Widow - Anne Stuart [102]
“Thank God,” Charlie breathed. “Maguire…?” She reached out for him again, and he let out a yelp of pain.
“I’m surviving,” he said bitterly. “Though I’m not sure I want to.”
The dust was slowly settling. The night sky was brilliant overhead, the moon shining down brightly on the pile of stones in front of them. Half the remaining church had collapsed, and the old pew lay across the pile like a headstone. Tomaso, Lauretta and Madame Antonella were buried beneath it, crushed by the stone.
“Jesus,” Maguire breathed. “Will you look at that?”
“They’re dead,” Charlie said.
“Not that. Look behind you.”
She turned. The other half of the crypt had caved in as well, crushing Pompasse’s stolen paintings, crushing what remained of the women Madame Antonella had killed. The only place left standing was the small area where Charlie, Olivia and Maguire had taken shelter.
“I don’t believe it,” Maguire said, shaking his head. Dust and bits of stone fell onto his shoulders. “It’s a bloody miracle.”
“I think I’m going to faint,” Charlie said in a wavery voice.
“Forget about it. I can’t carry you with this bum arm. You’ve made it this far—you can make it back to the villa.”
“Besides,” Olivia said, struggling to her feet. “If anyone’s fainting it’ll be me. I’ve been through quite enough today. It’s not in my nature to be a heroine, and I think I’ve done quite splendidly, but now I need a hot bath and a rest cure. And some healthy young man to take my mind off my aches.”
“You can’t have mine,” Charlie said.
“Yours, eh?” Olivia murmured. “I don’t think he knew that.”
Charlie looked up at Maguire. He had a bemused expression on his face, as if he wasn’t quite sure he liked what he was hearing.
“Definitely mine,” Charlie said firmly.
“We’ll have to discuss that,” Maguire said. “In the meantime, let’s get the hell out of here.”
The climb back down the hillside was endless. Despite Olivia’s jauntiness she was in worse shape than she had admitted. A shard of stone had cut into her leg and she was bleeding down her silk dupioni pants and into her Ferragamos. Maguire couldn’t carry her, but he used his good arm to support her down the treacherous path, and Charlie had no choice but to follow after them as best she could in her bare feet.
Their slow pace had one advantage—they had time to come up with a reasonable story. No reason for the police to know what really happened, Olivia had argued persuasively. Think of the scandal. There was no bringing Pompasse back, and besides, he’d deserved what Madame Antonella had dished out. If the three of them just stuck to the same story it would all be over quickly, with a minimum of fuss.
And Maguire said nothing.
The villa was ablaze with lights, providing a precious beacon to guide them down. The polizia met them partway up the hill, a strong young sergeant scooping Olivia up in his manly arms and carrying her the rest of the way down. Another one tried to help Charlie, but a dangerous glare from Maguire had him backing away apologetically.
“Did I tell you I called the police before I came after you? I had a feeling something was wrong. Such a terrible accident up there at the old ruin,” Olivia murmured from the young man’s arms. She sounded as if she were enjoying herself tremendously. “Very farsighted, don’t you think?”
Maguire said nothing.
They took him away from her, before they had a chance to speak. They took her mother, as well—both of them needed the hospital. Which left Charlie to come up with the answers, when all she wanted to do was curl up in a little ball and go to sleep.
It was almost dawn before they finished with her, finished with their endless questions, but they seemed to believe her. Almost dawn before the ambulance came back, bringing her mother. Only her mother.
“Where’s Maguire?” Charlie demanded abruptly.
“Yes, I’m fine, so nice of you to be worried,” Olivia said sweetly. “An ungrateful child is sharper than a serpent’s tooth or something like…”
“‘How sharper