The Villa

by Rosanna Ley

  ‘I promise,’ she had said. And it was a promise she intended to keep, advice she would pass on, if any of her plans ever came to fruition.

  Only then had he let her go home.

  ‘You are sure you want to do this?’ he asked her, now, at the water’s edge.

  She clasped his hand. Thought – not of the dive, but of her daughter, who had been travelling on her own journey, most of which Tess had been unaware of. She couldn’t say she was glad about the exams and Ginny’s decision not to go to university – what parent would be? It had been a shock to hear what Ginny had done and what she’d been going through – but she was glad that she would see her soon. And glad that Ginny had at last told her how she felt.

  ‘Yes,’ she said to Tonino. ‘Are you?’

  He nodded. They checked their equipment and waded in side by side.

  It was so much more rewarding, she thought, being with a diving buddy, sharing what you saw. Because although they were on a mission, heading back towards the cave, there was still lots to see on the way. Grey stripy salps, anthias and bream; an octopus with swirling tentacles and a funny little pulsating cuttlefish, like a brown-and-white slipper in a skirt, which made her smile, despite everything. And the sea was clearer today; the silt and sand had settled on the seabed after the storm; visibility was good.

  The rock face was vibrant with sponges of white, yellow and orange, and the patches shaded by overhanging rock had attracted groups of silvery black-pronged cardinal fish and sea anemones. When they reached the gap in the rocks, the hole that had formed the new entrance to the cave, Tess hesitated. Could she really go in there again?

  He hesitated too, as if aware of what she was feeling.

  Go for it, girl … She nodded and slipped through, kicked herself gently along the tunnel, even recognising the grey boulder that had trapped her yesterday. Don’t think about it. He was right behind her, a sleek, lean figure in his wetsuit, gliding effortlessly through the water.

  They broke surface together, and pulled off their masks. He shone his torch around, swearing softly, clearly impressed with the size of the cavern. And it was beautiful, she supposed, the contrast between the dark rocks and turquoise water, the skinny beam of sunlight filtering through. Grotta Azzurra.

  ‘Where?’ he asked.

  She shone her own torch in the general direction of the platform where she’d seen it. For a moment, she thought both pot and skeleton had disappeared. But no. There they were, clear as day.

  He nodded, eased himself out of the water on to the slippery boulders, pulling off his fins. He scaled the rock wall barefoot up to the platform, with the beam from Tess’s torch lighting the way.

  As she watched, he stepped gingerly over the bones. God … She was glad he wasn’t contemplating taking those back with them.

  Then he stooped to pick something up from the floor. He examined it briefly and tucked it in the pocket of his wetsuit. He grabbed the earthenware pot – which was the size of a large pumpkin – with both hands and called down to her. ‘It is heavy.’

  The words echoed around the cavern. It is heavy … heavy… heavy.

  Tonino was carrying a waterproof bag attached to his weight belt. He unhooked the bag, placed the pot inside this and half-jumped, half-stepped down to the lower level, holding the weight of the bag in front of his body.

  Tess winced. ‘Careful … ’ But he was agile and seemed to have perfect balance.

  He put his fins back on, reattached the bag to his belt and slid back into the water. ‘Andiamo. Let us go,’ he said.

  And Tess was happy enough to follow him.

  * * *

  They let the tide take them away from il faraglione and back to shore, paddling lightly with arms and feet, finally pulling off their fins so that they could walk out on to the beach.

  They emerged by the stone jetty, dripping but triumphant. Tess pulled off her facemask. Tonino had already done the same and was grinning at her.

  ‘And now,’ he said, patting the bag at his waist, ‘we will see.’

  She nodded, aware of a lurch of anticipation inside, following his gaze as he scanned the beach. But all was quiet.

  ‘Come.’

  Tess too didn’t want to hang around. Without even unclipping her belt, she followed him, trudging past the old boathouse and rusty anchors, negotiating the steps to the baglio towards the safety of the studio. They had been discreet. But that feeling of someone watching – it never quite went away.

  Tonino unlocked the studio door and pushed it open. Silence. He unclipped his belt, placing it with the bag carefully just inside the door, and began to unstrap his tank. Tess followed suit.

  She didn’t know what made her look up; the faintest of sounds, the premonition that they were not, after all, alone. But as she glanced towards him, a shadow fell across Tonino who had bent down to put his scuba kit on the floor.

  ‘Toni!’ she shouted.

  The man had come from the side of the studio and was standing in the open doorway. One arm was raised above Tonino’s head. He was holding something …

  ‘Diantanuni? What the devil?’ Tonino blinked.

  It happened so fast. Tess lunged forwards, pushing Tonino to one side. The weapon – a slab of driftwood, she realised – destined for Tonino’s head, fell instead on to his shoulder.

  Tonino whipped around and was on his feet in seconds. ‘You.’

  It was Giovanni.

  For a moment Tess was frozen to the spot. It felt as if they were, all three, caught in a tableau echoing one from the past. She scrambled to her feet.

  The two men faced one another. Tonino, in his wetsuit, his eyes dark and angry, the scar on his face as raised and livid as she had ever seen it. And Giovanni, his face twisted with hatred, his mouth curling back into a sneer.

  ‘What the fuck …?’ yelled Tonino, rubbing at his shoulder and letting loose a torrent of furious Sicilian.

  Giovanni just laughed. He kicked the door shut behind him. Held out his hand. ‘Give me the bag.’

  She’d been right. He had been watching, he’d seen them go out diving this afternoon, he knew all their movements, for God’s sake. He probably knew what was in the bag. He knew everything. And God knows who he was in league with.

  Tess was the closest to the bag. She stood in front of it. No way.

  But the two men were still eyeing each other like a couple of Sicilian wild dogs guarding their own territory. And so it was, she realised. Did Tonino know that Tess’s theory was correct – that the treasure had originally belonged to his family? Giovanni certainly believed that it was Sciarra property; ancient protection money as demanded by the Mafia.

  Giovanni threw the first punch, catching his opponent off guard. Tonino backed off, rubbed at his jaw, squared up to his opponent.

  Oh my God, thought Tess. What could she do? What should she do? She didn’t want to be some helpless female on the sidelines of this battle. But …

  They were flinging insults and fists at each other, much as they probably had in the playground. It was an old and bitter rivalry and somehow she had found herself in the centre of it. It was not her battle. But as Giovanni let loose a vicious punch to the face and as Tonino buckled, Tess realised her mistake. This was no playground fight. This was the culmination of what had been festering for years. It had started with their ancestors and simmered in the deep, dark cooking pot that was Sicily. And now – with these two men – it had reached breaking point.

  Tonino … How could she help him?

  But even as she looked blindly around, Tonino seemed to recover his balance. He swung a fist and – more by luck than judgement, she guessed – it landed on Giovanni’s nose.

  ‘Ouf.’ Another torrent of angry Sicilian.

  Giovanni struck out again and again and suddenly they were both flailing wildly, each at the other, fists flying, punches connecting – with faces, eyes, throats.

  ‘Stop!’ she shouted. ‘Enough!’ But she might as well be invisible. />
  Tonino was the slighter of the two and hampered by his wetsuit, but he was also the faster and more agile, more adept at ducking and dodging punches. Thank God. And in some strange way as they fought on, Tonino’s wetsuit seemed to help him: it made him slippery and hard to catch.

  Both men were breathing heavily now – though still able to fling insults at each other, she noted – and slowing down a little. There was nothing to choose between them. It was a fair fight, and something told Tess that she couldn’t, shouldn’t intervene. She had to stay out of it. This was something they had to finish for themselves.

  Then something changed.

  As they grappled together up close, Giovanni got Tonino in a headlock. He smashed a fist into his face.

  Tess screamed. She lunged towards them once more, but Giovanni shoved her roughly away.

  ‘Stop! No!’ Surely someone outside must hear her? But no one came. Just like in the cafe that time. No one came.

  Tonino elbowed Giovanni sharp in the ribs and he grunted with pain and loosened his grip. Like a seal, Tonino slipped from his grasp, but his face was now bloody and raw.

  ‘Tonino …’ Tess realised her own face was wet with tears.

  His gaze flicked towards her and in that second, she saw Giovanni reach into his pocket. She screamed again.

  Something glinted in Giovanni’s hand. The bastard had a knife. He had flicked it open and was swishing and swirling it through the air.

  Shit. Now the fight really was unfair. Tess had to do something. She grabbed her scuba tank which was still on the floor and heaved it up, swinging it at Giovanni – hard.

  It caught him a glancing blow on the arm. He swore loudly and shoved her away, harder this time. The tank clattered to the floor and Tess fell back, hitting her head hard on Tonino’s wooden workbench.

  For a moment, everything was a blur. Tonino was yelling at him now. But the distraction had enabled him to regroup. He was in a better position – and in his hand was his own diving knife, normally kept in a clip on his shin. Hardly a lethal weapon like Giovanni’s flick-knife, but at least he was no longer unarmed.

  Both men’s faces were tight with tension. The air was still and heavy. Tess could hardly breathe. She edged further away on her backside and then stumbled to her feet.

  Giovanni lashed out, catching Tonino on the back of his hand and then slitting the wetsuit at the shoulder. Tess saw a flash of crimson. He moved in for the kill, plunging the knife towards Tonino’s upper chest. ‘Now you are finished!’ he bellowed.

  Tess screamed, Tonino ducked, and the next moment he was up, behind Giovanni now. He seemed about to strike, but Giovanni twisted around just in time to parry the blow.

  Tess breathed again. But it wasn’t over yet. Again they circled one another.

  ‘Enough!’ she pleaded. ‘Stop it, both of you! Haven’t you done enough?’

  But again they ignored her.

  Tess shuddered. There was something about the look in their eyes. It was animal. She was terrified. It was as if they had agreed. A fight to the death was the only way to end it after all.

  All of a sudden Tonino gained his first hit – a nick in Giovanni’s forearm. Tess saw the shock on the man’s face as he registered the sight of the blood. And she also saw the new determination. He lunged. Tonino twisted away. And then he had him. Tonino had a grip on the hand that held the flick-knife and he had his knife at Giovanni’s throat.

  Tess blinked. No, Tonino, she thought.

  ‘Drop it,’ he said.

  Giovanni had no choice. The knife clattered to the floor and Tonino kicked it away. Again, she held her breath.

  Tonino was muttering into Giovanni’s ear now, still holding the knife to his throat.

  ‘No, no …’ Giovanni was begging. His expression had changed. His voice had changed. He would never forgive Tonino for this, Tess realised. If he lived.

  Tonino raised his arm, the knife drew closer.

  Then he pushed him away. ‘Go,’ he said. ‘Don’t come back. It is over.’

  Giovanni half fell, half stumbled out of the studio.

  ‘Tonino …’

  He looked at her. ‘Are you hurt?’ In a few steps he had reached her.

  Her breath caught. How nearly she had lost him. And then he pulled her into his arms.

  Tess removed the top half of her wetsuit, slung a towel around her and made Tonino sit down while she bathed his face. Fortunately, his wetsuit had protected his body, so his wounds weren’t as bad as she’d thought. Then she held the waterproof bag while Tonino removed the earthenware pot.

  She took it from him. ‘It is heavy,’ she agreed. ‘Shall we look inside?’

  Gingerly, he began to towel his hair. It hung in tendrils over his forehead and neck. ‘It is why we brought it here,’ he said, a gleam in his eye. ‘Why we have gone to so much trouble, you and I.’

  ‘OK.’ The pot was the colour of faded terracotta and the lid seemed to be crusted on – with glue, salt or just with old age perhaps. In the end, Tonino had to work at it with his diving knife to free it.

  ‘Please.’ He gestured to Tess to do the honours.

  She was holding her breath, she realised. She breathed out and pulled off the lid with a flourish. They peered inside. Weird. Inside the pot was another pot. ‘Like Russian dolls,’ she said. Carefully she eased the second pot out. It was old and fragile, the top of it a shallow cup.

  ‘Some sort of Greek urn,’ said Tonino.

  ‘Is this Il Tesoro?’ Tess couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She had expected … Well, something more.

  ‘Perhaps.’ He shrugged, but she could see he felt the same.

  ‘What else did you pick up?’ she asked him, remembering how he’d stooped to retrieve something from the shelf of the cavern.

  ‘Ah yes.’ He dug it out of his pocket.

  It was a ring. They both peered at it. Maybe a wedding band, Tess thought.

  Tonino fetched some cleaning fluid from a cupboard and a rag. He took it from her and polished it gently. Gradually the scrolled initials ELS were revealed. ‘So … ’ he breathed.

  This time the understanding was simultaneous and mutual. ‘Giovanni’s grandfather?’ they said together. ‘Ettore Sciarra?’

  It made sense. Enzo’s friendship with Tess’s grandfather would make it likely that he shared the secret of the whereabouts of the treasure. So … What if he tried to get to Il Tesoro before Tonino’s grandfather had the chance? What if he sent his brother Ettore down there – but Ettore couldn’t get out again? He could have run out of air, he could have fallen; maybe he was even trapped by the original rockfall; retreated to the cave and eventually died of starvation. Whatever. When Ettore didn’t come back from his mission, Enzo must have known, or guessed the truth. He had lost his brother, but that wouldn’t stop a man like Enzo Sciarra putting it about that someone else was responsible for his death.

  Tonino picked up the old Greek vase and examined it more closely. It had a handle in the form of a lion flanked by snakes and was certainly beautiful in its own right. Still … ‘He must have wanted it very much,’ he said. ‘They all did.’

  And you? Did you too want it so much? Tess wondered. ‘But your family found it first,’ she murmured.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean, Tess?’

  ‘Luigi.’ But he still looked confused, so she explained her theory.

  ‘Ah.’ He held the casket at arm’s length. ‘That could explain a great deal.’ He frowned. ‘I wonder if my grandfather knew it was Luigi’s treasure. Perhaps he did …’

  ‘Maybe he would have asked Edward Westerman about it,’ Tess chipped in, ‘when he got back from England after the war. If he’d been able to locate it from its original hiding place, that is.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Tonino felt the weight of the casket. ‘It is so heavy. I wonder … ’

  He laid it gently on the table, sideways, and she could see immediately that on the underside there was a ridge. He jiggled it a bit
and it moved, just a fraction. They shared a quick, complicit glance. There was more to this than they’d thought. Tonino jiggled it a bit more, until finally it shifted and opened. The larger part of the urn, under the shallow cup, must be hollow. And filled with …?

  He let the contents spill out on to the table.

  Tess gasped. Old bronze coins decorated with images of horses and grapevines, Greek warriors, doves, serpents … She ran her fingers through them, awestruck. Some coins felt thick and heavy, some were fragile as a dry leaf. The decorations were blunted with age but still clear; the edges uneven but true. Gold leaves, medallions and finger rings; she picked up an oval ring embossed with the image of an old man, bent and leaning on a stick with a dog who appeared to be leading the way. The picture was so complex, the work so delicate … A narrow gold armband, the thinnest of jewelled hairpins, golden spiral earrings and decorated pendants – one of a boy on a dolphin, another of a naked woman.

  ‘It’s fabulous,’ said Tess. ‘Just fabulous.’

  Tonino let the ancient coins and the golden jewellery slide through his fingers. ‘And what do we find hidden inside,’ he said, as if to himself. He raised an eyebrow at Tess. ‘Il Tesoro, I presume,’ he said.

  CHAPTER 71

  Tess had been looking forward to this moment for weeks – and at times it had seemed impossible that it would come. But now they were here in Cetaria – Muma, Dad and Ginny. They had come for a holiday and the plan was that Tess would return with them to England until Ginny left for Australia. After that …

  ‘What finally persuaded you to come back?’ Tess asked her mother.

  The four of them were sitting at a high raised table in the baglio restaurant on the other side of the old stone fountain.

  ‘It was time.’ Her mother’s lined face was weary but flushed with excitement. Carefully, she extracted a thick red leather-bound notebook from her bag and laid it on the table by her side plate.

  ‘Aha,’ said Ginny, who was sitting opposite, though she didn’t elaborate further. Her plane tickets for Australia were already bought, the visas sorted. She and Becca had it all planned – she’d been telling Tess this afternoon on the way from the airport. The hostels and the fruit-picking, the stay in David’s house in Sydney.