Flood Tide Read Online Free Page A

stares, then a neighbour appeared and in loud and rapid Italian explained the situation to Reah. She was no wiser.
    “In English, please…” she pleaded, shaking her head.
    A girl student came to Reah’s aid. Her English was good enough to give Reah the bad news.
    “The madre , the grande-madre , has died. The family go to funeral in Naples. Much family business to attend. Not return this week,” said the girl. “You go Tourist Office in station.”
    By the time Reah found the Tourist Office, her soft-topped case seemed to weigh a ton. She was hot, sticky and worried about accommodation for the night.
    The woman in the Tourist Office was helpful but not hopeful. Everywhere in Florence was fully booked. She could only offer the top luxury hotels or a crash pad at a youth hostel.
    “A crash pad?” Reah felt she had reached the depths. She longed to give up the whole expedition and back track to her cottage in Southdean. The wonders of Florence no longer seemed worth the effort.
    “The hostels are clean and cheap,” the woman reassured her. “You may have to share with two or three; some have dormitories. They are very popular and always full. You may only get one night. Shall I find a place for you?”
    Reah nodded. She had no choice. The woman made some phone calls and then wrote down an address on a piece of paper with directions for finding the hostel. Reah thanked her, shattered by her bad luck. Perhaps some village would have rooms free. But she would not go without first seeing the giant cupola of Brunelleschi.
    She had picked up a map in the Tourist Office. The Via de Panzani would lead her to the Piazza del Duomo, to the steps of the great cathedral, the Sante Maria del Fiore, the largest church in the world after St Peter’s in Rome.
    It was a tiring walk in the sunshine carrying her case. The red and green marble of the exterior of the cathedral was unexpectedly bright and took some getting used to. The great dome dwarfed everything in the busy, bustling square.
    Next to the cathedral stood Giotto’s 14th century Campanile, one of the most beautiful bell towers in the world. Reah had planned to climb its four hundred-fourteen steps to see the famous panoramic view of Florence’s rooftops.
    She was quite exhausted. She sank down onto a high, uneven curbstone, not bothered by the dozens of feet almost stepping on her; she was past caring.
    A pair of expensive Ruchi brown leather shoes stopped a few feet away, hesitated, then returned. Reah did not look up. He could laugh all he wanted to. She was too tired to move.
    “What’s the matter?” he asked sharply, looking closer at her pale face. “Homesick already?”
    Reah’s hazel eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back quickly.
    She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that her plans had gone awry and that after tonight, she had nowhere to sleep.
    “Go away, please,” she moaned, hanging her head. The heat on the back of her neck was making her feel sick. She thought of her cool English garden, full of sweet peas and marigolds, and she was ready to burst into tears.
    “You’ll get sunstroke sitting there,” he said brusquely, helping her to her feet. “And get dehydrated. What have you had to drink? Nothing? I thought so. Come along, you stupid girl. You need some iced limone .”
    Ewart picked up her case. Reah felt so ill she would have left it on the pavement. He took her arm and threaded through the pavement tables, and down a quieter side street. A little trattoria had a few tables outside shaded with green umbrellas.
    “Have you eaten since our airline breakfast?”
    Reah shook her head.
    “For a school teacher, you have little common sense,” he said, ordering a lasagne, lemonade and caffe freddo for himself. “That’s iced coffee,” he translated for her benefit.
    Reah took a deep breath. Her strength was beginning to return. She brushed her hair away from her face, her forehead damp with the heat.
    “I have had