by June Taylor
She wasn’t sure quite why she was asking, except that it seemed important if she was to understand him better.
He didn’t answer.
They mounted their horses and headed back in silence. When they reached the field, Nico’s horse broke into a gallop and she could feel Cioccolato pulling on the reins. She didn’t know what to do. Tugging him back didn’t seem to hold him. Nor did squeezing her legs into his sides, as Nico had showed her. In the end she had no alternative but to hang on as best she could to remain on his back.
Nico could see she was in difficulty, yet made no effort to stop. He may even have spurred his horse on faster, she wasn’t sure. Each bounce jerked her more out of the saddle, and Cioccolato threw his head into the air as if deliberately trying to unseat her. Her right foot flew out of the stirrup. She tried to get it back in but failed. The muscles in her legs were screaming, and any moment now she would be thrown to the ground. ‘Please Cioccolato. Stop!’
She was leaning too far over, and this time knew she couldn’t pull herself back up. She would just have to let go. As she freed her hands from the reins she felt the horse slowing down.
Cioccolato shook his head, exhilarated, blowing air out of his huge nostrils. She saw that Nico had stopped too. His horse was panting heavily, steam coming off its body. As she tried to dismount, Cioccolato moved off again. Terrified of a repeat experience she clung on, trying to pull him back, relieved when he only wanted to be alongside the other horse.
‘Fun, no?’
‘You wanker!’ she screamed, flinging herself down. ‘You nearly fucking killed me.’
Nico was laughing. He was actually laughing. ‘I don’t know what that means but I can guess.’ He got down from his horse.
‘It means this,’ she yelled, making the hand gesture right in his face.
He was still laughing. So she slapped him.
Hard.
He put his hand on his cheek, clicked his jaw side to side. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m very sorry. That was bad of me. A little cruel maybe.’
‘A little?’
‘I knew you wouldn’t fall off, Eloise.’
‘How could you possibly know that?’
‘Because I can see that you are strong. When you have no father you have to be strong for your mother. Am I right? I am right, aren’t I?’
He pulled her into him, gripping her firmly. It was rough the way he went about it, but she resisted only for a moment. When he pressed his mouth to hers she felt her anger subside. She was still confused by his awful cruelty one minute and such a raw tenderness the next.
‘I wonder if your dead father is talking to my dead father?’ he said, breaking the kiss and pointing towards the sky. ‘What are they saying to each other, do you think?’
‘My dad will be saying: ‘If your son does that to my daughter again I will kill you.’
‘Ah,’ he replied. ‘And then mine will say: ‘But I’m already dead.’
She shook her head and smiled, pulling away to check the time on her phone. ‘Oh my god, I have to go, Nico. I said I’d be back by five and it’s already after six.’ She helped him gather the horses, accompanying him to the stables but didn’t go inside.
‘What, you don’t stay to help me?’
‘I’m on holiday,’ she replied.
He was already brushing down Cioccolato.
‘What if I had fallen off?’
He didn’t stop what he was doing. ‘You were never going to. I already told you.’
‘Wanker.’
‘Ah! Piacere di conoscerti,’ he said, bowing flamboyantly. ‘Wanker at your service.’
She turned to go.
‘You asked me who murdered him. My father.’
Eloise froze. ‘Look, you don’t have to tell me, Nico.’
‘They think it was a prostitute.’
‘Really?’
‘They found him in a motel.’
‘Oh.’
‘He was derubato. How do you say that? Volé. Robbed. He was robbed.’
She felt the air being sucked out of her lungs.
‘That’s … awful. I’m so sorry. When did it happen?’
‘It was 1989.’
‘Here in Tuscany?’
Eloise couldn’t imagine something so violent happening in such a beautiful, peaceful place. But as she well knew, people were capable of anything, anywhere.
‘No, my dad was from France. We lived there for a while. He was murdered somewhere near Tours.’ Nico’s voice caught in his throat. ‘It was my birthday.’
CHAPTER 32
Tuscany: 2007
Eloise stumbled her way home. The back of her throat was stinging with fear, and a searing pain shot up her leg each time her ankle gave way over loose stones. Her legs could not keep up with the rate her head wanted them to go. This was one hundred times worse than being on an out-of-control horse. Surely it was a coincidence. But she knew, deep down, that it wasn’t. Then an even more awful thought struck her. Had Juliet known all along?
Chrissy was dozing in the hammock with her sunhat covering her face. Eloise wondered if she had actually moved in the four hours she had been gone, but she noticed a couple of empty beer bottles under the hammock and a succession of wet footprints leading back and forth to the pool. Her towel was drying on a branch in the early evening sun. The heat was just as intense.
She raced up the steps, hunting for Juliet. Carrier bags and brown paper bags were scattered about the place, some still unpacked, and Eloise noticed the wooden table in the kitchen was covered in flour. Juliet must have been making her pizza dough, as promised. Out on the terrace, a Vespa was resting on its kickstand, a red and blue helmet hooked over the handlebars. It must have escaped her notice when she had stormed inside. Eloise began to follow the floury trail snaking its way down the stone path to the bottom of their private garden. She might have found this amusing had she not been so furious with the person at the other end of it.
Juliet was bending over, peering into the pizza oven. As much as she adored her, at that moment in time she had only hatred for Juliet. She even hated the way she looked in her bikini, matching sarong and big curvy shades. Everything about her. Juliet was putting her mother’s life at risk – was on the verge of ruining hers. Eloise managed to hold back her anger until she got close, checking behind for eavesdroppers. Anyone could be listening. And what if Chrissy had woken up and followed her?
‘Eloise, chérie.’ Juliet spotted her too soon. ‘How was your horse ride? Were you with that gorgeous boy? What’s his name again?’
‘Did you know?’
Juliet raised her shades, casually securing them in her beehive. Eloise noticed that the trademark cat brooch was not in her hair today. Was that because she felt she was getting on better with Chrissy, and therefore no longer needed it? Or maybe the fact it was stolen had finally put her off?
Then she saw it pinned to her sarong.
It won’t keep you safe now, Juliet.
‘Did I know what exactly?’
‘Did you know about Marianna’s husband – Nico’s father? Do you know what happened to him?
‘Ah.’
Eloise felt her blood run cold. What was Juliet thinking? Was she insane?
‘What the fuck are we doing here, Juliet?’
Juliet made Eloise sit down on the padded bench encircling the large marble table. A yellow parasol provided some much-needed shade above their heads. The pizza ingredients were set out ready to go, including three mounds of dough covered with tea cloths. Flies buzzed around them.
‘We’re on holiday, that’s what we’re doing here.’
Eloise began to shake. Juliet was out of her mind.
‘This isn’t a game, Juliet,’ she said, her voice low. ‘Nico told me his father was murdered by a prostitute in 1989 when he was three years old. In a motel. In France.’ She banged her fist on the table to make each point. ‘I’m not stupid, Juliet, and nor is my mum.’
Juliet was about
to put her arm round her but Eloise was quick to edge away.
‘Get the fuck off me. You’re sick. You’re twisted and sick. How could you do this to my mum – to me? I trusted you. I thought she was your friend. Your best friend.’
Juliet put some moments of silence between them, lighting up a cigarette. She let the smoke work its magic before forcing it out again in a long train. ‘Okay, it’s true. I knew,’ she whispered, moving closer. Her tone was deeper, conspiratorial, and she dipped her head into Eloise’s shoulder as she spoke. ‘I admit it’s a risk. But please, Eloise, hear me out.’
‘A risk? It’s downright mental, Juliet.’
Eloise stood up.
‘We have to leave. If she finds out, she will totally freak and give herself away. We need to go now.’
‘No. Wait, Eloise,’ said Juliet, pulling her down. ‘She won’t find out until we want her to.’
‘But what if she does? I did. It’s too dangerous, Juliet. She could go to prison. I’ll never see her again.’
Eloise was fighting her off.
‘Hey, hey, hey. You really need to hear me out. Just hear me out, okay? And then we can decide what to do. Sit down. Eloise, please. Sit.’
Holding her stare, she did as she was told.
‘Marianna and Nico aren’t the only victims in all of this. Don’t you see? We’re all victims. You, me, Chrissy. All of us.’
Eloise had never considered Juliet a victim. She was right, of course she was a victim. She just didn’t seem like one. Eloise guessed that was her point. But how could she possibly compare her suffering to Chrissy’s?
‘You’ve missed someone out,’ she said sulkily.
Juliet had a look of panic, then she realized. ‘Of course, your dad as well. Look, your poor mum has spent her whole life tormenting herself. That bastard deserved everything he got; we all know that. But Chrissy needs to see that his widow, of all people, has moved on. See it with her own eyes. And then maybe she can, too. Marianna has a great life here; she’s made a great life for herself and for her son. I mean, she seems really happy, wouldn’t you agree?’
Eloise kept quiet. And she wasn’t sure about Nico. They hadn’t been here long enough to know any of these things.
‘Your mother deserves some happiness, that’s all. She didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘She did kill someone, Juliet.’
‘For me. She did it all for me. You must see that I have to at least try to set her free. Please let me try. The only person who hasn’t moved on from any of this is Chrissy, because she hasn’t allowed herself to.’
Eloise removed her baseball cap and placed it on the table. When she saw the Ricci logo she flicked it away.
‘Listen, Eloise, your mum will continue to punish herself until the day she dies. You don’t need me to tell you that. All I know is that it’s not fair that the person who saved her best friend from getting raped should be the one to get the life sentence. She didn’t mean to kill him; it was an accident. But you know as well as I do that she won’t move on with her life unless she can see it’s totally okay to do that. You don’t deserve this either, Eloise. We have to fix her and set you free. You deserve so much more.’
Eloise poured herself some water from the jug on the table. She drank some but it had got too warm in the sun. ‘So when are you planning on telling my mum?’
‘That, I don’t know. Just when the time is right. Maybe only when we get home; I don’t know. But trust me, I still think it’s the right thing to do. Put it this way, Eloise, do you have a better suggestion?’
Of course she didn’t.
‘But what if Marianna finds out? It’s just … unthinkable.’
‘How can she? We’re not likely to tell her, are we?’
‘Tell me what?’
It was Chrissy. She was standing just behind them, holding a bottle of Pastis in one hand and a bottle of something very red in the other. ‘I came to see if the chefs would like an aperitif.’
‘Erm,’ was all that Eloise could muster.
From the way she was behaving it seemed unlikely that Chrissy had heard any more of their conversation. She grinned, and like a magician produced a glass from each pocket of her shorts. A third one she plucked from her waistband. ‘I see you bought grenadine, Ju. Shall I pour us une tomate?’
‘Bonne idée,’ said Juliet, bringing her hands together. She shot Eloise a glance. It said: I think we got away with it.
This was Eloise’s moment to tell her mother everything, warn her of the betrayal by her best friend. ‘What’s a tomate when it’s at home, Mum?’
‘Pastis and grenadine,’ replied Chrissy, pouring a little of each into the glasses. ‘Not very Italian. But, for old times’ sake.’
The grenadine was luminous red.
‘Made from pomegranate,’ said Juliet.
‘Comme ça. Top it up with water … et violà.’ Chrissy handed them both a glass and took one for herself. ‘Santé.’
Eloise watched the pair of them sipping the red liquid, but it reminded her of some creepy religious ritual. She tried it, nonetheless. First the hit of aniseed at the back of her throat, then the syrupy sweetness of the grenadine.
‘Not bad, eh?’ said Chrissy, smacking her lips. ‘Okay. Now you can tell me.’
‘Tell you what?’ Eloise tried not to sound too panic-stricken.
‘Whatever it was you said that you weren’t likely to tell me.’
‘Right.’
‘It was a confession,’ said Juliet.
Eloise almost passed out.
Chrissy put her hands on her hips, standing with her legs apart. ‘Well, in that case, Juliet, I’m all ears.’
Eloise looked at Juliet in disbelief. What game were they playing now?
‘I don’t know how to light the pizza oven.’
Chrissy moved them both out of the way and peered inside the blackened dome of the oven which was slowly beginning to turn white, and there was a veil of smoke weaving out of the top of the chimney.
‘It looks pretty lit to me. You’re cleverer than you look, Juliet.’ She went back up the path with her drink, shaking her head. ‘Call me when it’s ready,’ she shouted.
Juliet sighed, one hand on her heart and the other fanning herself. Eloise was unsure if she had done a good thing or a terrible thing. She seriously did not know what was right or wrong any more.
‘Will you give me a hand making the pizzas?’ said Juliet. ‘I’ve made the sauce – the tomatoes I bought at the market are absolutely divine. You won’t believe how good this is going to taste. Pizza à la Julietta. Like you’ve never tasted in your life before. So,’ she said, bringing her hands together with a puff of flour, ‘it’s just a case of slapping on the toppings. You up to that?’
Eloise glowered at Juliet.
‘Eloise, I need you to be with me on this.’ She lowered her voice again. ‘I don’t mean making pizza, I mean with your mum. We need to make this work. And we …’ – she looked for somewhere to wipe her hands, deciding against her sarong – ‘need to be a team.’
Juliet held out her hand. It felt like a handshake with the devil. Eloise’s palm was hot and sticky; Juliet’s, cool and floury.
‘Should I prepare a salad?’ said a voice.
They looked in horror at Chrissy heading towards them again.
‘What’re you two up to now?’
They snapped their hands free.
‘We’re just … we were just having a pizza stand-off,’ said Eloise. ‘Only, I think I might lose. You know how Dad used to be in the kitchen?’ She pointed to Juliet. ‘Well, she’s the same.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Chrissy. ‘You know I eat anything. Not sure why you’re going to all this trouble in any case. Pizzas grow in cardboard boxes, don’t they?’
***
They sat around the white marble table, the temperature more bearable in the retreating evening sun. In the end there was much to laugh about when Chrissy was assessing their pizzas. Rath
er predictably, she declared Eloise as the overall winner with her Pizza Cheese Eloise. Even if it had been burnt to a charred crisp she would still have awarded her the prize.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ she said, kissing her cheek. ‘Good to know who your friends are round here.’
Juliet forced a smile.
They had drunk a whole bottle of wine, and before that several refills of aperitif. Now Chrissy was offering to go back up to the house to get more.
‘That’s a bonne idée,’ said Juliet.
‘I’m full of bonnes idées,’ Chrissy replied, scraping her chair back. Eloise felt the noise claw through her insides.
‘Bring an extra glass with you as well,’ Juliet shouted.
‘Why?’ said Chrissy, looking puzzled. ‘Do we have a mystery guest?’
Eloise was staring at Juliet, enough to bore a hole through her head. Only a couple of hours ago they had shaken on being a team. No more surprises.
‘I’ve invited Marianna to come along and have a drink with us.’
‘Marianna?’ said Eloise, trying to compose herself. ‘But she … I mean she wouldn’t want to come and have a drink with us. Surely. Would she?’
‘Well, why not?’ said Chrissy. ‘We don’t bite.’
‘Did she say she’d come?’
Juliet raised her eyebrows. Eloise could not bear to turn round.
‘Ah buonasera. You are hiding down here.’
She had to warn her mother. Right now. But how could she? Juliet seemed intent on making them walk this tightrope and now there was no turning back.
‘Asseyez-vous, Marianna,’ said Chrissy, making a sweeping gesture with her arm. ‘Oh god that’s French, isn’t it? I can’t speak a word of Italian, I’m afraid.’
‘Either is fine,’ said Marianna.’ Her loveliness was almost too cruel, and Eloise wanted to scream because of it. ‘In this job we speak a little of everything.’
‘Moi, je vais chercher …’ said Chrissy. ‘Je vais aller chercher … Merde. Don’t speak French when drunk! Forgive me, I’ll just go and get that bottle of wine, shall I?’