by Sara Rosett
She turned back to the villa. The slight rise of ground she was on let her see both Giorgio as he finally removed the rock, stumbling backward, and Anna as she took a last drag on her cigarette and tossed it onto the trail before going through the gate. Zoe zeroed in on a movement beyond the olive trees on the opposite side of the villa from her. It was Jack, crouched down behind a clump of low-growing shrubs. Once Anna and Giorgio moved onto the gravel path toward the villa and had their backs to him, he moved to the trail, avoiding the gravel. Zoe mirrored his movements, traveling slowly through the trees and underbrush trying not to make any noise as she inched toward the trail. She smelled smoke. Someone must be having a campfire, she thought.
But then she saw a flickering glow travel up the rock wall that lined the trail as a flame spread through the dry grass interwoven between the rocks. Struck immobile, she watched, horrified and amazed, as the flames spread sideways across the rock wall and upward to the scrub along the ledge. The flames quickly licked at the leaves of a few low trees, then surged along the limbs that arched over the trail.
She had to move, she realized. If she didn’t she’d be trapped on the far side of the flames, cut off from the trail to the little village. Not caring how much noise she made, she crashed through the undergrowth and emerged onto the trail. What had once been a leafy tunnel, was now flaming hot.
She could do it. Just dash down the center of the trail. She took a few steps, but faltered when heat hit her face. Smoke was everywhere now. She heard sirens and saw movement. Shouts sounded from Anna’s villa. Calls to turn on the water.
A water hose wasn’t going to be enough.
The fire was spreading through the trees, closer to her. She could see Jack through the smoke and flame, waving her back, calling something to her.
“...beach...meet...”
She coughed as smoke drifted, blocking him from view. Ash and tiny embers floated in the air. She waved them away as she backed up. It was too intense. She couldn’t get through. She turned and ran, searching for fresh air.
Chapter Seventeen
––––––––
ZOE dropped down onto a rock, breathing heavily. The air here was clear and fresh. No smoke or bits of drifting ash. She carefully positioned the two canvases against the rock then wiped the sweat from under the band on her hat as she looked over her shoulder at the trail. The fire must be under control. The thick billowing clouds of smoke that had enveloped her as she ran away from the villa were gone. Now, only wisps of gray drifted over the trees.
Should she go back? Once she’d stopped running after her initial burst to get away from the flames, she’d considered it. She looked down at the canvases propped against the rock. The area would be crawling with firefighters and other official personnel. The trail was probably blocked. How would she get through? A disheveled woman toting two Impressionists paintings wouldn’t exactly be inconspicuous. She’d have to go right by Anna’s villa, too. She reviewed the topography in her mind, trying to figure out a way she could move around the villa without using the trail, but there wasn’t a way to do it. The ground behind the flagstone terrace dropped steeply. She couldn’t go that way, and the other side of the trail had been engulfed in flames. No way was she going to try and pick her way through recently charred land. Assuming she could somehow stay on the trail and sneak through the fire-damaged area and avoid notice, she had no idea if Jack was still in the village. He’d motioned her on, and she’d clearly caught the word beach, so chances were that he wasn’t even in the village. He was probably making his way toward the beach now.
Probably.
You’re scared to trust me. That’s what it all comes down to. His words echoed in her thoughts.
She shook her head and quickly stood. There was no going back, at least not now. She had to press on to the beach, and hope that Jack came through. She wiped her hands on her jeans before picking up the paintings. She was trying to be as careful and as gentle with them as she could, but a hike on a dusty trail wasn’t exactly ideal conditions for handling multi-million dollar art.
Tucking the paintings into the crook of her arm, she resumed walking. The trail had left the forested area and twisted up to a high, open ridge with low-growing hearty scrub trees and grasses and amazing views with the Gulf of Naples on one side, the Gulf of Sorrento on the other, and Capri straight ahead, if she squinted into the sunset.
She passed a square watchtower built on one of the promontories and trudged along the trail as it meandered between tufts of dry grass growing as high as her thighs. Thank goodness the fire was under control. It would have raced across this area, engulfing the brittle grass. She picked her way down a set of stone stairs, catching glimpses of turquoise and cobalt water in rocky coves. A final curve of the trail revealed a petite beach, and she felt her shoulders sag with relief. She’d been worried she’d taken a wrong turn, since a few other trails had branched out from the main one.
A narrow inlet of water, edged on both sides with sloping rock walls, shimmered, the water transitioning from pale aqua shades at the shore to swaths of azure as the water deepened. The color shifted again to a sapphire blue where the inlet met the sea. The beach was deserted, but once she descended the steps, she saw evidence of former visitors, a discarded orange peel and a couple of caps from San Pellegrino bottles. Instead of sand, the beach was a rock beach with smooth stones, some of them as large as her fist, covering the whole shore stretching from the water back to the edge of the cliff that enclosed the inlet. There were several huge rocks, a few taller than Zoe, at the back of the beach. She settled her back against one of them and put the paintings at her side. The rocks were dry, and there was no chance of water coming up this high onto the beach.
Water lapped on the rocky beach, the sun inched lower, and Zoe tried to ignore the gnawing feeling in her stomach. Her sprint, not to mention the hike to the beach, had burned off her large lunch at the café, but she really wanted water more than she wanted food. However, there was nothing but the salty water slapping against the rocks.
The smooth rocks were surprisingly comfortable. Her thoughts weren’t. What if Jack didn’t show up? What would she do? She’d left her messenger bag in the car when they followed Anna to the villa so she had no passport or money.
But she did have a stolen Monet painting.
She didn’t even want to think about how she’d ever explain what had happened. And she didn’t want to think about Jack not showing up. She’d have to go back to the village. With the paintings.
Don’t go there. It hasn’t happened yet. Deal with it later, if you have to.
She stretched out fully on the rocks and stared at the cloudless sky.
No water, no food, no money, no identification. And she’d just shoved away the one person who knew the whole situation and had been willing to help her, no questions asked.
That thought pattern wouldn’t do her any good. She crossed her hands on her stomach and tried to clear her mind. Maybe she could drift into a nap. She should be exhausted, but after about three minutes, she sat up. It was hard to get comfortable with the tender spot on the back of her skull.
She pulled off her shoes, rolled up her jeans, and went to the water. It spilled over her pale feet, shockingly cold, and drenched her ankles. Zoe gasped and jumped back. Who knew the Mediterranean was so frigid in March?
She stayed back where only the frothy edges of the waves swirled around her feet as she walked. No matter how hard she tried to avoid them, the thoughts wouldn’t go away.
She’d been so sure of herself when she and Jack argued, but now a curl of doubt spiraled in her. Was he right? Did she hold everyone off, even Helen, not letting anyone get too close?
Marrying Jack had been an anomaly. Everyone who knew her had been shocked that she’d married, but even then, she hadn’t gone all in. She’d held back. Jack had, too, keeping his secrets. No wonder their marriage had disintegrated into cold silences on Jack’s part and heated words on hers.
She thought back to the almost argument she’d had with Helen in the bookstore where she’d listed her reasons` for not getting back together with Jack. He’d lied to her, deceived her. They were great together when they were under pressure and in extreme circumstances, but it didn’t work in real life. What if she was wrong? What if now that there were no lies or deception between them, what if they were really good—maybe even great—in normal life? Were her reasons for not getting together with Jack just an excuse, a smoke screen, to keep him from getting too close?
She watched the chilly water foam around her ankles as she thought about her friends. She was closer to Helen than anyone, but most of her friends were surface friends, like Carla. She knew them, kept in touch, went to lunch or went for a run, but there was no real depth to the relationship.
She reached the end of the beach and splashed back the other way. Was she a fraud? Instead of being a fearless nonconformist, was she really just a distrustful skeptic? In the parts of life that really counted—friends and family—was she playing it close to the vest, holding back instead of plunging in with both feet as she did in everything else? She kicked through the water with a stronger stride, flinging a spray of droplets over her clothes.
Her thoughts circled back to her other worry. What if Jack doesn’t show? What would she do? She’d basically told him they were over. Why would he come? Why put himself at risk?
She came to a standstill. A wave washed up, soaking a few inches of her jeans. Was steady, reliable, keep-his-head-down-and-get-the-job-done Jack a bigger risk-taker than she was?
***
HOURS later, Zoe was seriously considering gnawing on the orange peel she’d seen earlier. The problem was she doubted she’d be able to find it. It was completely dark now. It could be any time between seven and midnight. Unlike Jack, who had a watch that did everything but function as a GPS, her watch was only a watch. Not even glow-in-the-dark numbers or hands. The sun had dropped below the horizon a little after six, and by six-thirty, the thick blackness engulfed her. As the minutes stretched, she tested the saying about not being able to see your hand in front of your face and found she could see it. Just barely. She could make out dim shapes of the larger rocks. A thin strip of moon didn’t give any significant light, and the specks of starlight reflecting on the water gave off only pinpricks of light.
Zoe was a city girl and found the intensity of the darkness unnerving. The scuttling sounds along the rocks hadn’t bothered her in the daylight—lizards, she’d assumed. But now in the near blackness, she jumped every time she heard a scurrying sound. Lizards. They had to be lizards, she told herself. She wouldn’t let herself think of any other options.
A black mass shifted in the water. Zoe held herself still as whatever it was moved on a steady course, darkening the speckles of light on the water, straight to the beach. Something scraped against rock, louder than the low splash of the lapping tide. Zoe hoped the dots on her shirt blended with the light-colored rocks enough that it didn’t stand out in the dimness.
A narrow beam of light clicked on and swept across the rocks. “Zoe?”
Relief washed over her. “Here. I’m over here,” she called softly, matching Jack’s low tone. In that moment, she realized just how afraid she had been that he wouldn’t show up.
The beam of light danced across the rocks to her. She threw up a hand. “Shut that thing off, would you?”
“Well, that’s a fine way to greet your rescuer.” The light went off.
Zoe could hear the smile in his voice. “I am glad to see you, believe me. You have no idea how glad, but I can’t see a thing with that light on.”
“It’s better we leave it off anyway. Want some water?”
“You brought water?” Trust Jack to not only come to her rescue, but to bring water, too. “You really are the best.” She waved her hand around until it connected with his extended arm. She took the bottle and chugged. “Jack, about earlier today...”
She heard a gusty sigh. “Let’s not do this now, okay? Let’s get out of here, get this mess straightened out, then we can go our separate ways.”
His exact, arm’s-length tone pierced her. But it was what she wanted—him to back off. She swallowed, suddenly thankful for the darkness. He was right. They had bigger things to worry about than their relationship. “Right. Okay.” She patted the rocks until she touched the canvases. She tried to match his all-business tone, but didn’t quite succeed. “I found the Monet. The real one.”
“I didn’t doubt you would for a minute.”
“Liar,” she said lightly.
“Well, maybe for one minute, but that’s all,” Jack said, and Zoe felt them slipping back into the ‘everything’s fine’ mode that they’d operated on many times before their divorce. Light banter on the surface covering deep cracks in their relationship. “In fact,” Jack continued, “I brought something to wrap it.” A crackle of plastic sounded. “I’m going to put the light on for a second. Over this way?”
“Yes.”
Zoe turned her head away as the light burst on, but Jack shielded it with his hand, so it wasn’t nearly as bright as before. Against the gray and white of the rocks, the colors of the painting popped, bright and vibrant. He let out a low whistle. “Well done.”
“Thanks. There’s more.” She angled the first one back and showed him the second painting. “One of Giorgio’s copies, so we can prove what they were doing.”
“Even better. One small detail, how do you know which is which?”
“The back. Remember what Masard said about the markings? Well, this painting has stickers and stamps. The copy is as pristine as a field of new snow.”
“Excellent.”
“So glad you brought something to put them in.” Zoe shook out the large plastic shopping bag. “I was worried about damaging it...the sun and dust, not to mention my sweaty hands.” Jack transferred the flashlight to his mouth and helped her slip both paintings inside. They fit with only an inch to spare.
“Where did you get the bag?”
“Remember our friends at the café?”
“Isobel and...Paul, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Isobel had done some shopping by the time I caught up with them a few hours ago. She let me borrow it, along with a few other things.”
Zoe folded the edges of the plastic over and picked up the now empty water bottle. “Okay. Let’s get out of here.”
Jack switched off the light. “This way.” He caught her free hand and guided her to the water. Zoe had expected a boat-shaped object, something narrow and long, but as her hand traced along the side of the craft, she realized it was square. “What is this?”
Jack didn’t say a word, just clicked on the light, again sheltering it with his hand.
Zoe blinked. “That’s a paddleboat.”
“Afraid so.”
“Okay.”
“Best I could do on short notice. The good news is we only have to use it to get to the boat that’s waiting for us outside this inlet. This is a nature preserve, so no boats are allowed in here, not that Aldo could get his boat this close, anyway. Too shallow. Shall we?” Jack extended his hand.
Zoe gripped it and stepped into the paddleboat, carefully settling the paintings on her lap. Jack shoved the paddleboat into the water as he splashed around to his side. They put their feet on the pedals and had a few false starts as they reversed and turned, but they got the hang of it, and the little boat glided across the inky water. “This is really amazing,” Zoe said, looking up at the sky. With the starlight above her and the gentle waves swishing alongside the boat, catching fragments of light, she felt like she was in a kaleidoscope.
Jack agreed then said, “On a more mundane note, are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“I thought you might be.” As he pedaled, Jack reached around behind his seat. “I got some bars. Not sure what kind they are—nut and fruit, I think. My Italian is getting rusty. There are a few bananas, too.”
>
Zoe handed one bar to Jack, then ripped one open for herself and ate it in three bites. “Almond and cranberry.” She peeled the banana. “Thanks.”
“Sure. I need all the help with the pedaling I can get.”
“My thighs hurt already, and I’ve only been doing this a few minutes.” She tucked the banana peel and the wrappers back in the small bag and removed another bottle of water. “So, the fire. What happened?”
“Anna’s cigarette touched it off. They had it under control quickly. Probably less than an hour. Very impressive, actually. They take their forest fire fighting seriously around here, I guess. I didn’t stick around. Once I saw you turn and head for the beach and saw that Anna and Giorgio were clear of the fire, I headed back to the village. The fire brigade—or whatever they’re called here—was already moving in. I was lucky to get out of there before they shut down the road.”
“So you went back to Positano?”
“Yeah. I figured I could get a boat there to come get you. There’s no other way to get to that beach.”
“So how did you convince Aldo to bring his boat out to get me at...what...midnight?”
“The night is still young. At least, in some bars in Positano, it is. I found an ATM and used my credit card to get a cash advance. I used part of the money to hire Aldo. When he saw I had cash, he didn’t have a problem with going out late, or bringing the paddleboat.”
They were nearing the point where the inlet met the sea and the paddleboat was now riding larger waves up to their crest then dipping into the troughs. Zoe gripped the plastic around the edge of the painting and pedaled harder as they surged with the waves. The paddleboat felt miniscule in the rolling sea. Around the headland of rocks that enclosed the bay, a white hull of a motorboat loomed.
They pedaled to a deck at the back where a man waited for them, his hand outstretched to help them aboard. It wasn’t a large boat, but compared to the paddleboat, it felt spacious. With the paintings hugged to her chest, Zoe dropped onto one of the motorboat’s vinyl seats. She could see an outline of another small boat, this one with inflatable sides and an outboard motor, bobbing in the water beside them. Once Jack was aboard, the captain of their boat attached the paddleboat to the inflatable boat. A shadowy figure in the other boat helped him secure the paddleboat, then they exchanged a few words in Italian, and the captain of the inflatable started the engine and putted slowly away, towing the paddleboat.