Within a month of starting her lessons, not only had she improved more than she thought possible, but also for the first time in her life she was spending time with a man she didn’t want to kill. She had never met a man like him: he was around fifty-five, totally at peace with himself and the world, never resorted to innuendo implying he wanted sex, and was always utterly charming. She knew he wasn’t married, and when one day he introduced her to his partner Giorgio, an equally charming captain with Alitalia, Olivia felt a simple, undemanding enjoyment in the company of other human beings she had never before experienced.
Olivia was describing Alessandro Rossi’s methods in detail to Connie when Caroline returned from the lobby.
“All settled, Connie,” she said, ignoring Olivia. “Signorina Grimaldi isn’t happy, but—”
“Remind me what she charges, Caroline, would you?” interrupted Connie.
Reluctant to commit herself in view of her deal, Caroline stalled. “Er, I’ll have to check.”
Connie waited while Caroline rummaged for longer than necessary in her bag.
“I’m still waiting,” she said, finally, when it was clear what Caroline was doing. “You have all your files with you on the iPad, don’t you?”
Now more than flustered, Caroline made a pretence of studying the tablet. The former police officer in Olivia could see guilt written all over her. She kept quiet and waited.
“Let me see,” said Caroline, “Er, yes, it’s, um, a hundred and twenty euros a session.”
“Forty an hour, right?” confirmed Connie.
She turned to Olivia. “How does that compare with your Signor Rossi, er … oh my heavens, how rude of me, I haven’t even asked your name, I was so interested in your story.”
Olivia smiled. “It’s Diana,” she said. “Diana Fitchley.”
“Pleased to meet you, Diana. It is all right if I call you Diana, isn’t it?”
“Of course.”
“Wonderful, I’m Connie. Connie Fairbright. And this is Caroline Monkton, my PA.”
“Very pleased to meet you,” said Olivia, offering her hand to Connie. “And you too, Caroline,” she added, turning her head and holding the PA’s eyes with icy penetration. “And to answer your question, Connie,” she continued, her eyes still boring into Caroline’s, “Alessandro charges thirty an hour, although as I’ve said, I think he’s worth far more.”
An hour later, Connie and her new friend Diana walked into the Bar Napoli, Alessandro Rossi’s favourite launching spot for his conversational walks. He eyed Connie suspiciously. He could tell instantly she was moneyed, but that didn’t interest him. His strict criteria demanded simply that his students were willing to learn and be receptive to his unconventional methods.
“You will need to have a thick skin, signora,” he explained without any further small talk once the introductions had been made. “No other language has vowel sounds quite like Italian, particularly English, whether it’s British English or American like yours. I will require you to forget your vowels, forget them entirely, and learn them again as if they are something quite different, something totally new. I shall be relentless every time I hear a non-Italian vowel, correcting you and correcting you endlessly until you hate me. Believe me, it can work and if it does, the rest is easy. So, signora, I require a week to assess your potential for correct pronunciation. We shall walk the streets of this beautiful city seeking inspiration at every corner, reading signs, menus, advertisements, learning the vowels. If you achieve little or nothing, we shall go our separate ways, since I do not wish to waste your time or mine. However, I have confidence in my method and I am used to overcoming enormous resistance.”
He waved an arm towards Olivia. “Diana announced her Englishness with every sound she uttered when I first met her. But after a few days of having her vocal cords torn apart and then rebuilt, she was starting to pronounce my exquisite language like a Roman, even if she didn’t understand a word of what she was saying. Do we have a deal?”
Connie began her lessons that afternoon, having instructed a rather sullen Caroline to reschedule her art tutor. The first three days were as brutal as Rossi had predicted as he set about smashing her vowels into fragments before reconstructing them piece by painful piece; the following three days were merely painful. But Connie had a good ear and already by the end of the week, when she said anything in Italian, she now sounded far less American. When Rossi agreed to continue with her tuition, she was ecstatic.
During that first week and the three that followed, while Connie was with Rossi, Olivia gathered as much information as she could about the rich Signora Fairbright and her scheming PA. More than anything, she needed to know about their relationship; whether it was simply professional or whether there was a further, emotional side. How would Fairbright react to her PA resigning? Or being murdered? For one thing was becoming clearer in Olivia’s mind: Caroline Monkton would probably have to die. The reason was simple: if Monkton returned to England, either sacked by Fairbright or having left of her own apparent accord once Olivia had read her fortune to her, there was a danger she might see Olivia’s photograph on a police information broadcast, and although Olivia as Diana looked completely different from the photos the police had, Monkton might see enough of a resemblance to make the connection. That couldn’t be allowed to happen.
Olivia’s snooping into both Connie and Caroline’s personal effects in their respective rooms, research as she thought of it, was exhaustive, but in the end, the matter was straightforward. The two women’s relationship was purely professional, and from further observation of their interaction over the dinners Connie now insisted Olivia be a part of, it was clear Connie had had enough of her ageing and not-over-efficient PA. Monkton’s personal papers, checked while she was out running errands for Connie, gave Olivia all she needed: the woman was a con artist like herself. Takes one to know one, thought Olivia. I was suspicious as soon as I set eyes on you.
The discovery saved Monkton’s life since it was clear that whatever happened, she wouldn’t be returning to England. She was on the run and destined to a life of drifting around Europe in exile trying to find people like Connie from whom she could extract a working wage while fiddling a little more on the side.
“Your problem, Caroline, is you’re a petty thief who can’t keep her hands out of the till.”
Olivia had waited almost a month since she had first introduced herself to Connie, surprising Monkton one morning by knocking on the door of her room while Connie was somewhere on the streets of Rome with Alessandro Rossi and insisting they had a chat.
“You’re a fool; you can’t see the bigger picture. Connie has been paying you a generous salary for your inefficient services, but you couldn’t resist, could you?” said Olivia as she sat down without being invited.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Diana. I don’t think Connie would—”
“Would what, Caroline? Would like to hear about your arrangement with Signorina Grimaldi?” Olivia shook her head. “Very unprofessional. Or perhaps she would like to hear how, since that fiasco in Devon nearly ten years ago, you can’t risk going back to the UK.”
It was enough for Monkton; she crumbled.
“What do you want?” she whispered from behind the hands now covering her face. She looked through her fingers, her eyes darting, frightened. “I can’t afford to—”
Olivia’s snort of interruption was harsh.
“I don’t want your money, you stupid bitch, I’ve got enough of my own. What I can’t stand is seeing a crook like you taking advantage. Connie Fairbright seems to be a pretty rich woman whom I assume you were intending to fleece for all you could get.”
Olivia’s face fell into a snarl — she could only do supercilious for so long. “Your kind of low-life makes me spit. For two pins I would break your neck and toss you in the Tiber.”
She paused to let the threat work its way into Monkton’s consciousness. The woman was looking sick.
&nb
sp; “I’ll give you one chance, Monkton,” continued Olivia. “You resign today, now. Then you bugger off out of Rome and never come back. Ever. In fact it would be safer for you if you left Italy altogether. Go and work your cons elsewhere; there are plenty of places to choose from. I know you’ve tried France and Switzerland in the past; try them again.”
Caroline Monkton gulped, but she wasn’t quite beaten. “And if I—”
She jumped as Olivia’s fist hit the table in front of her.
“If you don’t?” she growled. “If you don’t, if I ever see or hear from you again, if you dare to try to contact Connie, even if you make it look accidental, I’ll kill you. I’ll break that scrawny neck. Do I make myself clear?”
Monkton’s eyelids were batting up and down, her hands wringing together. “But … but I can’t just leave. Connie wouldn’t understand. You wouldn’t tell her, would you, I mean, about …?”
Olivia’s answer was to open her shoulderbag and retrieve a single typewritten sheet; a letter. She handed it to Caroline.
“Sign that and put it in Connie’s room. Then take your things and go.”
She took an envelope from her bag. “Here, I’m all heart. Take it.”
The now-shattered PA opened the envelope to find a one-way train ticket to Zurich for that evening.
Olivia pointed to the letter. “Sign it. Now!”
Chapter Ten
The acrylic dome had long been removed and packed away, the intense Sardinian sun now more than sufficient to keep the large pool on the clifftop at an invitingly comfortable temperature. The languid days of summer had arrived, long afternoons for stretching out on a lounger in the shade of a sun umbrella the reward for more physically demanding mornings of exercise.
Derek had changed his mind about too much R&R being boring. Now his leg was no longer in plaster, he was working hard with Alicia to get his body back to the level of fitness he had achieved before Olivia Freneton put his ambitions on hold. However, while he knew his body was generally in good shape, his leg still needed treating with respect. The various titanium-steel pins holding it together were doing their job, the bone tissue was growing around them, the fractured bones knitting together, but he couldn’t risk an awkward fall; not yet.
Alicia had not only put Derek on a version of the Paleo diet, much to his initial indignation —
“But I like bread, Ali, and spuds and—”
“Pizza, pasta and rice?” added Alicia, interrupting him as she chanted the words in her heavily accented English. “Sugar in disguise, all of them.”
“Hmmm,” grunted Derek.
— but also she had insisted on what she called her regeneration brew, a complex mixture she blended daily of herbs, spices, plant extracts and roots chosen to accelerate the healing process.
In a statistical sample of one person, it was hard to claim his speedy return to health was down to Alicia’s brew or Derek’s determination, but something worked and by the end of June he was ready to return to England and report for duty.
A week before his departure, Derek was sitting at breakfast with Alicia, her charts recording every aspect of his progress over the past three months spread out on the table in front of them.
“Look-a, Derek,” she said, pointing to a steep upward curve, “The muscle function. See how it improve?”
Derek grinned at her. “No doubt about it, Ali, you’re a genius. I’d like to put you in my suitcase and take you home, but I don’t think Jen would be amused.”
“Also not Carlo, my boyfriend. He remove the titanium pins one by one and grind your bones to dust,” she said, smiling sweetly as she mimed using a mortar and pestle.
“Wow, Ali,” said Derek, wincing. “You certainly have a way with words. When are you leaving for your week off to see him?”
“Two days,” she said, a dreamy glint in her eyes. “I cannot wait.”
“I can see that,” laughed Derek. “Quick, put those charts away, Jen’s coming.”
Alicia hurriedly gathered the papers and slammed them into a file, but she was too late; Jennifer had seen them.
“Gloating over your performance again, DC Thyme?” she said aloofly as she set her coffee mug onto the table.
Unlike Derek’s rapid progress, Jennifer’s was far slower, the underlying damage to both her head and her chest still taking its toll. Every time she went a little too fast or put in a little too much effort, the headaches would start or her chest would complain. Neither were as bad as they once had been, but they slowed her down, frustrated her.
Initially, Alicia’s obsession with logging every aspect of her performance had encouraged Jennifer, which was the intention. There was an upward trend to the curves, albeit a shallow one. But now, each time she saw Derek’s charts, she felt her jaw clench with impatience.
“Jeez, Ali,” she said, pointing at the file, “I thought I was making progress, but look at those figures. They blow mine out of the water.”
“It’s not the same, Jenni,” said Alicia, her smile reassuring as she reverted to her rapid-fire Italian. “Derek’s injuries were completely different. Yes, his leg was a mess, but that was it. Bone and muscle. Yours were far more complex. The brain is the most delicate of organs.”
She put a hand on Jennifer’s arm. “Look, I’ve been comparing your progress with others who survived injuries like yours, and it’s excellent. You mustn’t be discouraged.”
Jennifer smiled at her friend. “I know, Ali, I’m grateful for all your work, believe me. It’s just so frustrating. I mean, it’s not as if I’m old. I’m twenty-seven, not seventy-seven; my body should be patching itself up faster than this.”
“It’s doing the best it can,” said Alicia, “and it’s doing brilliantly.”
Derek hated to see Jennifer getting upset about her progress, wanting her to return to full fitness as much as she did.
“Got something that might interest you, Jen,” he said. “Let me get my phone.”
He stood and walked over to another table. As he returned, strolling towards them, the slight limp he’d been left with was hardly noticeable.
“Look at this, girls,” he said with a grin as he held up the device. “I’ve discovered why I got off so lightly.”
“I wouldn’t call smashing your bones ‘getting off lightly’,” said Jennifer.
“Compared with losing a leg, it is,” replied Derek. “Watch this video. One of my mates in the fraud squad got it from the team who were investigating my attempted murder. It was taken by some bloke just along the platform who was filming his girlfriend on his phone. Watch how Olaf reacted.”
“Olaf?”
“That was the huge Swedish guy’s name. Olaf. He came to see me when I was in hospital. Such a lovely bloke. He was in tears when I thanked him. The nurse had to stop him picking me up to hug me. I told him we’d definitely get together once I was fully operational again, have a few drinks. Anyway, watch it.”
He pressed a button on the screen and handed the phone to Jennifer. Alicia leaned across to watch over her shoulder. The scene showed the girlfriend in the foreground, her face filling half the screen. Behind her, in the background, the tunnel at the end of the platform was clearly visible. As the train appeared, thundering towards the camera, the image jerked as the crowd moved as one. The huge Swede’s body blocked the view of Derek falling towards the platform edge, but then his arms shot out and could be seen not only checking Derek’s fall, but swinging his body round in the same direction as the train was moving, so as it hit Derek’s leg, the impact was lessened since he was moving with it.
“Wow!” exclaimed Jennifer, “that’s amazing.”
“The team’s DI had someone from a university look at it and they reckon the speed of impact was reduced by several miles an hour, which lessened its effect. Cool, huh!”
“Impressivo,” nodded Alicia, standing up. “OK, I gotta some work to do with-a your schedules for when I not ‘ere, and a programme for you for when you back in London, Derek.
”
As they watched her go, Jennifer turned to Derek. “Looking forward to getting back to work?”
Derek shrugged. “Yes and no. Actually, I wasn’t at all until I had another email this morning along with the one with the video. It was from Hawkins.”
“Hawkins! What does he want?”
“It’s more what I want,” answered Derek. “I really wasn’t keen to get back to the fraud squad. As I’ve said before, the work didn’t ring my chimes, important though it is. So I got to thinking about it and I reckoned that now I’m out of the Olympic squad, there’s no reason for me to be in London. I mean, it was great of the force to find me a spot in fraud so I could do my training, don’t get me wrong, but I was never happy from day one. So I wrote to Hawkins asking if I could go back to the SCF in Nottingham. He replied very quickly to say he’d support me and not only that, he’d put in a word with my bosses in London, smooth it over so it didn’t look like I was ungrateful.”
“You know,” said Jennifer, “I think we all misjudged Hawkins, probably something to do with his miserable demeanour. Underneath, he’s a very caring boss.”
“Too right,” agreed Derek. “In the email he sent this morning, he said it’s all sorted. I report back at the SCF in ten days’ time.”
“That’s brilliant, Derek,” enthused Jennifer.
“Yeah,” he said, a grin across his face. “So yes, I’m looking forward to getting back, now it’s the SCF, and no, I’m not looking forward to leaving this place. It’s paradise, Jen, and you’ve been amazing.”
Jennifer smiled. “It’s Alicia who’s been amazing. Neither of us would have got to where we are without her.”
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