Honey Trap

by JJ Marsh

  Will’s hand snaked across the table and held his. “This is what I’d call a special occasion. What do you reckon, Luke?”

  “I wish ... I wish Mum was here.” His little eyes filled with tears.

  Emotion welled up in Adrian. This young boy, who had never spent more than a night apart from his mother, understood this moment of beauty and wanted to share it with the person he loved most in the world. Adrian was about embrace him and burst into sympathetic tears until Will spoke.

  “Let’s bring her here then. She can be with us via Facetime. Come on, we can’t do it at the table, because the staff will think we’re paparazzi. On the terrace, quick, before the sun sets. Adrian, will you order the drinks?”

  The two of them ran off to the French windows and from his vantage point, Adrian watched them filming and cavorting and best of all, laughing on the terrace amongst the cocktail crowd. By the time they returned, he had composed himself, ordered two martinis and an orange juice, and decided that his husband was the most perfect man on the planet.

  They were still browsing the menu when Isabella dashed out of the kitchen like a lit match.

  “Ciao, tutti! Luca, I am so happy to see you again!” She placed her hands either side of his face and kissed the top of his head.

  Luke took it in his stride. “Ciao, Isabella.”

  “Adrian! Will! So happy you are here.” She kissed their cheeks and beamed her extraordinary smile. “Tonight, we have the tasting menu for you. Special people deserve special dishes. You will love it, I promise. What are you drinking? Not cocktails?! Alessandro! Come!”

  The older man with hairy eyebrows approached, his uniform immaculate and smile prepared. Adrian realised this was in fact the maître d’, not just a door greeter. “Buonasera e benvenuti. Good evening, gentlemen, and welcome to Ecco.”

  Isabella gestured to the man with an open palm, as if she’d magicked him out of the air. “Alessandro is our maître d’hôtel. His passion for wine matches mine, but his knowledge is far superior. It is, don’t argue with me! Alessandro, these are personal friends. I want you to take special care of them this evening. We are very lucky to have this man in charge of our restaurant, you know. He comes to us from Rome, from the famous Spirito di Vino. But maybe after today you have enough of Roman ruins! Ha! Agusto and I will join you for coffee later. Buon appetito!”

  They deliberated over the menu and accepted Alessandro’s advice on the best choices of dishes according to personal preference. Adrian and Luke discussed why green and black olives appealed to them or not and Will folded and refolded his napkin, his face pensive.

  “Everything OK?” asked Adrian.

  Will refocused. “Yep. Just hungry.”

  Adrian knew that look. He was on a case.

  Two hours later, after the most sublime meal in living memory, Adrian continued to make notes in his little book, under advice from Luke, who was still polishing off his ice-cream. Will sat back and folded his hands over his stomach, a contented smile on his face.

  The kitchen doors opened, as they had done a hundred times that evening, but somehow the atmosphere in the room changed. Excited whispers rustled from table to table and anticipation electrified the air. A tall, greying man in chef’s whites, good-looking in a silver fox way, moved from table to table, exchanging a few words with the patrons.

  Two waiters brought extra chairs to the table, placed four shot glasses and petit-fours in the centre of the table and asked for their coffee preferences. Adrian and Will opted for espresso; Luke chose to stick with water. The second the waiters left, Isabella appeared beside them, like a genie with a bottle.

  “Grappa. The only digestif after such a meal. Tell me quick, before he arrives,” she said as she jerked her head at the big man making his way through the restaurant. “Did you enjoy your meal?”

  “Yes!” said Luke. “Even better than last time.”

  Isabella’s beam spread and she reached out to stroke Luke’s cheek. “You are adorable. Such a wise boy. Adrian, tell me. Were the wines suitable to the food?”

  Adrian was about to open his mouth when the spotlight hit their table. Agusto Colacino had arrived and stood with his hands on his hips, expecting the accolades he deserved. Will duly got to his feet and applauded.

  “Bravo, Signor Colacino. That was a meal we will never forget. Thank you so much and many thanks to your expert staff, especially Alessandro. Your restaurant is exceptional. My name is Will Quinn and this is my husband, Adrian Harvey. And I think you’ve met Luke before.”

  Agusto took one of Will’s hands and clasped it warmly. “Kind words, my friend, and I am very pleased to meet you. Yes, Luca and I are old friends. He has excellent manners. And what of your husband’s opinion? You are a wine expert also, no, Mr Harvey?”

  Adrian shook his head, modestly. “I wouldn’t describe myself as an expert. But I am not exaggerating when I say that was the most delicious meal paired with the most thoughtful wines I have consumed in my entire life. Signor Colacino, I can now die happy.”

  Isabella roared with laughter and started pouring grappa into shot glasses. “Sit, let us relax and drink a toast to the Easter weekend! Thank God we have two days of holiday. I need to get outside, feel the sun on my skin, and breathe some sea air. Ah, the coffees! Luca, I asked the kitchen to make you my special hot chocolate. Tell me if you know what is my secret ingredient.”

  The boy’s eyes lit up as a tall, elegant cup was placed in front of him, decorated with a whirl of cream, chocolate shavings and a caprice biscuit for dunking.

  Inside Adrian’s head, a grumbly voice was muttering: What if he has allergies? Did she ask before presenting him with something full of sugar and chocolate? Has she put any alcohol in there? He’s six years old and we are in charge of keeping this small person safe.

  “Enjoy, Luca! Tell me, young men, how do you find our city?” demanded Agusto.

  Adrian and Will turned their attention to the man everyone wanted to meet, although Adrian was half listening to Isabella’s bright monologue to Luke. Before Adrian could find a pithy reply, Will answered, “It’s a sensory overload. I wish we had longer. There is so much to see in the city itself and we still want to visit the Amalfi Coast and explore the islands.”

  “Yes, we adored Capri,” Adrian chipped in.

  Will continued. “Are your family from this area, Signor Colacino? Your food suggests a deep understanding of this region.”

  Agusto reacted with genuine delight. “Thank you very much! Call me Agusto, we are friends. Yes, you are right. I come from a long line of Neapolitans. These ingredients, this place – they are in my blood. You have good taste. Do you work with food? Isabella told me your job but I forgot, I’m sorry.”

  With a glance around him, Will leaned in to communicate solely with Agusto. Adrian pretended not to notice but his ears were straining to hear what he would say. The chef understood the gesture and bent closer.

  “I’m a Detective Sergeant with the Metropolitan Police.”

  Agusto’s eyes gleamed. “You work with Beatrice!” he whispered, loud enough to be heard by at least three nearby tables.

  “No, we’re not partners, just friends. This is her case and I am not involved on a professional level. My husband and I have very different careers.” He turned his gaze to Adrian, who affected interest in Luke’s hot chocolate. “He’s the one with the wine knowledge; I’m the one with police training. Not like you and your wife, whose specialisations seem a perfect match.”

  Agusto leaned closer still. “You have an expression in English. ‘The wind beneath my wings.’ That is my wife. She has the ambition, the creativity, the understanding of how we stay ahead. Without her and my brother, I would be making pizze. Damn good pizze, of course!”

  His laughter bubbled from his throat like lava, causing the rest of the table to join in, even if they hadn’t heard the joke.

  When they left over an hour later, with kisses, handshakes and a goodie bag for Luke, Adrian was ful
l of bonhomie and goodwill, not to mention grappa. Agusto and Isabella were fascinating company, as was Agusto’s brother, Gennaio, who joined them just before ten. Ettore was waiting as promised and the only delay was Will chatting to the maître d’, having some kind of discussion about a flashy car parked on the pavement.

  Luke was unpacking his goodie bag and inviting Adrian’s approval, which he was happy to provide. When Will finally got into the car and thanked Ettore for his patience, Adrian had an inspired idea. He whispered in Luke’s ear and got an immediate positive reaction.

  When they got out of the car outside the apartment, Luke offered Ettore the bottle of truffle oil as a thank you. Ettore’s instinct to refuse a tip could not overcome his adoration of children, so he accepted with effusive thanks.

  Will’s smile radiated approval and Adrian knew he’d made a smart move. He had a gut feeling and could sense Will and Luke did too. That strikingly talented family who ran Ecco were classy, talented and kind people they could trust. Naples was a truly extraordinary place. He wondered if they might be able to live here. Open a wine shop, join the right sort of social circles, attend opera and wine tastings, throw dinner parties on their roof terrace ...

  “Are you getting carried away again?” asked Will, standing in the doorway.

  “Not at all. Just keeping an open mind.”

  Chapter 23

  Easter Sunday dawned bright and brilliant, which annoyed Beatrice no end. Matthew had failed to close the curtains properly and a shaft of sunlight wormed its way under her eyelids. With a grunt, she rolled over, dragging the eiderdown over her face. Eyes squeezed tightly closed, she attempted to return to sleep. She deserved a lie-in after the week she’d had. But Agusto’s voice echoed through her mind, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.

  On Tuesday morning, I want every one of you to bring me an idea for a top-class Ecco dish. All these dishes need a story. Personal, local, global, I don’t mind. Bring me new ideas and I will work with them all.

  Matthew’s breathing was thick and heavy, with stentorian snores. Beatrice rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, vaguely aware of church bells ringing across the city. A dessert with a story. A British classic with an Italian twist. Trifle? Eccles cakes? Mince pies?

  She got out of bed and wrapped herself in a dressing-gown, closing the curtains so Matthew would not be disturbed by the sunshine. She padded down the corridor to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of apple juice and opened her laptop. Classic British puddings, she typed and began her research.

  Forty minutes later, she had a shortlist of ten, none of which ignited any real excitement. Her feet were cold and her stomach was rumbling, so she decided to abandon the research, find her slippers and make some toast.

  As she returned to the kitchen, Will opened the front door, sweaty, panting and glowing with exertion. “Morning!” he puffed.

  “You’ve been out already? It’s not even eight o’clock!”

  “I know. Bells woke me. You?”

  “Sun, snores and bloody Agusto with his ludicrous ideas. Shall I make us coffee and we can compare notes on last night? Are you peckish at all?”

  Will grinned at her. “Starving. Right, I’ll shower and join you in ten. Why don’t you relax today? I’ll make breakfast for us all. I’m a dab hand at pancakes.”

  “My favourite! I’d better help you by testing the first two or three.”

  The apartment was filled with the scent of fresh coffee by the time Will emerged. Beatrice had dressed in the dark to avoid disturbing Matthew and even by her own standards, the result could be described as eclectic. Pink pyjama bottoms with a jumping sheep pattern, an orange fleece and blue socks. She was warm, comfy and decent so who cared?

  She peeked in on Luke as she passed his room. Sleeping with one hand under his cheek, he looked terribly vulnerable and small.

  “Is he still asleep?” whispered Will from behind her.

  “Flat out. Let’s leave him to rest. It’s Sunday.”

  In the kitchen, Beatrice heated milk and Will began making the pancake batter.

  “Did Luke enjoy last night, do you think?” asked Beatrice.

  “He loved it. He stayed up with us until almost eleven and we Skyped with Tanya and Marianne.”

  “Tanya and Marianne? Not Gabriel?”

  Will cracked eggs into a pile of flour. “No, they were having a sisters’ movie night. Luke raved about the restaurant. We all did. It really was a superlative evening. What about you? How was your meal?”

  “Sub-par, I’m happy to say. Definitely falls short of your experience. Nonna’s kitchen do some dishes very well, especially the copies of the veal and the ravioli. But my dessert was not the same thing. That wasn’t brown bread ice-cream, more vanilla with some kind of caramel or maple syrup chips. Close, but no guitar. They serve it as an affogato, but whoever created that recipe does not work in the kitchen at Ecco. Here’s your coffee.”

  “Thank you. Oh wow!”

  “What?”

  “You did the barista thing with a pattern on top. That is impressive.”

  Beatrice peered into his cup. “I didn’t even realise I was doing that. See, that’s what that man has done to me. Now I’m fiddle-faddling around with a perfectly decent cup of coffee. Anyway, let’s get to the point because the smell of coffee and pancakes will soon be enough to wake the entire building. Apart from the fact that Agusto’s food is divine, what did you find out?”

  Will poured a puddle of batter into a pan and swirled it around before replacing it on the heat. “A couple of things I thought were worth noting, both regarding Isabella,” said Will, his face reflecting internal thoughtfulness. “Firstly, the maître d’ can’t stand her.”

  Beatrice stared at him. “You mean Alessandro? How do you know that?”

  Will shrugged. “I watch people. Alessandro is stiff and formal whenever he deals with Isabella.”

  Beatrice huffed through her nose. “He’s stiff and formal with everyone. That’s his style.”

  “But he doesn’t shoot everyone daggers when he thinks no one is looking. His smile when she patronises him is almost painfully forced and disappears like elastic the second she looks away. I don’t know whether it’s relevant or not, but it’s a detail I had to mention.”

  “Hmm. What was the other thing?” asked Beatrice, her chin in her hand.

  “When we met in that café, you seemed under the impression we’d been up Vesuvius yesterday. So I’m pretty confident you didn’t mention to Isabella that we’d been to Herculaneum.” Will flipped the pancake.

  “No, definitely not. The only words we exchanged yesterday lunchtime were about work and I didn’t even see her after our conversation.”

  “So why did she joke that ‘you’ve seen enough of Roman ruins today’? That was at Alessandro’s expense, by the way. How would she know where we’d been?”

  Stirring her coffee, Beatrice thought about it. “An assumption? All tourists in Naples would go to Pompeii at some point.”

  “She definitely said ‘today’. And there’s another thing.”

  The sound of a door closing and the shower starting up gave them pause.

  “Quick now. Give me that pancake and tell me what other thing.”

  Will tipped the pan onto her plate. “It’s about the Ferrari. You said some guy keyed the chef’s car. His brother also has a red Ferrari Testarossa. This is at the same time someone sets fire to the brother’s warehouse. Could it be that the wrong car got damaged? Was their target Gennaio, not Agusto?”

  For several minutes, Will flipped pancakes while Beatrice cogitated.

  Matthew walked into the room, yawning. “Good morning, early birds. Can I just say we really should buy a packet of peppermint tea? Eating late and drinking coffee in the evening plays hell with my digestion.”

  Beatrice finished her pancake. “The only things playing hell with your digestion are ravioli and saltimbocca plus a great fat slice of apricot pie with cream. Not to me
ntion the grappa you had when we got back here. I did warn you.”

  “A man is entitled to a nightcap. You took me to a restaurant to test the cuisine. Of course I had to taste as many dishes as I could. It’s only good manners. Is there any coffee on the go?”

  Beatrice tuned out the morning chit-chat and stirred her coffee.

  Time to accept it, you stubborn old coot. You need help.

  In order to make any progress in the Ecco case, Beatrice had to kick ideas around with Will. By the same token, to have any hope of creating an exceptional dessert, she required imaginative input across three generations.

  When everyone was at the table, she called a meeting and instructed her team.

  “Now listen here, everyone, I’m afraid I need your help. All of you. Will, I want you to help me find the Swiss version of the Nonna chain and assist me on working the fraternal line of enquiry. Adrian, Matthew, Luke, could you think about classic British desserts I could suggest to Agusto? What special ingredients could I propose to add something new to the menu at Ecco? Would you please think it over for the next two days, discuss amongst yourselves and come up with a maximum of three ideas by Monday lunchtime? I’m aware we’re all on holiday, but I have a job to do. Happy Easter! Pancakes first and then who’s up for an Easter parade?”

  The Easter Bunny, chocolate eggs and fluffy chicks of Beatrice’s imagination were soon overpowered by heat, drums, song, prayer and religious iconography. Her nerves regarding Luke and his safety jangled constantly every second he was out of her sight.

  Huge noisy processions drew crowds amid the narrow streets, becoming oppressive and in Beatrice’s opinion, downright dangerous. She, Will and Adrian had agreed to keep a lookout for their stalker, all the while affecting a happy-go-lucky Sunday atmosphere for Matthew and Luke. It wasn’t easy.

  Just as her discomfort about being jostled by crowds and losing her sense of direction reached screaming point, Matthew caught her arm, motioning to a side street. At the end, she saw the most welcome sight. The beach! Sea sparkling in the sunshine, empty deckchairs and large beach umbrellas for weary tourists.