Chapter Thirteen #2
Inside the rough-hewn inn, Alistair signed his name in the big leather-bound book next to Captain Wilhelm Steiner, his hand pausing as he skimmed the list of those on the mountain tonight.
There was his party of course: Teodoro Monticelli and his guests, but others, too, from all over Europe.
Frenchmen, Germans, even a man and his wife from Poland.
Suddenly, it felt important that he be here, that his name be in this book, his presence noted with strangers who would never meet again but who’d come together for an evening to share in witnessing something spectacular.
He passed the quill to Ismay, and she smiled at him as if she had guessed the philosophical jumble of his thoughts.
‘Does it always feel like this?’ Alistair asked as they stepped outside to rejoin Monticelli and his guests.
‘The French call it venire ensemble, to come together. And yes, it does feel like this always. The challenge of the climb outweighs anything else that might keep us apart off the mountain.’ She gave him a wink.
‘The challenge truly begins now. The higher up we go, the narrower the path, and we’ll encounter ash fields at the summit, which makes climbing difficult.
There’s no traction. You slide as much as you move forward. ’
‘You’re not selling me on the hike, Ismay.’ Alistair grimaced and stared up at the summit, Vesuvius taking that moment to throw sparks to the sky.
‘Don’t worry. Your biggest concern isn’t the pathway. That’s conquerable. People do it every day. It’s the earthquakes and the lava you have to worry about.’ She knit her brow. ‘And the toxic gas clouds.’
‘Lava?’ Alistair took a length of rope from the guide and tied it about his waist.
Ismay gave her rope a firm testing jerk. ‘I wouldn’t be concerned. I doubt we will have any tonight, although I do believe the mountain is working up to something.’
‘Iz, that’s not reassuring in the least.’ Alistair took a deep breath and stared up at the mountain. It didn’t look that high. Perhaps heights wouldn’t be a problem. Perhaps there would be no cliffs, no gaping crevasses to peer into.
‘Are you nervous?’ she asked in all sincerity. ‘Do you want to wait here?’
Yes. But he would not admit it. He grinned.
‘And disappoint our new friend, Wilhelm?’ He pulled himself together.
He was Alistair Burke-Price, master of the dare.
The mountain and Ismay were daring him tonight, and he was damn well up for it.
What a story this would be to tell: climbing an active volcano at midnight.
‘Come on, Iz, let’s have an adventure. Just don’t let me fall,’ he joked.
What an adventure it was! There was much planting of feet, bracing of bodies and offering of strong grips to pull one another forward.
More than once, Alistair relied on Wilhelm’s strength to pull himself up a cliff or around a treacherous corner where the earth disappeared and dirt slipped away beneath his feet, taking part of his nerve as well.
And many times he returned the favour. There was encouragement, too, as some of their party tired.
‘What we need is an observatory at the hermitage,’ Alistair told Ismay during a quiet stretch of pathway that allowed for some conversation. ‘That way, no one needs to brave the summit.’
‘What’s the fun in that?’ She looked back at him over her shoulder with a laugh.
He’d been enjoying his view as best he could in the dark.
The mountain was a wonder to behold with its sparks and flames, but the real wonder was right in front of him in boots and trousers, striding up Vesuvius as if she was born to it.
How was it that she panicked at the merest suggestion of a long-term relationship but strode up active volcanoes undaunted?
She’d been fearless tonight, unbothered by the occasional rumblings.
Instead, she aahed in admiration and made intelligent speculative conversation with Monticelli, while it took all of Alistair’s courage to put on a brave face.
His agile mind kept running the numbers.
The odds favoured him, he reasoned. Hardly anyone died on the mountain.
Tourists with no expertise climbed up all the time.
He would be fine. But he had a hard time convincing himself of that.
What a woman Ismay Rose had become. One simply had to understand her to appreciate her, which was easier said than done.
He would miss her when he left. Leaving Naples was becoming more difficult to contemplate.
If anyone had told him back in September that he’d not want to leave, he would have laughed and then made a very large wager to the contrary, never thinking it was a wager he’d lose.
But he’d given her his word that, no matter what, whether the ruse succeeded or not, he’d leave.
She would be free to pursue the life she wanted.
This life: meeting with fellow scholars, climbing Vesuvius at midnight in trousers.
It suited her. He hoped it made her happy in the end, because it, too, would come at a cost.
‘Alistair, watch out!’ Wilhelm’s shout reached him as the earth shook, the dirt shifting and sliding beneath his boots as he tried to stay on his feet and failed.
One moment there was solid ground and the next nothing.
He was falling, swinging in midair, suspended between the cliff above and certain death below by the rope girdle about him, his worst nightmare come to life.
The odds had not favoured him. He was going to die on the mountain.
His hands gripped the rope of his harness irrationally.
What good was that going to do? He couldn’t stop the rope from breaking if it chose to.
A lantern appeared at what was left of the path.
Ismay’s face looked over the narrow ledge.
New panic—different panic—swept him. Any other young woman would have screamed and frozen.
But no, Ismay had to throw herself into the breach, risk her own neck.
The fool! ‘Ismay, get back! The ground’s not safe.
’ Good Lord, the ledge could go at any time.
If it did, she’d fall. He was terrified—for her.
Terrified for what could happen—they were all roped together.
If the ledge weakened, his weight could pull her off.
He did not want to be responsible for that.
‘Wilhelm, get her off the ledge! Ismay, what do you think you’re doing? ’
‘Saving your arse,’ she said grimly as he felt the rope start to move, tugging him upwards. Towards safety. Wilhelm’s hand reached down to take his, Monticelli reaching down to take his other hand. Together, they hoisted him over the ledge.
He lay in the dirt, taking deep breaths, looking up at the stars for a long moment. Wilhelm passed him a small flask. ‘Drink this.’
A feminine hand reached down: Ismay, her expression stern. ‘Get up, you’re more scared than hurt. We don’t want to linger here now that the ground has destabilised. The summit is near.’ It was hardly the greeting he’d expected after his dangle with death.
It was impossible to speak again as they navigated the last of the steep ash fields waiting them at the top.
‘Could be worse,’ Monticelli said as they reached the crater.
‘The wind isn’t buffeting us, and it is keeping the gas clouds to a minimum.
I’ve climbed when it’s been almost impossible to breathe.
’ Alistair couldn’t imagine it being worse than this, but apparently he was wrong.
As impressive as the crater was, Alistair was more concerned with Ismay. He moved to stand beside her, watching the volcano churn. ‘Are you angry with me?’
‘You scared me to death,’ she snapped, arms folded, refusing to look at him. But as usual, her anger fuelled his own.
‘I did not choose to fall off the mountain. If anyone should be angry, it’s me with you.
You should have gotten away from the edge immediately.
I could have accidentally pulled you in.
’ He couldn’t bring himself to think about what might have happened if that had occurred, all that weight on the rope.
Would the rope have held? Would anyone have gotten to them in time?
‘I couldn’t very well leave you there. You asked me not to let you fall.
’ And she’d taken his joking request to heart.
She swiped at something on her face. Ash?
Dirt? No. A tear. Alistair caught the glint in the moonlight.
She wasn’t angry. She was upset, perhaps even frightened, a condition Ismay Rose likely seldom found herself in.
And she’d had the wherewithal to save him anyway.
Fear had not ruled her in the crucial moment.
He put his arm around her and drew her close, pressing a kiss to the top her head.
‘Thank you, Iz. That’s the nicest thing I think anyone has ever done for me. ’ It made her laugh, as he’d intended.
‘Don’t make me do it again.’
‘Fair enough. I won’t be falling off mountains anytime soon. I don’t care for heights.’ He might as well tell her.
‘But you climbed across the balconies,’ she sputtered, trying to make sense of his confession. ‘You came tonight.’
‘Because you needed me to. It was important to you.’
Her voice was quiet. ‘Well, I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.’
‘Then, we’re even. Two nice people doing nice things for each other,’ he joked, not wanting to look too closely at his remark, which sailed awfully close to Ismay’s description of love—people making sacrifices for each other.
That was not what this was. ‘Now, tell me all about this volcano of yours we’ve spent half the night ascending.
’ The fear had passed. They were both safe.
He could have released her, but he didn’t want to.