“Have you given any thought to cooler climes, tesoro?”
“Cold and rainy? Sounds as though London beckons.” Her hand closed over his.
He stroked her hair. “Come rain or shine, we’ll have a ball.” He was decidedly pleased with himself, making it clear he was coming with her, as if he nursed a lingering suspicion that she would cut and run.
* * * *
Under dripping skies, they hooked up with Ruby, who was flourishing, doing well on the course and giddily in love with three boyfriends. They caught up with culture, tried out the hippest restaurants and found them wanting, and, wandering hand in hand, discovered the hidden gems of the city.
While Luca sought out old buddies in the London office, Tamsin sought a diversion in the much-vaunted retail therapy of Stratford, east London that had opened in time for the 2012 Olympic Games and been billed as “the largest urban shopping and leisure mall in Europe and a stunning, iconic new lifestyle destination.”
Tamsin strolled through the steel-and-glass centre, giving all the usual luxury brand name outlets a miss, dodging a safe, painless and quick way permanently to remove unwanted hair, and deriving no inspiration from the hottest trends. But the energetic gigs by indie singers and musicians creating new acoustic and psychedelic sounds grabbed her and as she lingered to listen, she gradually became aware of the oddly curious, fixed gaze of a grizzled security guard in his mid–sixties. Eventually he waylaid her.
“Excuse me madam, but aren’t you’re the wife of Signor Luca Leopoldo di Monte Valla?”
“Guilty as charged,” she acknowledged with a smile that hid confusion and alarm. “How did you know?”
He held out a gnarled hand and she shook it. “Madam, I’m Jabril. I’m so pleased to meet you at last. I recognized you at once from the wedding photos.”
“How clever of you, but then I was all glammed up,” she said, blushing.
“Luca said you were a lovely lady with a lovely nature. And you were always a sweet little girl and offered me iced lollies when I did odd jobs for your parents. But you were so young then, and won’t remember.” He paused. “In fifteen minutes I go off duty and if you aren’t in a hurry, won’t you join me for coffee in that café? I can recommend the homemade pastries.”
“That sounds perfect. Mention a cake and I’m yours forever.” She honestly couldn’t recall Jabril odd-jobbing for Dad, but Fabio and Luca had talked about him. She’d always wanted to hear more about Luca as a boy and now the waiting was over.
She crossed the concourse and found a table in the café by a window.
“You haven’t bought a single thing,” he remarked with a smile when he’d joined her, noticing her empty-handed. “You’ve resisted temptation! My wife should take lessons from you.” He caught the eye of a waitress and placed the order.
“We were invited to the wedding but unfortunately couldn’t make it. But Luca e-mailed a zip of photos and posted slices of wedding cake. We’re so happy he’s settled. He’s a nice boy.”
“He’s all I could wish for in a husband,” Tamsin said, as she nibbled a slice of carrot cake. She really meant it, she realized.
Jabril nodded vigorously. “You know, he never forgot us. If it wasn’t for his generosity we could never have afforded to buy a property here.” He told Tamsin that he and his wife, who worked part-time at a supermarket checkout, owned a small apartment nearby, and that their two children had readily adapted to life in Britain and worked hard. Their lad had trained as a chef and was employed in a big Edinburgh hotel. Their daughter qualified as a dental hygienist and moved to the Midlands with her husband. “And we have two grandkids,” he added proudly, showing her photos of his loved ones on his smartphone. “By the way, I called Luca and invited you both to supper—we planned a typical Somali feast—but he said he’d run out of time, that for both of you it was just a flying visit.”
“That’s true, but perhaps some other time.” She hesitated and rubbed her face, hoping she wasn’t being indelicate reviving painful memories. “Tell me, have you ever been back to Mogadishu?”
His eyes shone with the memory of a trip to his birthplace. “That’s exactly why we couldn’t make the wedding. We spent eight weeks there. It has changed a lot. Although sectarian strife has abated, there’s instability of a different kind, but by and large confidence and prosperity is flooding back, the price of real estate rivaling that of Manhattan, as Luca, who visits Mog regularly, has no doubt mentioned.”
She put down her cup and leaned forward in amazement. “You’ve lost me.”
“Oh.” Jabril looked down at his hands and began fidgeting. “Please, that’s very stupid of me. Skip it. I’ve spoken out of turn. Forgive me, take no notice of the ramblings of an old man.” That he was embarrassed, and uncomfortable, was obvious.
“No, what is it?” Her brain locked into gear, unrelenting.
Jabril busied himself, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. “I thought he would have said. To cut a long story short, he has at long last succeeded in obtaining the necessary permits for the exhumation of his parents’ remains from Mog and their re-interment in Italy. I believe it’s only a matter of days before flight plans are finalized.”
She felt her stomach churn and some shadow of unease must have touched her face, because he added hastily, “Maybe he didn’t want to worry you till everything was fixed.”
“Perhaps.” She twisted her engagement ring round and round. “Well, it was good to meet you at last. I’d better go, otherwise Luca will assume I’ve done something silly like purchasing that department store.”
They pushed back their chairs and headed for the door, he to cross the road to catch a bus home, she down to the Jubilee subway line.
“There’s something else,” he said quietly and halted suddenly. He felt strongly that if she didn’t know, she ought to. “Luca has been heavily involved for some time in counter-piracy mediations, with outstanding success, I might add.”
Tamsin’s felt her legs buckling. “What?” Why had Luca been keeping this from her? She stared at Jabril’s averted face.
A swift pressure of a hand against her shoulder and he led her back to the table they’d just vacated. He swiftly piled up the crockery and cutlery and laid them to one side. “You know, those devils first attacked on the ocean but, in the past few years, thanks to the wider use of private maritime security guards, raids at sea have dropped dramatically. But”—he shook his head—“they are desperate bandits, they’re mean, they’re highly adaptable. Now they resort to on-land abductions for large ransoms, targeting and holding tourists, journalists, NGOs, returning expatriates who they’re convinced, wrongly, are moneyed, and foreign aid workers. They stop at nothing.”
“But why Luca?” She was stunned.
“He’s a byword in business for his ace negotiating skills. He can speak Somali fluently, he’s trusted.” He glanced round, lowered his voice and tapped the side of his head. “He reads the mentality of those thugs. But he’s savvy and doesn’t let them read him.”
* * * *
Tamsin pushed open the door of the suite and found Luca behind a platter of cucumber sandwiches and scones topped with strawberry jam and Devon clotted cream.
“Not a carrier bag in sight. Didn’t you fancy anything?” He looked quizzical, recognizing a certain expression behind the subdued exterior. “I’ll be mother.” From the teapot, he poured her a cup of strong Assam tea with its distinctive malty taste.
Her throat ached, her head ached, and she felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. But the tube journey had given her time to think. She’d decided she’d say nothing till they were home. No point in risking a confrontation here when they were celebrating reconciliation.
“Your wife’s always capable of surprising you.” She kicked off her shoes and he caught her round the waist.
“I’ve thought of you all day,” he murmured, revealing a gift-wrapped parcel he’d hidden behind cushions. “For you. My surprise and just a�
�small measure of what…you mean to me.”
She tilted her head, then tore the paper aside to reveal a pair of scarlet, jewel-encrusted panties. She hardly dared to breathe. “It must have cost a fortune.” Another grand gesture, she thought ruefully, when bringing her an early morning cuppa in bed or even just a cuddle would have done much more to nurture the relationship. She pounced on the till receipt that drifted to the floor. “OMG! You paid £5,000 for this!” Nothing could be more different from those long-purged puce undies.
“Will you wear it?” His hand rested on her knee, his eyes devouring her.
“I’d be scared to.” She fought back the tears at the clumsy attempt to make amends. But she slipped them on and, making a little throaty murmur, he pulled her down onto the deep pile of the cream carpet, peeling them off, easing himself into her very satisfactorily, sending pleasure eddying through her as she cried out his name.
“Annunzio insisted his lovers wore fuck-me teetering gold brocade shoes in the bedroom, but this is…” He felt himself coming, and in that glittering, triumphant moment, he was not alone.
She lost track of time, of the number of times he rode her and took her over the edge into ecstasy.
And then, after she’d caught up with friends who’d left the bright lights of London for its leafy suburbs and cooed over their infants, they were homeward bound.
* * * *
Mirella’s weekend off and Tamsin was in the kitchen, her face flushed as she took the bubbling dish of pollo al rosmarino out of the oven. Luca was laying the dining table and, pouring out a drink, took it through to her.
“If that tastes as good as it smells, I can’t wait.” The success of the London break had buoyed him up.
“Mmm, rosé for a change.” Tamsin psyched herself up. “So when were you going to come clean?” She’d decided to give him the benefit of the doubt that he would come clean about the impending Mogadishu trip instead of glossing over it as another routine visit to the States.
Across the little charged silence, he brushed off the impeachment. “Snap. So when were you going to tell me about Jabril? Did that slip your mind?”
She half closed her eyes. “I know about Mog. Why didn’t you say? Why must you always be so secretive? Why can’t you share?”
“Honey, I didn’t want to alarm you. I’d started planning some years ago.” He felt himself stalemated and measured his words. “It’s been a long, hard haul, greasing palms here, there and everywhere. Then I discovered that some unscrupulous profiteer was trespassing and stuck a row of shops on the site of our house, and I had to dispossess him, which involved some long-winded gamesmanship. Jabril helped find a reliable agent and between us we’ve done the legwork.” He reached over for a second helping of the herby dish. “This is delicious. When you’re such a great cook, why do we have Mirella?” His eyes held her. “The site was cleared and I commissioned a new villa that’s just been completed. Everything has come together at once. That’s good.”
“You’re an artful dodger. Isn’t there a teeny weeny something else you’ve forgotten? A fine line of contrast between what you’ve said and what’s sprouting under cover?” Her tone was crisp.
There was a slight change in his face and he stirred uncomfortably. “Ah, yes, the mediation. Challenging but satisfying.” He made it sound as if he was just haggling in a bazaar.
“Do you get a rake-off?”
“In hard currency? Christ, yes. But it’s the currency of kudos that’s more important and that enhances my standing in the bank.”
Her voice was low and steady. “I don’t like this. I’m not having you going there ever again alone. It’s bloody risky. Where you go, I go.”
“You’re mad. I won’t hear of it.” He was brusque. There was the sound of padding as Beau put in an appearance. Luca bent to fondle his ears.
She made a sharp little movement. “You sound just like an old-time union boss wrecking negotiations. Please darling, just listen. I don’t want to lose you. If they snatch you, I want to be snatched with you.” She tried to make light of it. “Multi-buy. They’ll get two for the price of one. I can’t believe you weren’t going to tell me. Didn’t you think I’d find out?”
He slapped his hand to his forehead. “But on this occasion it’s purely personal. A clean seventy-two hour turn around and no jet lag, because there’s only a one-hour time difference between here and there. It’s no big deal—”
“Exactly. New path, fresh start. You and me. Remember? That’s why we’re handling this together, or not at all.” The fiercely protective look she gave him, like a tigress with its cub, clinched it.
Luca inhaled, moved forward and, tugging her into his arms, held her tight. His throat tightened as he suddenly realized how glad he was that she wanted to join him. The belonging seemed so right. “That works for me. Start packing and if you can tell me what the latest accessories of choice are for fashionistas, I’ll chuck them in.”
Her eyes widened.
“Cyanide capsule or Glock 17 semi-automatic?”
Chapter 10
They felt the burn as they emerged from arrivals, the heat coshing them like a club. The throbbing air smelled of diesel, fish, spices and rotting fruit. Bundled into a bulletproof vehicle with blacked-out windows and ring fenced by armed security guards, Tamsin and Luca jolted through the broken heart of Mogadishu down battle-scarred, potholed avenues, edged with spindly palm trees, to an opulent pearl-gray hotel with bay front views, kitted out with an Olympic-sized pool, state-of-the-art gym, beauty parlor offering intriguing treatments, fresh and wild juice bar and gleaming coffee lounge redolent of freshly ground beans where Tamsin half expected to bump into George Clooney.
Once carved up by clan warlords, Mogadishu, after the end of the brutal civil war, was now a magnet for the diaspora. A swim, blissful sex and lots of it, followed by a workout soon revivified the dissolving puddle of their bodies so, ever optimistic or rash, take your choice, they decided to confront the lions with just one weapon-toting escort.
“Something tells me I’m into something good,” hummed Tamsin.
Scaffolding etched the cloudless skyline, duck-egg-blue, bubblegum pink and peach pastels being the colors of choice for newly built homes. Ragged street kids played in the surf off white sand beaches that rivaled Miami’s rich and powerful playgrounds as scruffy boys deftly repaired fisherman’s nets in the ancient fishing quarter. A puny man staggered along the bustling seafront, bent double under the dead weight of an eight foot gray shark, youths with dilated pupils lolled by roadside shacks chewing qat—those bitter green leaves that give an amphetamine high, while in alleyways clouded with cement dust, tin-roofed cyber cafes buzzed with browsers.
“Here’s where we lived.” Luca’s expression tightened, but there was no other hint he was haunted by childhood memories. A white tent hovered over the area where exhumation would be undertaken at nightfall. Beyond a clump of lemon trees bursting with fruit rose a handsome, two-storied dazzling white villa, with arched doorways allowing a circular flow to the space, clean-look picture windows letting in light and greenery, airy verandahs that caught the salty sea breezes, infinity pool and a sweeping roof terrace facing the turquoise of the Indian Ocean.
“Why aren’t we staying here?” Tamsin ventured. The lid’s tightly sealed on his emotions.
“I’ve still to find furniture, fixtures, fittings.” He smiled. “It needs a woman’s touch. Until then, I doubt you’d want to share a floor with creepy crawlies, however benignly exotic. So, does it pass muster?”
“It’s fantastic and, as the cliché goes, location, location, location. Is it anything like you remember?”
His face was devoid of expression as he filtered old memories. Ever since he’d got here, he felt as though he’d been holding his breath. “I deliberately set out to design something completely different. Ours was uniquely personal, in traditional Italian colonial 1930s style. This, I hope, should attract foreign diplomatic missions that are inching ba
ck to Mog. Now,” he experienced a rare wobbly, “be frank. Is it too bland, too airport-style?”
There was a burst of laughter from a crocodile of brightly clad women, some stringy from frequent childbearing, slowly wending their way to Bakaara market. “Never! It possesses what I call power chakra.”
His gaze softened and he kissed her. “Easy now, or I shall wonder what favors you’re angling for. Mind you, that sounds high-intensity. I shall put that in the ad.”
As the last of the chattering women, many hobbling and clutching their backs as if in pain, rounded the corner of the dry mud road she said thoughtfully, “Some are quite young, in their twenties, and seem to be injured.”
Luca put his arm round her and said softly “It’s the ghastly fallout of being cut.”
The shock struck home and she scrabbled to make sense of it. “You mean FGM—female genital mutilation?”
He nodded. “It’s customary—a sort of cultural ritual in many African and Middle Eastern countries and in immigrant communities elsewhere.”
Her voice shook. “But it’s barbaric. How many…?”
“At the last count it’s reckoned about 125 million females have undergone FGM. The after-effects are hideous and wreck what would otherwise have been a perfectly healthy life.”
Her voice shook. “Is anything done to outlaw it?”
They had left the house and were picking their way past piles of rubble, tangled vegetation and barbed wire back to the hotel.
“Some international efforts are made and it’s supposed to be banned in some of the countries where it happens, but laws are pretty much ineffective so it still goes on.” He paused. “Jabril hinted that my parents campaigned hard to stop it.”
Alchemy (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 12