not so much a house as a palazzo, with an imposing square tower at its centre, and she wondered if there were already faces at some of those innumerable windows scanning the countryside for a glimpse of her.
A great block of immutable stone, she thought, taking a last look over her shoulder, totally in keeping with its remote landscape, and certainly not her idea of a casa d’estate—a summer house. Its latter name, the House of the Wolf, suited it much better—as well as matching the character of its owner, she added with something of a snap, and plunged into the forest.
The path was narrow and heavily overgrown in places, but still reasonably discernible, indicating it had once been in regular use. So it could lead eventually to a hamlet or at least another house where there might be a telephone.
She tried to maintain a steady pace but it wasn’t easy with all the fallen branches and foliage underfoot, or with the ill-fitting shoes she was wearing. She could almost feel the blisters springing up.
In spite of the shade, it was hot, and she was already growing thirsty. Pity there’d been no bottled water in the storeroom, she mused, wondering how soon she’d find some sign of human habitation. She seemed to have been walking for at least an hour or more, but without her watch, how could she tell? Yet surely the sun was considerably lower than it had been when she set out?
But she’d find water soon, she assured herself. There were bound to be streams feeding the river she’d seen in the valley, and she’d just have to risk their purity.
She couldn’t, however, estimate her progress. She was no great judge of area, and these woods could well spread for acres.
There’d been plenty of woodland walks near her home when she was a child, but none of them like this. The trunks of the trees were thick and twisted, like something from an Arthur Rackham illustration. She could almost imagine gnarled arms emerging to seize her as they’d done in a scary Disney version of ‘Snow White’ she’d watched when she was little.
Shut down the imagination and stick to practicalities, she adjured herself. They’re just trees. The real nightmare is behind you. And you can’t be caught and taken back—for every kind of reason.
The forest was full of noises too: the whisper of leaves above her in the faint breeze, the rustling sounds in the bushes that flanked her path indicating the unseen presence of what she hoped were very small and friendly animals, and the shrill calling of birds which ceased abruptly at her approach.
Like a tracking device, she thought, with a faint grimace, easing her shoulders inside the stiff constriction of the linen.
And then she heard another noise, louder and more alien than anything else around her. The sound of an approaching helicopter.
Maddie gasped, shading her eyes as she stared upwards through the tangle of leaves and saw the gleaming silver body passing almost directly overhead. The increase in volume from its engine told her all too well that it was coming in to land, and she knew, heart sinking, who was almost certainly on board.
Oh, trust Andrea Valieri not to have done the conventional thing and travelled by car, she raged inwardly. And why had it never occurred to her that Casa Lupo might have a helipad?
He couldn’t possibly see her, in fact he would assume she was still safely his prisoner, but she suddenly felt as exposed as if she’d been tied naked across a rock in the sunlight.
And it wouldn’t be long now before he discovered the truth, she thought, a knot of panic tightening in her stomach. And then, like a wolf, he would begin to hunt her down.
Not immediately, of course, she told herself, trying to be optimistic. He might well think that she was hiding somewhere in the house, until someone discovered her robe and nightgown and forced him to refocus.
All the same, the path no longer seemed a blessing, but quite the reverse. She tried to calculate how long it would be before he came to look for her, and how far she could get in that time and find some kind of shelter, but her head was whirling like the blades on the helicopter, and nothing made any sense.
‘Maddalena.’ Another trick of the imagination seemed to bring her name to her on the breeze, and she shivered uncontrollably.
She thought, ‘I can’t let him find me. I can’t...’