Peril at the Pellicano Hotel

by Adriana Licio

  Angelica searched for the bare walls behind the scaffolding, wanting to touch the stones full of history. Sajad led them on to a path from which they could see the fort and the rocky valley behind. A streak of sun lit up the rocks and the pastures, a silver stream of water at their feet, the snow-tipped peaks of the Alborz Mountains. They stood enchanted, despite the cool wind blowing against their faces.

  “Is that our car coming?” said Karen.

  “Yes,” Sajad confirmed. “My colleague Hossein will take you back.”

  “You’re not staying overnight?” asked Angelica.

  “It’s too cold and we’re not as hardy as you are. I need the solid wall of a building around me. We’re off, my friends, but we’ll see you tomorrow. Enjoy your stay here.”

  Angelica watched as the couple walked over to the car.

  “I think it’s time to set up our lodge,” Sajad said as Hossein drove away.

  “Set up our lodge?” cried Angelica. “Do you mean we’re sleeping in a tent?” She had been dreaming of a hot shower in some romantic but comfortable accommodation.

  “We’ll have a fire and food under the stars,” Sajad replied. “I’ll wait for you on the plain below so you can enjoy the sunset.”

  As the man left, Angelica glared at Rolando.

  “Are you kidding? Are we really sleeping in a tent?”

  “It’s just for tonight.”

  “Why didn’t we go back with Karen and Liam to a decent hotel?”

  “I thought it’d be a nice experience, and you didn’t contradict me when I mentioned camping at Alamut.”

  “You didn’t mention camping, you called it a lodge. I thought it’d be a nice deluxe place, not a tent. I need a hot shower, a warm bed.”

  He didn’t reply, just looked at the sunset and the amazing pinkish colours in both the sky and the mountains. Apart from a few baaaas from a group of goats following a shepherd home, they were surrounded by complete silence.

  They were alone.

  The night was beyond starry. Angelica had never seen the like of it: a feast of lights, the Milky Way looking so close, thick as a spoonful of clotted cream, she believed she could touch it with her hands.

  Sajad offered them a delicious stew of beef with split peas and aubergines.

  “I’ve never tasted beef like this,” said Angelica, who had decided to make the best of a bad job – a decision she’d found unexpectedly easy.

  “It’s my wife who does all the cooking,” replied Sajad. “I’ve only warmed up what she prepared.”

  The crispy Barbari flatbread with sesame seeds was so tasty, Angelica could have eaten it on its own, and the hot, aromatic tea accompanied the meal perfectly.

  I can’t believe I’m sitting by a crackling fire in the middle of nowhere, Angelica thought.

  Rolando was asking questions about the history of the place, and Sajad was only too happy to share tales from Alamut and its surrounding area, occasionally throwing dry wood into the fire from the pile he’d collected. Angelica looked at her husband: the boring man, the steady employee who now looked so at ease in this wild place, conversing in stumbling English with Sajad. And all of a sudden, she felt happier than she had been for years. She slid her hand into Rolando’s, and he kissed her on the head.

  “Honey, you look a little tired. Perhaps you should go to bed now.”

  “I think I’ll do just that, but don’t stay up all night yourself. That goes for you too, Sajad.”

  The two men smiled and resumed their conversation, their chat interspersed with long stretches of comfortable silence. In the tent, Angelica found a sleeping bag, a thin mattress. Would she sleep a wink? After the first few minutes, though, her body started to warm up, thanks to the hot-water bottle Sajad had given her. It certainly helped, and before long, her thoughts were drifting.

  But just before sleep overcame her, a pair of hands covered her mouth and she was dragged out of the tent, unable to make a sound. To add terror to terror, Angelica saw no trace of Rolando and Sajad near the fire as she was dragged away. What had happened to them? Who was kidnapping her and what did they intend to do to her?

  She tried to kick out, move her arms, but they were pinned too tightly. As they reached a four by four, she felt handcuffs snap on to her wrists before she was thrown in the back. A strip of sticking plaster covered her mouth.

  “I’ll take it off,” said one of the kidnappers, “but if you scream, it’ll go straight back.”

  She shook her head and pleaded with her eyes, letting him know she promised to stay silent. Maybe having her mouth free would afford her more chance to escape later.

  “Good.”

  He tore the plaster away. She did her best not to cry out. It hurt.

  By the inner lights of the car, she recognised who one of her kidnappers was: the man with the mean eyes she had seen speaking to Liam at the bazaar. The boxer. He laughed mirthlessly at her attempt to open the door with her cuffed hands.

  “It’s locked, so you’d better behave. If you do, nothing bad will happen to you. We want to keep you as healthy as possible – you see, you’re precious to us.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “The gold your husband was meant to give us.”

  “My husband what?”

  “You’re starting to talk too much for my tastes.” The boxer with the mean eyes turned towards her and sprayed something around her mouth and nose – something sweet almost to the point of rottenness…

  20

  An Honest Confession

  Giò had just parked her car when Guido spotted her from the hotel terrace. Smoking a cigarette, he approached her.

  “Hello, Giò, is everything OK? You looked rather worried when you left.”

  “I’m not worried any more, just furious. I simply hate liars of any kind,” she replied, slamming the car door.

  “And who has been stupid enough to lie to you?” he asked with the soft smile and slightly ironic wink she had become so fond of.

  “A certain video maker, engaged by Margherita for a project when he’d told me he’d intended to have nothing more to do with her. I’ve just come from Mimì Pecoriello’s house.”

  “Ouch! Yes, that was very stupid of me,” he said, still speaking softly, but he didn’t seem too worried. He put out his half-smoked cigarette in an ashtray on one of the tables on the terrace, and then said, “Let’s have a walk, I want to explain.”

  “It’s a bit late for that…”

  “Come on, Giò,” and he invited her to follow him, descending the little staircase leading from the terrace to the beach. The sea had retreated after the storm, so the gangway between the rocks was again usable. They reached Anginarra Beach without difficulty.

  “You let me believe you no longer had anything to do with Margherita.” Giò spoke as soon as they had passed beneath the windows of the restaurant and she was sure they were alone.

  “Which was true. By that time she was dead, so I couldn’t have anything to do with her.”

  Giò stamped her foot and looked at him with furious eyes.

  “As I said, it was stupid of me, and I shouldn’t have done it. But you didn’t like it when I talked about my past relationship with Margherita, so if I’d added that I’d come to Maratea to conduct business with her, you would have told me to bugger off.”

  “Which is exactly what I’m going to do now.”

  “Giò, things happened so quickly. If I were going to work with Margherita, if she were still alive, then I would have told you all. But as things are, it would just have created friction between you and me, and we have so little time to get to know each other. I didn’t lie to you… I simply didn’t tell you the whole truth.”

  “Unfortunately, to me there’s no difference between telling a lie and not telling the whole truth.”

  Guido sighed, thought things over, then spoke in a contrite tone of voice.

  “You’re absolutely right. It was so stupid of me, but I swear I didn’t ever think
along the lines of Giò’s never to know the truth. Just believe me when I say I’m sorry.”

  “The thing is, I’m not sure I can trust you, now.”

  “Giò, it was just a job. We were to meet with this Pecoriello guy, who Margherita said might have some work for me, and you know every little helps.”

  “Did she contact you before you came to Maratea?”

  “Yes, a couple of months ago.”

  “And was that the first time she’d got in touch with you after your other writers’ retreat?”

  “No, she phoned me a couple of times soon afterwards. I made it clear that what had happened between us was over. It took a while for that to get through to her, but then she came back with this deal involving a man who needed a team to put his book together.”

  “Are you sure you told her things were over? Or did you tiptoe around that as you seem to do with uncomfortable truths?”

  “You’re welcome to check all our emails as soon as we get back to the hotel,” he said seriously.

  “I might just do that.”

  “Suits me. It’s my fault you’re doubting me.”

  “Mr Pecoriello mentioned that Mrs Galli was also due to meet him on Sunday.”

  He looked genuinely surprised. “I didn’t know that. Margherita never mentioned it when we spoke after dinner.”

  “So what did you talk about?”

  “We spoke about the customer, Mr Pecoriello, and what Margherita was expecting me to do.”

  “Were you going to do some shooting when you met on the Sunday?”

  “Not at all, that would come later. But since I was here, I could show him my work and outline what he could expect from me, hand him my proposal.”

  “It was very nice of Margherita to suggest your name.”

  “I didn’t lead her on, Giò, if that’s what you’re hinting at. That’s not me. I told her our affair was over and this was just a business meeting. She told me he could pay good money, and work is work. I had no reason to refuse this job, especially as I’d be here in Maratea anyway.”

  “But why didn’t she tell you about Mrs Galli?”

  “I’ve no idea.” He thought it over, then added, “You know what? The woman told us plainly she’s a ghost writer, and I can hardly imagine Margherita putting in all the hard work that takes: interviewing the man, working with him draft by draft. I don’t think that suited her personality at all – a ghost writer is someone who avoids the limelight, but Margherita had to be the centre of attention all the time.”

  “So what are you suggesting?”

  “That Margherita was intending to introduce Mrs Galli as the researcher, but in truth, she’d be the dedicated ghost writer. Maybe they had some form of private agreement.”

  It was Giò’s turn to think things over. He might be right. From the way Annika had described Margherita, Giò could hardly imagine her, with her glamorous lifestyle – attending social events of all kinds, meeting people – finding the time for the complicated work of a ghost writer.

  “And was it Margherita who told you not to mention the meeting to us?”

  “Yes, she asked me to maintain the highest confidentiality for the project. After all, she hadn’t signed the deal yet. That’s one of the reasons I never mentioned anything to you – it wasn’t my secret to tell. And I didn’t think it was relevant to our relationship, so yes, I glossed over it. Will you forgive me?”

  Giò suddenly felt better, the heavy weight lifting from her heart. She could cope with harsh reality, with bad things happening in life, but lying was an altogether different thing. Still, she needed time to think over whether she could trust this man or not. No impulsive decisions, no silly feelings running away with her.

  His eyes met hers, his hand gently moving her chin upwards.

  “I won’t lie to you, I promise.”

  Giò felt goosebumps cover her skin, all good intentions abandoning her. Those hazel eyes searched her soul as if he could read her mind and his touch was having a strange chemical reaction on her, something she had no control over. She closed her eyes, shivering with pleasure.

  But disappointingly, his lips never met hers.

  “And I won’t kiss you either.” He was still looking at her intently, so very close. “No, not until I’ve told you one more thing…”

  It was at that moment they were interrupted by people shouting to them from the gangway. Vittoria and Erminia were calling their names, telling them to return to the hotel right away.

  “We’re so sorry,” Vittoria said teasingly.

  “Yes, we hope we didn’t interrupt anything.” Erminia chuckled wickedly. “Anything important, I mean.”

  “That’s exactly what you did do, and at the worst possible moment,” Guido replied. Giò blushed beyond crimson, but possibly in the orange light of the sunset, the other didn’t notice.

  “Not our fault,” Erminia said. “It was Annika who sent us looking for you, after she’d tried knocking at the doors of your rooms. And your mobiles don’t seem to be connected either.”

  Giò stuttered something about there being no signal on the northern beach.

  “It’s almost 7pm,” Vittoria reminded them. “It’s time for our group meeting to sum up the day.”

  The other writers were all in the small seminar room, sitting in a circle. Annika sent a look towards Giò, as if asking what was going on. Giò nodded and smiled to reassure her friend that everything was fine, but she felt as if she was still in a dream. So much so that Giò started when it came to her turn to speak at the meeting; she’d barely heard what the others had said. She stammered a summary of what she had done before she had gone out to meet Granny and the Pecoriellos. Luckily, she had managed to squeeze in a few hours of concentrated work in the morning. And yes, she was quite happy with the direction her project was taking. Writing a travel memoir was so much more personal and creative than writing a travel guide. Not as straightforward, though.

  Valentina followed her, but once again, Giò found herself unable to concentrate on what her companions were saying. She glanced at Guido, who seemed to be much more present than she was. He was listening, encouraging and speaking words of advice when he felt he could help someone. As for Giò, she was just waiting for the painful meeting to be over. What more did he have to tell her? Had she fallen for this guy in a few days without even realising what was going on? Had she already passed the point of no return?

  She remembered the beginning of her very short relationship with Andy, a charming architect she had met in September, soon after her return to Maratea. But back then, she had fought against her feelings. She had felt her interest, realised what was going on… Or had she? Maybe love is meant to take you by surprise, no matter what.

  How could Annika be so cruel as to keep them here for so long? And what was Francesco saying? It was his turn now and he was explaining the rather convoluted path his mind had gone down today, using a million words to say he hadn’t even managed to write 500. Then Erminia intervened, saying that it wasn’t the quantity but the quality that mattered, although she herself had had a productive day with 8,000 words down. And a gazillion words followed to describe her creative process.

  Giò’s eyes, despite her best efforts, fell again on Guido, who winked at her. Erminia’s verbal stream was a monologue; she didn’t seek any feedback from the others. She simply wanted them to admire her ability to write and produce work constantly, to feel she was a role model. She seemed indifferent to how hard it must be for her son to live up to such a monster of productivity, despite her attempts to appear encouraging and understanding.

  Annika summed up all they had said, dispensed advice on what could work better for each writer, asked what their expectations were for the next day, and finally called the meeting to a close.

  “Let’s go to Il Veliero. It’s time for dinner.”

  “No chance they’ll open our restaurant again?” Alberto asked.

  “The carabinieri said that tomorrow, they will remo
ve the tape. I’m not sure about lunch, as it will take some time for the chef to sort out her kitchen and do all the shopping, but tomorrow evening we should have dinner at the Pellicano Hotel.”

  “Yahoo!” Simone said. “We love it here, and it’d be a pity not to use the restaurant now we know the kitchen staff weren’t at fault.”

  “I agree,” said Alberto. “And the wine list here is excellent.”

  On their way out, the writers met Mrs Galli holding a paper bag in her hands.

  “Are you joining us for dinner?” Alberto asked her politely.

  “No, got some work to do. I’m taking my dinner to my room. I need to go on writing; can’t waste my time with yoga classes, meetings, long lunches and even longer dinners, drinks and cafés. I have a schedule to respect.”

  “I feel so miserable whenever I speak to that woman,” Francesco said as Mrs Galli hobbled away.

  Vittoria took his arm. “Please don’t. Not all that glitters is gold.”

  “Besides,” Guido said, “as far as we know, she might be writing the screenplay for a sleazy porno movie,” and they all burst into raucous laughter.

  21

  More Revelations

  The dinner dragged as much for Giò as the meeting had, but finally it was over and Guido was standing beside her.

  “Would you come to my room? I’d like to show you a couple of things.”

  As she followed him in, he turned on his laptop and opened his email.

  “I want you to read all my correspondence with Margherita.”

  Giò was uncertain for a second. Had she been so unforgiving that he felt he had to prove he’d been speaking the truth?

  “Please, go ahead, I’m begging you.”

  He had entered Margherita’s name and a number of emails had appeared in date order. Giò could see that it had been Margherita who’d contacted him, that much was true. The woman had also alluded to how much she was looking forward to meeting him again, and he had replied, leaving no room for ambiguity, that to him it would only be a business meeting. He had been very clear on the fact that any personal relationship between them was well and truly over, and he had no wish to resurrect it.