Honey Trap

by JJ Marsh

  Scent is a delicate and easily disturbed route of appreciation. Sorrel, thyme and watercress can be drowned by strong perfumes. On your website, along with the dress code, suggest diners wear nothing stronger than deodorant.

  Second-guess your guests. Provide finger-bowls, handbag hooks, choices of table and suggestions based on their preferences.

  Take as much information as you can when they reserve. Occasion, allergies, ages, special requests, languages spoken? Assign the appropriate waiting staff and let them know you were expecting them. Train employees how to describe unusual ingredients.

  Tell stories. Ensure every waiter knows the provenance of the dish, why it’s special, and the myth behind it. Make them more than consumers, they are the audience. Your job is to entertain all of their senses.

  For your diner, this is a special experience. You make 50 tagliatelle prosciutto e funghi every night, but for your client, this is the first time. Make each meal incredible and each client the centre of the universe.

  Stories, detail and constant maintenance of standards. This, and only this, will make Ecco the best restaurant in Napoli.

  P. Bonardi, 29 Juni 2015

  Chapter 14

  Something woke Adrian with a start. He rolled onto his back to listen. Car horns, scooter engines and loud voices created the usual clamour in the street outside, but there was another fizzing tone. Tyres on wet streets. It was raining.

  He slid his legs out of bed and opened the rococo curtains. Seal-grey clouds blocked the sun and threw an arrhythmic scatter of raindrops at the window. Streams had formed between street and pavement, carrying debris towards the drains. The citizens of Naples continued about their daily business with umbrellas or newspapers over their heads, shouting, cursing and laughing as usual. As he watched, the scene fluoresced as if someone had taken a flash photograph. A moment later, an enormous sequence of booms echoed across the city, like rocks rolling down a mountain.

  Adrian wasn’t scared of thunderstorms. Not any longer. As a child, he used to tremble and cry, cowering under the bedcovers. Even as a teenager, he’d been unable to hide his nervous reaction to the terrifying display of light and noise. Only when he met a wonderful Scottish keyboard player in Lanzarote had he learned to appreciate the majesty of a storm, curled up with someone he trusted, protected against the wrath of Nature.

  A thought popped into his mind. He might not be afraid of Nature’s fireworks but he was a fully grown man. He dressed in the nearest items of clothing to hand and hurried along to Luke’s room. After knocking twice, he opened the door to see a compact bundle under the duvet.

  “Luke? Are you awake?”

  His blond head appeared, his expression unhappy but not yet tearful. “The thunder woke me up.”

  “Me too. Listen, it’s still early, but what do you say to getting dressed and watching the storm from the roof garden? Over the Bay of Naples, the view will be spectacular. We could make ourselves some hot drinks and toast and drag a couple of blankets upstairs to keep us warm. You could even try and catch the lightning on your iPad. Imagine sending that to your mum!”

  “OK.” Luke hopped out of bed like a rabbit and started putting on his fleece over his pyjamas. “Are Granddad and Beatrice coming?”

  “I think they’d prefer a lie-in. Let’s leave them in peace and tell them all about it later. Do you want hot chocolate and honey toast?”

  “Yes, please!” Another crack of thunder sounded across the city and Luke’s eyes widened.

  “Quick then, because we don’t want to miss it. Put your warmest things on and I’ll make our breakfast.”

  Twenty minutes later, each tucked under their blankets, Adrian and Luke sat side by side on the roof garden sofa. They consumed toast, coffee and hot chocolate between exclamations of ooh, aah and did-you-see-that? Adrian overdid the wow factor, determined to turn every moment of alarm into awe, even if he did gasp when the thunder exploded directly overhead like a gunshot. Luke soon matched his excitement and tried time and again to capture the lightning forks hitting the sea.

  After some startlingly close booms and strikes, the storm receded south and the observers finished their breakfast, exhilarated by their shared experience. Adrian was just about to suggest more toast when Beatrice appeared at the top of the stairs, looking eager and ready for work.

  “There you are! Have you been watching the storm?”

  “Beatrice, it was amazing!” said Luke, his face shining. “We saw the whole thing! I took photos and videos of the lightning and I can show you, if you like?”

  “I like. But now it’s over, I want to sit in a warm kitchen and drink coffee while I relive the event vicariously. Come downstairs, Matthew is making porridge.”

  After Beatrice left for the restaurant, the menfolk took a unanimous decision. In view of the inclement weather, today was not the right day to visit Pompeii. They would save that for Sunday when their party would be completed by Will and Beatrice.

  Matthew made a proposal. “All the tourists will want to get out of the rain but enjoy the city. So they’ll either head to the museums or the subterranean systems. As we’re all up early, why don’t we head for Galleria Borbonica and see underground Naples. What do you say to exploring some tunnels, Small Fry?”

  Luke thought about it. “Will it be very dark?”

  “No, no, this is sort of like a museum but a bit more real. An architectural and physical record of the city’s history. With plenty of lights. I think you’d like it.”

  “OK,” said Luke and picked up his device to scroll through his lightning photographs once again.

  Adrian smiled at Matthew. “I must say I’m relieved. If we had pressed on with our plan to visit the ruins, I’d have got soaked. Umbrellas and cameras are a tricky combination and there is no way on earth I would be seen dead in one of those awful rain ponchos. Why don’t I clear up while you check the map? Luke, unless you plan to show your pyjamas to the whole of Naples, you might want to get changed.”

  Forty minutes later, they arrived at the entrance to The Bourbon Gallery, paid their entrance fee and met their guide, Davide. During the taxi ride across the city, Matthew had already explained why the tunnel had been built (an escape route for the French royals), its various uses across the centuries (car pound, air raid shelter, hospital) and the complexity of its waterway systems. Adrian began to wonder what on earth poor Davide might be able to add.

  Prepared for a damp scramble through mouldy brickwork, Adrian was stunned by the scale of the subterranean network. Beautifully lit and well-maintained, the tunnels revealed disused water cisterns the size of cathedrals, intricate designs on the walls, fascinating artefacts such as 1940s vehicles impounded by the police and underground pools of an ancient aqueduct.

  He wasn’t the only one enthralled. The whole party hung on Davide’s every word and Matthew asked interesting questions which led their guide to go deeper into the history of this remarkable feat of construction. The tour overran, precisely because of this particular dynamic. Davide returned the party to the entrance and accepted their thanks and tips, before turning to Matthew.

  “You are very well informed, signor. You should see Napoli Sotterranea also. I think you will find much of interest. I would like to discuss further, but my next party is waiting. I wish you all an excellent stay in Naples.”

  Adrian stepped in and shook Davide’s hand first, palming him a five-Euro note. Matthew should not have to do the tipping for all of them. Davide thanked him, saluted Matthew and winked at Luke before hurrying off for his next job.

  “Grazie mille!” called Luke.

  Davide looked over his shoulder with a surprised smile. “Prego!” he said, with a nod.

  Matthew crouched down to address Luke. “You really did pay attention to my impromptu Italian lesson.”

  “Yes, I did. Maybe we should go somewhere so I can practise ordering a pizza.”

  Matthew laughed and looked up at Adrian. “I’d say a pizza and a glass of red sh
ould fortify us for the next set of tunnels. And if I’m not mistaken, the rain is letting up. Shall we?”

  They walked along the narrow streets for at least five minutes, hunting for a pizzeria they liked the look of until the heavens opened once again.

  “There’s one up there!” yelled Adrian and led the charge. Luke kept pace with him, splashing through puddles and giggling. They reached the shelter of the awning and waited for Matthew to catch up. When he did, his hair was plastered to his face and he needed a minute to regain his breath before he could speak.

  “Wet. Bathroom,” he gasped and Adrian pushed open the door.

  While Matthew went to dry himself off, a waitress showed Adrian and Luke to a table. She gave them menus and patted Luke’s cheek. Adrian’s laughter at Luke’s startled expression died in his throat as he saw a familiar figure shaking an umbrella outside. The man with the beret stood under the awning and lit a cigarette.

  Luke followed his gaze. “That’s the man who was taking pictures of us.”

  “What? Where was he taking pictures?”

  “When you were trying to get a taxi this morning. He took pictures of me and Granddad on his phone. And I saw him before when we were on that ferry. Do you know who he is?”

  “No. I don’t know. Although I’ve seen him a couple of times too. Yesterday, outside our apartment and also on the Isle of Capri. Listen, Luke, I don’t think we should say anything to your grandfather about this. I really don’t want to worry him.”

  “OK.” Luke helped himself to a breadstick. “I won’t tell Mum either. But maybe we should tell Beatrice.”

  “Yes,” Adrian replied. “That’s a very good idea. We should definitely tell Beatrice.” He scanned the exterior, searching for their unsubtle tail. The man in the black beret had disappeared.

  Preoccupied by the fact someone was following their small party, Adrian paid little attention to the tour of Napoli Sotterranea. Neither did he notice Matthew’s reticence, absorbed as he was in terrifying imaginary scenarios. Someone kidnapping Luke and sending them body parts until they paid a ransom. Matthew shot by a hitman in a case of mistaken identity. Another religious obsessive hell-bent on punishing Adrian for his ‘deviant’ lifestyle. Again. Why couldn’t people just leave them alone?

  It was only when they emerged from the tunnels into weak spring sunshine that Adrian spotted his companion’s wan pallor and unsteady hands.

  “Matthew! Are you all right?”

  The older man’s lips were blue and his pupils dilated. “Feeling a bit off. Could we hail a taxi?”

  “You don’t look well at all. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

  “No need, medication back at base camp. I know the drill.”

  The journey to their lodgings was twice as nerve-wracking as usual. Quite apart from the hair-raising wildness of the traffic, Matthew appeared to be seriously sick. Three times Adrian asked what was wrong and on getting a mere shake of the head in reply, he suggested a doctor or hospital. Matthew refused, saying he just wanted to get home to the apartment. Luke curled his arm around his grandfather’s and leaned against him, in a touching gesture of reassurance.

  The cab pulled up outside their building and Adrian thrust a bunch of Euros at the driver, before assisting Matthew through the front door. With one last glance over his shoulder for anyone wearing a beret, he shepherded his charges up the stairs.

  Matthew made straight for his room and closed the door. Luke and Adrian stood like spare parts in the hallway for several seconds until the front door opened and Beatrice Stubbs burst into the apartment, hot and breathless. Her fractious expression lifted at the sight of them and darkened the moment she saw their faces.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “Granddad’s not very well,” said Luke.

  She dropped her bag and ran down the corridor to the master bedroom. Luke and Adrian took off their coats and shoes, and sat together on the sofa to wait.

  “Adrian?” whispered Luke.

  “Yes?”

  “Should we wait a bit before telling Beatrice about that man? She’s already got a lot to worry about.”

  Adrian forced a grin. “Very good idea. Let’s keep this a secret from everyone else for the moment.”

  “OK.” Luke turned an imaginary key on his lips. “Maybe we should start making dinner for everyone. When Granddad feels better, he’ll probably be hungry. He might like some garlic bread.”

  “Between the two of us, we might be able to rustle up some pasta to go with it. Go and wash your hands, and let’s get started.” Adrian could hear tones of Tanya in his voice, which he considered a good thing.

  Beatrice emerged over an hour later. Luke had made his garlic bread and gone to find his iPad, leaving Adrian to assemble the meal.

  She came into the kitchen and sat down with a thump. “Chest pains. Could be any number of things so the bloody-minded old sod is going to a doctor tomorrow or I’ll drag him there by his britches. He’s prescribed himself aspirin. I ask you! Aspirin! This is precisely the age where he’s susceptible to all manner of conditions. I would shout and rant at him for keeping this to himself but that would be the pot calling the metal black. Maybe I should take him to his GP when we get home. Dr Haring has all his records and could refer us if this really is something to worry about. Oh damn and hell blast, why is this happening now?”

  Adrian looked up from the sauce he was stirring and shook his head.

  “Who knows? Health doesn’t wait till it’s convenient for you to get sick. You know, it might be best to go home. He’ll feel more comfortable with his own doctor and we can always do Naples another time.” Adrian could feel her eyes on him as he chopped up some basil.

  “He needs to see a doctor first. If it is his heart, there’s no way I’m taking him on a plane. Anyway, I didn’t mean you should leave. He’s not your responsibility. You should explore the city, show Will the sights, and enjoy the freedom of not having an elderly gentleman and young child as your responsibility. Why else would you want to leave?”

  It took several seconds for Adrian to take control of his temper and urge to blurt out the truth. He set the sauce to simmer and sat down at the kitchen table, facing a frankly stroppy Beatrice Stubbs. He poured them both a glass of Nero d’Avola and met her eyes.

  “Right, you can shut up for a minute and listen. Not for a single second have I thought of Matthew and Luke as a responsibility. I gate-crashed this trip, remember? I am the freeloader here. I love every minute I spend with Luke and Matthew. They are great companions when it comes to enjoying new things. Luke because of his innocence, Matthew because of his experience. Plus, they both have enormous appetites. Today wasn’t the first time I was concerned about Matthew’s health, but I put that down to his getting older rather than a specific condition. If we decide to go, we all go. If we choose to stay, we all stay. All I care about is Matthew’s well-being.”

  Bravo! Bravo! A virtuoso performance from the loyal friend. I almost believed it myself. What about Luke? What about your black beret shadow? Tell her! She should see the full picture. Don’t be such a coward!

  Apart from the noise of the street outside, the only sound in the apartment was Luke’s high-pitched chatter as he Skyped with Tanya in the living room and the bubbling of Adrian’s Puttanesca sauce.

  “That is a very nice thing to say. Thank you. I would prefer Matthew to go home but at the same time, I want to finish this job. He refuses to leave without me, so I have no choice but to give up this fallacy of private detection as a bad idea. I must see if he’s well enough to travel and take him home. Agusto and Isabella will just have to work something out themselves. It’s just, I really thought I was onto something. Given a bit more time ... oh what does it matter?” She swilled her wine around her glass.

  Her unruly hair, morose expression and familiar frown sparked a surge of warmth in Adrian. He loved this awkward, intractable female and recognised several of her characteristics in himself. She needed validation an
d would butt her stubborn old head against any obstacle until she got it.

  He reached across the table and clasped her hand. “Why don’t I take Matthew to a doctor here and you go back to the job? Will arrives tomorrow evening, which will be a relief for all of us. Depending on the doctor’s opinion and your progress on the case, we could make a family decision over dinner. I’ll cook.”

  Her hand squeezed his. “If you wouldn’t mind, then yes please. That’s a very kind thought and he’ll be much more likely to accept it coming from you.”

  “That’s settled, then. What do you think, spaghetti or tagliatelle with this sauce?”

  “Tagliatelle. I always make a dreadful mess with spaghetti. May I make a request for tomorrow’s dinner? Could we have something plain and simple? I feel in need of traditional British stodge.”

  Adrian grinned. “Beans on toast?”

  Beatrice drained her wine glass and grinned back. “Fish and chips?”

  “Why not?” He got up to supervise the sauce. He stirred black olives into the condensed tomato, chilli, caper and anchovy blend. In his mind, each represented a beret.

  Chapter 15

  That Englishman was sick. Nobody healthy has skin that colour. Pietro waited for a few minutes after the three went into the building, deciding if this was worth calling the boss. What would he say? ‘The kid is still alive, but the old guy is a funny shade of grey.’ No. His task was to keep an eye on the kid. The rest of them were not his problem. He stepped further back up the alley, watching where he put his feet, and once concealed by the shadows, he lit a cigarette.

  The air was damp and cool after the torrential rains of the morning. He would finish this cigarette, make sure the young dandy didn’t come out again, then call it a day and head for the bar. The sedan arrived. He knew that car well, after watching it bring the British chef back from Ecco. The woman got out, said something in English and shut the door. The driver waited until she had gone indoors. After a couple of minutes, the sedan purred along the street, feeble sunlight reflecting from its windows so the driver was nothing more than a silhouette. Pietro made up his mind. If all the English were safely inside, his work was done for the day. Time for a beer.