Seashell

Siena, Italy

August 1986

Pearl sank back onto the coral bricks of the Piazza del Campo, their sunbaked warmth seeping into her skin. The light was fading behind the clock tower - the Torre della Mangia - that rose high above the square. The heat of the day remained. A trickle of sweat ran down the back of her neck and she moved her thick hair to one side. How long it had got since she’d arrived in Siena in early spring.

She felt a million miles from Leeds University now, as she kicked off her sandals and stretched out her legs. The piazza had been scooped out into a shell shape, holding her in a warm embrace.

It was still busy following the Palio earlier that day, and Pearl dragged her fingers lazily through a fine layer of dust on the ground beneath her. It was the dust that nine horses, ridden bareback, had kicked up as they galloped around the square.

Pearl and Jennie had seen the race from the balcony of one of the Piazza’s medieval palaces. Giulio had organised it of course, and they had watched, amazed, as the horses and jockeys jostled for position; one pair stumbling and falling, just as the race began.

They had cheered for the horse from the Seashell district, the Nicchio, one of the city’s ancient regions. The apartment Pearl shared with Jennie on the Via di Fiera Vecchia was in the heart of the Seashell; its winding gothic streets hung with flags in the Nicchio colours of sapphire, ivory, coral and gold.

To their delight, their jockey had taken an early lead in the race.

But as the horses had approached a dangerous corner, the Curva di San Martino, two of them had hit the wall of the square’s great palace, hard.

The riders were thrown onto the racetrack, and under the hooves of their mounts.

The confusion had put their biggest rival, Valdimontone, the Ram, into the lead. And, in the final furlong, Nicchio was demoted to second place.

The race ended in chaos, as over-excited spectators ploughed through the security ropes to join the exhausted horses on the track and to hug the winning jockey.

Pearl and her friends had toasted their near-victory with glasses of prosecco, sparkling in the sunshine.

Now, from her position on the square, Pearl gazed at the bright silk banners representing Siena’s 17 districts as they fluttered from the Palazzo Pubblico. The Nicchio flag’s seashell glowed softly in the dusk, alongside the Eagle, the Wave and the Dragon.

A group of young Italian men, red and yellow Valdimontone scarves around their necks, called out to her. One of them blew her a kiss.

“Ciao bella bionda!”

Pearl smiled. She was more brown than blonde, although the Italian sun had left a glow on her curls. But any tourist - straniera - was fair game for the locals, and it was a game played on both sides. She broke off eye contact; knowing the boys would approach her if she looked over for too long.

She wouldn’t have minded their attention so much, if it hadn’t been for Dougie. As she thought of him, her limbs loosened and her lips curved into a smile. She wished he was next to her, lying here on the warm piazza, but he was still at work at the bar.

Giulio would be back soon, though. He had gone to get wine. He knew of a back street decanting a rare Chianti Classico, only served at Palio time, and he had insisted she try some.

Pearl would have been content with a bottle of plonko di Toscano, but she was happy to indulge him. She sat up to look for him now, ignoring the boys still trying to get her attention, and peered towards the Via Porrione. The local Senesi were starting to appear in their finery; beautiful people promenading in the glow of the candles around the square.

To her left, two old men staggered out of a bar, where they had either been celebrating or drowning their sorrows following the Palio. It was the one night of the year where you could see Italians actually drunk in the streets; dancing, laughing and weeping.

Pearl watched, amused, as the men shouted, gestured frenziedly at each other, and finally embraced.

She wished Jennie had stayed on after the race, but she had been overwhelmed by the heat and the noise, and had gone to seek sanctuary in that church she loved. She had promised to head back out later, when the crowds had dispersed. Pearl hoped she would come. Things had been awkward between them lately.

Pearl worried that Jennie was missing out; that at the tender age of 21 she was hiding her light; avoiding life as she studied alone in her room, or lurked in a gloomy chapel for hours on end. Oh well, she’d try her on some of that Chianti tonight, see what happened.

She owed her, after all; she had done since that First Year party at University.

“Ciao cara.”

Pearl looked up to see Giulio sauntering towards her. He was holding two paper cups of deep red liquid.

“The best wine in Siena tonight for la mia Perla.”

He grinned down at her. He looked good, as always. He wore his silk Nicchio scarf over an expensive-looking shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms. As he leaned over to pass Pearl her wine, she caught the scent of sandalwood.

What a great catch he would have been, if it weren’t for Dougie. Giulio was tall for an Italian, with smooth black hair and warm brown eyes. She often caught other girls looking at him when they were together. It made her feel good in his company.

Giulio settled himself on the ground, and made a pretence of chinking his paper cup against hers.

“Salute, cara. To your health.”

“And salute to you too, Mr Policeman. And what an amazing stroke of luck that you’re off duty on Palio day. Now you can’t arrest me for being drunk and disorderly.”

She blew him a kiss and sipped the wine. It was rich, complex, with a mineral taste that reminded her of earth and stone.

“Ti piace? You like it?”

“Delicioso. It tastes like Siena.”

Giulio chuckled; his laughter light and easy. “The best wine in the city tonight, from the headquarters of the Nicchio on the via Pispini.”

He lay back in the embrace of the concave Piazza.

“And now we are alone, Perla mia. Has Jennie not returned yet?”

Pearl sighed.

“She’s still at church, I think. She got very upset when those jockeys came off their horses. She’s a sensitive soul.”

“A sensitive woman is a beautiful thing, Perla.”

Pearl rolled her eyes. “Oh stop being so bloody Italian. Jennie needs to toughen up and you know it.”

She dug her elbow into Giulio’s side. “I thought you liked girls with a bit of spirit, anyway.”

Giulio fell silent and Pearl felt guilty. She knew he had a soft spot for her. Perhaps she shouldn’t have teased him. He had turned his affection into a gentle sort of protection, and she was grateful for it.

She leaned across and ruffled his hair. He looked up sheepishly, dark eyes meeting her aquamarine gaze.

Pearl smiled. He’d forgiven her then. Perhaps she could risk a little flirt, just to keep his attention a little longer.

“Remember the last time we were sitting here alone? When it started to rain?”

“Si cara, ricordo molto bene. I remember.You were overcome with the beauty of the moment and couldn’t resist me.”

Pearl giggled. It had been almost romantic. They had been lolling in the Piazza, watching the clouds scud across an azure sky, when a sharp, unexpected shower forced them to take cover.

They had run to the loggia of the Palazzo Pubblico to shelter under its vaulted marble ceiling. Giulio had put his arm around her and Pearl had snuggled up to him, shivering from the sudden drenching.

When he had lowered his face to hers, she had given him a peck on the lips. It had turned into something more lingering, and afterwards they had hugged and laughed. The rain had stopped as quickly as it had begun; the sun had come out, and the moment had ended. But neither of them had quite forgotten it.

Giulio’s eyes were still on her. To his credit, he kept his gaze off her long, bare legs in their denim shorts.

Pearl’s head was starting to swirl with the good wine. She lay back again, letting her eyes close as she listened to the sounds of the summer night.

She felt Dougie’s presence before she saw him; a disturbance in the air; a quickening of her pulse.

He threw himself down next to them. He was panting hard, running sweaty hands through his thick hair.

“Jesus, Dougie, what’s wrong?”

He could hardly speak.

“You’ve got to come...come now.”

Pearl sat up, suddenly sober.

“Why? What’s happened?”

“It’s Jennie.”

Pearl felt the blood drain from her face.

“Jennie?”

“She’s been attacked. Hurt.”

He stared at Pearl, willing her to understand. She registered his shock. Jennie. Hurt. God. Mugged? Beaten? Worse?

Giulio sprang to his feet and started to run in the direction of the flat. Pearl and Dougie followed. Pushing through the glittering throng of people, they plunged into the dark arterial roads that led from the heart of the city into the district of the Seashell.