But the prick of uncertainty remained with Joanne.
Chapter 7
Joanne checked her watch; still a short space of time before Renzo returned from his supposed trip to Naples. Once again, he’d insisted that he would join her for dinner here at eight pm.
Grasping a glass of chilled limoncello from the bar she carried it out to the terrace and found a shady tucked away seat, ready to relive every moment she’d spent with Fabio. Other thoughts kept intruding and these concerns whisked away pleasant reverie.
Instinct suggested keeping her own pursuits to herself. In this case she must concoct a convincing story about her day since Renzo always asked how it had been spent. She balked at this. It was none of his business. She frowned and took a sip of the chilled drink as she ruminated, aware that evasions might only draw his suspicion.
After all, why hadn’t Renzo weeks ago mentioned he had cousins on the Island? And why hadn’t he told her about Angelina’s husband’s accident? His behaviour appeared riddled with hidden motives.
So she had no intention to let slip her enjoyable visit to Fontana, nor her afternoon spent with Fabio. Not that Renzo displayed jealousy, but he would probe in the pretence of sharing her pleasure and who knows what went on behind those searching eyes?
A little breeze sprang up to flutter the silver leaves on the olive trees and welcome cool air fanned Joanne’s cheeks. She gave a little shiver as the breeze freshened, stirring branches of taller trees and as noisy birds took flight, Joanne’s mind flew off at a tangent. It was odd but she couldn’t recall seeing Fabio and Renzo together once so far during her stay. Wouldn’t it be natural for cousins to meet one another for a drink or meal – especially at Angelina’s where they’d been brought up closely together? The more she considered it the more the puzzle took a hold. On the few occasions she’d visited Angelina with Renzo, Fabio wasn’t around. Angelina would drop remarks such as, ‘Fabio is busy finishing a commission as though it was necessary to excuse her brother’s absence. And if Fabio was expected, Renzo found he had urgent business to do back on his boat.
Joanne’s deliberations were cut short by the sound of angry voices from the bar and she heard a man shouting,
‘I demand to see him! It’s outrageous – I’m here to ...let go of me!’
Whatever was going on? His accent was foreign. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a scuffle as a thin dark haired man fought his way to the terrace before he was forcibly removed by two waiters.
A short time later one of the waiters hurried towards her. ‘I apologise for the disturbance, Signorina – a drunk; nothing serious.’
Maybe not, Joanne brooded. It hadn’t seemed the man was drunk; sounded like he harboured a genuine grievance against someone.
***
Renzo was especially attentive that evening. ‘I’m taking you to ‘Il Pepino’, a seafood restaurant, Joanne; it’s a piano bar and overlooks the bay. I’m sure you’ll love it.’
He wore a long sleeved pink cotton shirt and well pressed navy slacks. Joanne caught the scent of expensive eau de Cologne as he pecked her cheeks, and smiling, noted his approving glance at her simple, sleeveless blue silk top and white wide legged trousers she’d chosen to wear.
Joanne was thankful Renzo did not attempt conversation in the taxi.
She peered through the window and saw thin clouds over the horizon, a brilliant pink, the sky beneath them darkening to indigo in the east and the sight swelled her heart. If only Fabio was here to share this.
Darkness had deepened by the time they reached the restaurant. A pianist glanced up at them and began a lively rendition of jazz tunes as they were ushered through the crowded restaurant to the table Renzo had reserved.
Joanne sank onto the cushioned chair noting many heads turned towards them. She focussed her sight over the magical sea now jet black, splashed with dappled silvery light from the stars, the surface streaked with candle light in patterns of shivering silk. The night was thick with heat and thankful for the sea breeze Joanne turned to face Renzo, determined to pre-empt his questions.
Not without scruples, she enquired. ‘How was your trip? Was it unbearably hot in Naples?’
Renzo didn’t blink. ‘Thankfully I was indoors with air conditioning. ‘My god, Joanne it’s always a relief to escape back here to the freshness of Ischia.’ He picked up the wine list and instantly one of the waiters who struggled to cope with people’s requests changed direction to come and take his order.
Joanne took the opportunity to study Renzo. He seemed almost too perfect, a performer playing a well-rehearsed part. It occurred to her how the ambience here formed a perfect stage set which added to her feelings of unreality in this suave man’s company. The situation was so far removed from her normal life.
It was clear Renzo had no intention of explaining his change of plan. She reasoned that as her escort and sailing instructor it was none of her business to delve into his private affairs and waited for him to ask about her day. Thank goodness her relationship with Renzo remained skipper and crew, whereas with Fabio...memories of the afternoon spent with him sent a rush of heat to her cheeks.
She focused on the sound of waves crashing on the shore and the hissing sound as they receded over shingle. And then, lulled by the charm of her surroundings, a sense of detachment grew and she paid little attention as Renzo discussed the wine list with the waiter.
Joanne gave a start as Renzo, satisfied with his choice of wine turned and fixed her with a searching gaze. ‘I am interested to know how you spent your day, my dear.’
Despite his gentle tone it was a demand and hiding her resentment she demurred. ‘First, I’m interested to hear about yours,’ she replied, ‘more productive than mine I’m sure.’ Her mouth twitched with a playful smile for her quick response.
As if he’d gleaned her whereabouts today, Renzo launched smoothly into his tale. ‘Change of plan at the last moment,’ he disclosed. ‘Business calls before I left the Island that needed urgent attention on the slopes of Monte Epomeo.’ His heavy brows met in a frown. He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. ‘The trials of a landlord; tenant’s houses needing assessment for...’ his words tailed off as the waiter placed two platters of seafood risotto on the table, before he added, ‘thankfully I employ competent workmen to deal with these problems.’
Joanne caught a brief unyielding look as his mouth turned down. Then as if to underline his words he said, ‘and a good lawyer to deal with paperwork. Also, I might tell you, I’ve gained the cooperation of the priest who oversees the area which means difficult matters are taken care of for me.’ He nodded and she detected self-congratulation in the way he flicked his napkin and spread it on his knees before his expression resumed benevolence and he settled to the enjoyment of the food.
There was a sense of things not quite right. Had he read her mind? Had she been spotted coming from the church? Why else had Renzo told her all this? It sounded too glib and rehearsed and a cover for something else; but what?
She drew a quick breath and volunteered calmly, ‘It must be reassuring, Renzo, to have people you can depend upon.’
But she wavered, feeling uneasy, caught between uncertainties. His visit to the priest might have been on some secular matter - had he not raised her doubt by displaying subversive behaviour.
Renzo must have forgotten his inquiry about her own day for he spent a few minutes enlarging about the various places he planned for them to sail.
‘That sounds great, I look forward to it,’ she responded. All the while he talked she tried to delve behind his air of complacency and sensed undercurrents, rip tides which might catch her unawares. Her fork poised, she suddenly thought, had Renzo caught sight of her at Fontana before she’d ducked out of sight on the church steps, then
surely it would be normal to mention it? She reasoned if that were the case then he must have something to hide. Her silver fork clattered to her plate and Renzo looked up, his eyes narrowed. Dismayed, she snatched up he
r napkin as if to sneeze and covered her face when he spoke.
‘Dear Joanne,’ his demeanour was cool. ‘I’ve been talking too much about me, now how about you, my dear? Tell me how you’ve been occupied. Did you buy yourself some pretty clothes?’
His patronising manner served to increase her alarm. Renzo’s eyes didn’t leave her face as if she were a specimen on a culture dish. And then she decided, what the hell do I care what he thinks? ‘Oh, I went for a bus ride and stopped off for a snack lunch; bought a few little bits and pieces; toiletries, nothing special.’ It sounded sufficiently vague but would that be enough to put him off?
She took a mouthful of rice to gain a few moments grace; then swallowed, coughed and reached for her water glass before continuing, ‘It was interesting to ride on the bus with the locals. I tried to follow conversations but their accents are difficult to follow unlike the sophisticated tones in Rome – I could hardly make sense of it.’
Aware of Renzo’s frown as he stopped eating she carried on, ‘It was pleasant though, seeing the locals loudly greet one another and exchange gossip; I guess they’ve grown up here and have lots of relatives in common.’ She seemed to be babbling and straightened her napkin before glancing up. Renzo’s eyes still focused on her face, the pupils sharp as two pin heads. A picture flew into her head of a large tom cat, its ears laid back ready to pounce on a bird. His next words again caught her totally off guard.
‘Your phone was switched off when I tried to contact you.’
Joanne felt like that tiny trapped bird. She feigned surprise while floundering for an excuse. It came to her that she’d switched off her phone on entering that church. The shock at spotting Renzo there made her forget to switch it on. ‘Oh, of course!’ she exclaimed, ‘must have been in the graveyard.’ She smiled. ‘I don’t know which town it was. People were praying and fixing bunches of flowers on those marble tombs.’ She looked away and then spoke slowly as if lost in thought. ‘Italian tombs remind me of huge marble filing cabinets’, she frowned as though trying to remember....’so it seemed courteous to switch the phone off. I’m certain I switched it on again...what an idiot.’ Joanne felt conscious not to say too much or offer unnecessary details. Even so, her sense of control was slipping away as she found herself involved in a game of pretence.
Renzo’s mind had fastened onto something else. ‘I’m not happy you took the bus,’ he declared. ‘You should have taken a taxi and charged it to me.’ The flickering candlelight lit up his broad, urbane features and deepened the grooves scored either side of his nose.
Annoyed by his comment Joanne snapped, ‘I could easily pay for a taxi if I wanted!’ Instantly she regretted her retort; it sounded rude when he’d treated her to a fine meal. Nevertheless she resolved to avoid more invitations to dine with him. It was easier to conduct a working relationship on board where his attention was directed towards sailing.
Renzo ignored her waspishness. ‘I’m only concerned you might meet hostile folk.’
His expression was unreadable. ‘Local people are not always as they seem, Joanne.’
I wonder to whom that might apply, Joanne reflected. Her laugh sounded false in her ears. She recalled Fabio’s revelation about Lucio Pardi’s tragic death and his hint it mightn’t have been accidental but she managed to look Renzo in the eye.
Thankful he appeared on the surface to have swallowed her tale, she added, ‘I appreciate your concern, Renzo. Maybe I’ll do as you suggest – take a taxi next time.’ She meant it as joke but realised Renzo had taken her seriously. Why not let him think she accepted his rules?
He made no further attempt to question her. ‘I’m here to look after you,’ Renzo murmured, once more his affable self. ‘We shall take advantage of the good breeze and go for a sail tomorrow.’
It was a statement again and she felt it best to concur. Nevertheless, Signor Balzarin was beginning to frighten her.
***
Joanne was relieved when no reference was made to their awkward conversation when, the following morning they sailed out to sea and around the coast. In another person’s company there might have been a feeling of comradeship, but as always with Renzo, she was on her guard.
She’d been thrilled to see dolphins and to give him his due, Renzo had taken the yacht up close so she could watch them frolic. More surprisingly, he’d agreed to her suggestion they invite Angelina and Fabio to make up a foursome for dinner the following night. This, she hoped would go some way to easing out of the routine of dining alone with Renzo.
Later, back on land, she was delighted when Renzo told her the invitation had been accepted. Perhaps she’d been mistaken in thinking Renzo and Fabio avoided one another. Anticipation bathed her in a warm glow with the prospect of enjoying Fabio’s company again.
She could not know the plan was destined for failure.
The following day when he’d briefly called at the hotel, Renzo seemed distracted; business problems, Joanne decided, thinking the proposed family dinner would be sure to buck him up. She listened carefully as he spoke.
‘Urgent business which will need my attention,’ Renzo stated without preliminary. He shook his head, ‘and just when you are getting proficient with deep sea sailing. Still, there are a number of days yet,’ he sighed, ‘I must get back to the yacht.’
‘I’ll be happy to idle,’ Joanne replied, pleased to have time on her own and already looking forward to relaxing with a book in the hotel’s garden.
So that settled, with her book much later at the hotel after a light lunch of antipasti she saw with surprise, Renzo. He carried his laptop and a folder of papers but to her chagrin, made his way down the garden towards her.
‘Will I disturb you if I work here? I need to concentrate and keep getting interrupted by calls.’
‘Not at all,’ Joanne tried to hide her annoyance as he pulled up a deck chair nearby and opened his laptop. It seemed an odd excuse. She would have moved away but wouldn’t allow him to know his presence annoyed her. Could he be keeping an eye on her? But he rustled some papers and seemed to focus on his own business.
Later that afternoon Renzo snapped shut his laptop and staggered to his feet. Joanne looked up quickly, startled to see him clutch his stomach.
‘Ghastly pain,’ he muttered, ‘felt queasy all afternoon. Thought it best to be near the hotel in case it gets worse.’ He closed his eyes, ‘Must have been something I ate – that seafood last night!’ He grimaced and cast an uncertain glance at Joanne. ‘Don’t you feel unwell?’
Joanne put down her book, got to her feet and took hold of Renzo’s arm. ‘No I’m fine.’ They’d eaten the same meal. ‘Let’s go inside – get something to relieve the symptoms.’
Renzo clutched his laptop and folder under an arm while they slowly made their way up through the garden. Every now and again, he leaned heavily against Joanne and uttered a moan. She was concerned, aware seafood could be dangerous. Had he been poisoned?
Two members of staff had spotted their progress and full of concern, rushed to assist Renzo into the lounge. They sat him down and lifted his legs onto a stool.
‘Hope it’s nothing eaten here on the premises.’ They looked anxious. One of them hurried off and returned with a glass of water and a white powder.
Renzo whispered his thanks and said he’d prefer to take a room in the hotel for the night and lie down.
It was only after the staff left Renzo lying quietly in a darkened room that Joanne remembered their planned dinner with Angelina and Fabio that night. Disappointment wedged in her stomach for she’d really been looking forward to it. She picked up her mobile phone. It would have to be cancelled.
Angelina and Fabio suggested they still meet for dinner but Joanne declined graciously. ‘Perhaps we can arrange it another time when Renzo has recovered. Her idea had been to get the three cousins together and hadn’t been entirely altruistic; she’d hoped it would provide the opportunity to subtly voice questions and reassure herself there was no hidden agenda
attached to her invitation to the Island. And yet, that concern Joanne slowly considered, hardly seemed important; not now she was enjoying Angelina’s and Fabio’s charming company. She likened their open friendliness to cruising over a calm sea rather than being cast about turbulent seas with Renzo.
There seemed no point in staying up so she retired early to bed and much later, realized the incident made her forget she hadn’t eaten that night.
Chapter 8
The following morning, Joanne assumed that Renzo must still be unwell since he didn’t appear in the dining room at breakfast. With time alone to think, Joanne ate several slices of bread and fruit conserve, drained the coffee jug for her third cup and went over the incidents that crowded her head.
Quite suddenly she came to a decision. Rather than idle away the day she would make use of the time and join one of the wine tours to the Balzarin family winery. She drained the last of her coffee and frowned. Why hadn’t Renzo suggested taking her there? Wouldn’t it be normal to wish to show off his renowned family concern? Unless, she tried to believe Renzo really did not like mixing business with sailing.
With a little jolt, Joanne knew her qualms about him still lingered.
She’d join a regular tour. Pleased to have a plan in mind, Joanne hurried to the foyer in search of information, having earlier spotted a leaflet about the Winery on the reception desk. Scanning the details, she saw there might still be time to catch the next tour and after a dash back to her room to gather up some things, she was ready to go. Handing over the fee at reception, she stepped outside to await the tour bus which travelled on a circuit picking up people from their hotels.
Joanne took the last seat on board a full coach and listened to the Italian guide as she announced places of interest along the way. She told fascinating stories of how the Island’s inhabitants had struggled in the past to clear the land of indigenous trees in order to graze their goats. The extensive acres of vines were a relatively new enterprise following the discovery by the Balzarin’s that the volcanic lava provided excellent soil for the development of fine wine.
Beyond The Island Page 10