‘No! Fermatevi!’ Detective Gallo yelled uselessly, waving his hands in the direction of the helicopter. It was at least fifty metres away and beginning to lift from the ground; he knew his actions were futile, but instinct told him to try. ‘Don’t let them leave! They are in danger!’
His words caused alarm amongst the patrons on the terrace – there were gasps and shocked cries as everyone craned to see what was happening. Edoardo and Nicolò ran through the gardens, while Detective Gallo approached from the terrace. Some of the onlookers appeared uncertain, wondering whether this was all part of the movie.
Every eye was turned towards the gleaming black helicopter as its blades spun and it started to lift from the ground, but it was gaining little height as it moved out over the rocky wall at the edge of the Isola dell’Angelo, moving parallel to the jetty, hovering above the rippling sea below. Then Marco swung the controls and the helicopter turned towards the city, before an ominous spluttering noise came from the engine.
It was as though everyone watching held their breath, sheer horror visible on every face. The rotor blades juddered and slowed, then a deathly hush fell over the scene as the engine cut out entirely. In silence, the helicopter juddered towards the icy waters of the lagoon.
Inside the helicopter, Lucia was sitting in the back – much to her chagrin, Daniela had been given the seat beside her father – and Lucia stared out of the window as the chopper rose higher, admiring the views of Venice across the water. She turned back to look at the White Palace, and the people growing smaller below; she could pick out Gina in her camel-coloured coat amongst the sea of black, and felt a wave of loathing for this woman who’d upset all her plans. Lucia would make good on her threat, and speak to that detective just as soon as she returned to the hotel.
The helicopter made an odd noise, and she glanced across at Marco. His face was set in absolute concentration, speaking in a low voice to the control tower, pressing half a dozen buttons that flashed red and yellow. Lucia looked back towards the White Palace and saw some kind of commotion – figures running from the gardens and the terrace towards the helipad where they’d just taken off.
Was that Edoardo and another man waving to them from the jetty?
‘Something’s not right, brace yourselves quickly,’ Marco said, with a frantic urgency in his voice.
‘Marco …’ she began, but Lucia never got a chance to finish her sentence. The rotor blades stuttered and stalled. Then there was a microsecond of total silence, apart from Daniela’s scream as the helicopter listed like a butterfly with a broken wing. There was no time to do anything. Marco was already grappling with the controls, to try and guide their descent. They were losing what little height they had too fast to make it back to the island, but Marco tilted the helicopter round, aiming it towards the wooden jetty. The water was coming at them fast, and the last thing Lucia heard was Marco shouting, ‘Brace!’ before the chopper careered into the jetty and Lucia blacked out.
‘Pie Jesu Domine, Dona eis requiem …’
Lucia Santi’s high, sweet voice rang out across the church, mesmerizing the congregation. She was only thirteen years old, but already her mastery of her craft was superlative; she had a unique gift, and she was determined it would be her way out of the small town of Cannegia. She sang at every opportunity she could, hoping to be discovered, praying to God that he would send a rich and famous music producer to the church one week where he would be bowled over by Lucia’s talent.
Her eyes scanned the crowd, hoping for an unfamiliar face, but she saw the same people she always did, week in and week out.
‘Pie Jesu Domine, Dona eis requiem, Sempiternam requiem …’
Her gaze landed on one of the older girls from her school. Her name was Maria Monti, and Lucia wished she could be just like her. Lucia’s mother still dressed her in frilly dresses and put her hair in pigtails, but Maria – even in her plain frocks with her hair in a single plait – looked like a woman. Lucia had noticed, and the boys had begun to notice too.
Lucia desperately wanted to be noticed. She wanted to be like Maria Monti – grown-up and beautiful and sexy.
When Mass had finished, and the congregation spilled out of the church, Lucia stood apart from her family and watched the goings-on from behind a wide oak tree. She could see Maria, who looked as bored as she was, standing beside her mother, twisting her long dark hair around one finger.
‘Boo!’ shouted Lucia’s brother, as he discovered her hiding place. ‘Who are you spying on?’
‘No one,’ retorted Lucia, embarrassed at having been caught out. ‘Go away. Shoo!’
Her brother ran off laughing, and when Lucia turned back to look, Maria Monti was gone. Lucia frowned, scanning the churchyard for her. Then she noticed her, slipping out of the gate and hurrying along the road without glancing behind her.
As Lucia watched, she noticed Lorenzo Mancini take the same route a few moments later. Lorenzo was in his early twenties and very handsome. Lucia had a crush on him, and she wondered what he was doing going after Maria. Were they secretly courting? Had they arranged a rendezvous?
Unable to resist the suggestion of a clandestine secret, like a moth drawn to a flame, Lucia followed them. She left the churchyard without telling her family, knowing that none of them would care where she was as long as she was home in time to do her chores. Keeping Lorenzo in sight, she crept after him as he turned off the road, heading up the hill and through the woods.
Lucia was daydreaming as she went, and almost didn’t notice that Lorenzo had stopped. She quickly hid behind a tree and realized the reason that he’d gone no further: Maria Monti was standing in the clearing in front of him.
On the Isola dell’Angelo, everyone was panicking. The onlookers rushed to the edge, peering into the water below. The helicopter was barely fifty metres from where they were standing, but it might just as well be fifty miles. It had crash-landed half-on and half-off the jetty; the wooden structure had broken its fall but the wooden planks at the end had been destroyed. The helicopter skids were tangled in the beams, and the chopper was fast taking on water.
‘The boats,’ Gina screamed, searching for the head boatman. ‘Leo, take the boats round!’
He didn’t need to be told twice; he had already sprung into action, sprinting down the stone steps towards the speedboats that ferried the guests across the lagoon to the city. Out on the water, other vessels whose pilots had seen what had happened turned and headed towards the crash site to try and help.
The helicopter was slowly sinking, though the jetty was slowing its descent. The cockpit was filling with water and tilting forwards, the tail sticking out of the water at forty-five degrees. As Gina watched helplessly, she saw Marco tugging at Daniela’s seat belt; he managed to free her and then forced open the door, wrapping his arm around Daniela’s waist as the two of them rose, spluttering, to the surface. But the boats were still a distance away, and the two of them were trying desperately to stay afloat in the freezing February waters of the Adriatic, buffeted by waves that scudded across the surface. Daniela clung to her father as Marco fought to catch hold of the wooden pillars supporting the jetty, which would allow them to climb up to safety. Gina watched with her heart in her mouth, counting down the seconds until the boats could reach them.
She glanced back towards the helicopter which tilted and lurched. It was taking on more water and had become increasingly unstable since Marco and Daniela had scrambled out in a panic. And then Gina realized – Lucia de Santis was still strapped into the back seat, slumped forward and motionless. Gina looked around desperately, but the boats were still too far away as the helicopter slipped deeper beneath the surface with every passing second.
Instinctively, Gina began to run. She sprinted towards the edge of the island, to where rough steps were hewn into the rock alongside the jetty. All around her people were shouting, but it was as if she was being driven by an unseen hand, her reactions on lightning speed. As she ran, Gina threw off her coat, then stepped out of her shoes, discarding them in her wake.
Marco and Daniela had made it onto the jetty and were lying there, soaking and exhausted. Marco’s eyes widened in alarm as he saw Gina and realized what she was planning to do.
‘No,’ he yelled. ‘You can’t. It’s too dangerous.’
‘There’s no time!’
Gina hesitated for a fraction of a second as she reached the end of the splintered jetty, almost within touching distance of the helicopter, bracing herself for the icy waters. And then she dived.
I won’t let someone die again …
The lagoon was freezing, like a sharp slap to the face, her skin tingling, her breathing coming rapidly. She knew she had to remain calm or neither of them would make it out alive. It was easier to swim beneath the churning waves and Gina dived down, her clothes clinging to her body as she kicked out with her legs, her arms pulling her through the water. She tried to tell herself that she was in the White Palace pool, training before work, the water warm and the situation serene.
She didn’t hear the cries from the hotel guests on the island, and she was unaware of the rescue boats trying to close the distance across the lagoon; her focus was entirely on the helicopter as she pulled herself through the murky waters. Her hands collided with the half-submerged roof, and she groped to find an entrance, pulling herself through the half-open door that had facilitated Marco and Daniela’s escape.
In the back, Lucia’s body was almost entirely sub-merged, only her neck and head above the sea as the helicopter tilted. Her eyes were closed, and she was still strapped in.
‘Lucia,’ Gina shouted, as she fought to unbuckle her, her hands working frantically. ‘Wake up, Lucia. You must stay awake, you have to help me …’
Lucia’s eyelids fluttered open, her eyes rolling in her head. A flicker of recognition crossed her face as she saw Gina. ‘Where am I …? I can’t … Help me! I can’t swim …’
‘I’ll help you, Lucia, but you have to try too. Look at me, Lucia, it’s me, Maria. Look at me!’
The two women’s eyes met, and suddenly Gina was transported back a decade.
