hopefully she would get back in time for Dr. Jovi. "But my research..."
"Research?"
"I... oh. I can't leave my research things, my laptop, my camera, my sketchbook. They're in the trunk."
"Ah." He went to his bike, opened another compartment and pulled out a tool. A small crowbar of some kind, and marched back into the ditch, straddling it once more, and poised the tool above the inverted trunk hatch. His bike leathers stretched across his very handsome lean legs and taut backside distracted her, until he lifted the tool to her trunk.
"What are you doing? You'll break it!"
He swung his head and looked at her in such a way that clearly spoke of her poor Fiat's fate. Her heart sank. Her beautiful little car. Ruined. Finished. "Signorina. Relax. All I am doing is tickling her fanny a little." He winked at her, and his white teeth flashed in the darkness. "She will open for me in just a moment."
As if to prove him right, one jerk and the hatch popped and swung open like a flower blooming.
"They can't get wet!" she yelled, leaning forward, hands outstretched.
He deftly caught her bags as they tumbled out into his open arms.
Once they had stowed her belongings in his saddlebag, he mounted his bike. "Hurry up, Signorina…"
"Clio. Clio Sinclair McBeal."
"Clio. I'm Guillermo. Hop on and hold tight." He held his helmet out toward her. A deep rumble ripped the quiet night air as he started it up, and the warm, fuel-tinged air reached her nostrils.
"I...oh. I couldn't get on that."
He sighed, and the whites of his eyes glinted in the moonlight. "Clio. You have no choice." He swept a hand in an arc around the empty landscape as evidence.
Terrified as she was at the prospect, she was extremely uncomfortable and could see that he was right. Reluctantly, she flung a leg over the seat behind him. He reached behind and grabbed her cold arms, planting them firmly at his sides.
He pulled out. "You are going the wrong way," she shouted over the din. "Montecchiello is back there!"
"Later, later. First we must go to Pia's."
She had no idea what he meant, and no strength left to argue.
Then they were flying through the night air at an alarming speed. If she weren't so miserable, it might have been thrilling. But Clio was so cold and numb, she hardly noticed the ride. She couldn't say how far they rode, but it seemed both an eternity and an instant before they turned into a long gravel drive between stone gateposts and climbed a hill through an allee of pine and cypress trees.
Now it was full dark, and she couldn't see a thing through the helmet's visor. She simply became aware that they were no longer moving, the steady vibration and dull roar between her legs had finally ceased. He sat upright, sliding off the bike, hopping on one leg. He stood looking at her, then reached forward and pulled the helmet from her head with a slow, steady tug. She daren't even think about the horror of her muddy hair. His longish wavy dark locks were a wild tangle from the wind.
"Where are we?" Her teeth chattered.
"Come. You are cold." He turned and led the way toward a dark edifice with a dimly glowing entry portico and warm light streaming from several tall windows onto the courtyard. She hobbled after him stiffly, the gravel of the drive biting into the bare soles of her feet.
The moment they approached the door, it flew open, and a torrent of golden light, warm air, raised voices and barking dogs spilled out into the night.
"Memmo! Memmo! There you are. Why didn't you call?"
They were swept into a large rectangular hall with a high, coffered ceiling. A beautiful, curvaceous dark-haired woman was embracing and kissing her rescuer with exclamations of delight and distress. A tall, quiet man hovered in the background, closing the door against the cool night. Clio stood rigidly, eyes scanning up and around. Sconces on the smooth plastered walls flickered, shadows dancing. A large dog, no two, scrambled around them, bumping against her legs, their claws clicking on the flagstones.
The man spoke a quiet word and the dogs followed him out of the room, leaving behind a somewhat calmer atmosphere.
Clio realized she was the focus of attention, the fog lifting from her brain.
"Pia, Paulo, this is Signora… Clio, eh... Mc-a...scuzi, but I have forgotten your name already," said Guillermo, hunching slightly in a deprecating fashion, peering closely at her.
"Oh! Clio. Clio Sinclair McBeal." Clio gathered her wits and her manners, and wiping her hand on her trousers, which did nothing to rid her of dirt, thrust it toward the woman.
"Pia Cittadini. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Signora Sinclair." She shook Clio's hand, ignoring the dirt and damp, smiling warmly. She exuded warmth and comfort, and Clio felt the cold stiffness of their wet ride draining away.
"I apologize for my... my appearance. I'm afraid–"
"Pia. Pia, cara. I found this lady in a ditch. Her car was upside down. It's a wonder she is alive."
This caused the woman Pia to launch into murmurings of alarm and concern, fluttering and hovering around Clio. "My dear, how terrible. Are you not hurt at all? It is a blessing. How uncomfortable you must be. Right away we will take care of this." She clasped Clio into her motherly embrace and swept her toward a staircase, propelling her upward. "Memo, make yourself at home, caro. We will wait with dinner until you are cleaned up. Tell Paulo. I will help Signora Sinclair. Si?"
"I'm so sorry to intrude. He... um, Guillermo, he said he would give me a ride back to Florence, or Montecchiello, to see about my car. I wonder if I could use your teleph–"
"Si, si. Of course. But not like this. First you must be clean and warm and fed. Come."
And she was carried away in a gust of warm wind like Il Maestrale.
