He must have caught her glance and made a show of flexing the muscles. ‘Get these when you’ve been fishing and hauling nets since a nipper!’ He picked up a coil of rope, threaded his arm through and yanked it onto his shoulder with an obvious display of strength.
Joanne was cross with herself to be caught staring. Marco might have taken her approach as flirtatious. She stood and formerly held out her hand. ‘I didn’t intend to intrude,’ she said crisply.
He shook her hand and had the grace to look shamefaced. Well she decided, perhaps he had something interesting to say. Why had he spoken rudely at first? She was soon to discover why.
It was a job to keep up with him. He seemed in a hurry and took long strides alongside the harbour wall and didn’t talk until they’d reached a narrow turning opposite the harbour which led uphill. He halted beside an old van. ‘I live up that way,’ he pointed. ‘All of us fishermen live in that neighbourhood.’ He indicated somewhere she knew must be the poorer district and turned, opened the van’s rear door and hefted the rope inside.
Joanne looked away, ready to go as Marco pulled a paint splattered T shirt over his head.
‘Wait! Tell me Signorina, is Signor Renzo a close friend?’
Her face flushed with anger. What impertinence. ‘Why? Why do you want to know?’ It was her turn to speak roughly.
‘Only thinking of your welfare,’ he muttered. He seemed aware he’d overstepped the mark. ‘No offence meant.’ The rear door squealed as he slammed it shut. He moved to the driver’s door. ‘Take care Signorina,’ his words were cast over his shoulder as he opened the door and slid inside. Through the open window she caught his final comment.
‘Schiamazzi, Pericola!’ he pointed out to sea. ‘Stai attendo’
Danger, disturbance out at sea. Mark what I say. What was that supposed to mean? Joanne rushed to the door as he started the engine.
‘Just a minute, Marco, wait!’ Impulse prompted her hasty words. ‘Renzo just employs me to crew his yacht,’ she said breathlessly. ‘What the hell d’you mean, take care? Tell me!’
Marco kept the engine running and cast her sly look. ‘Pretty young Italian women - not permitted to sail alone with a man,’ he said. ‘You’d be sensible to stay on dry land!’ And with that he thrust the engine into gear and shouted above the noise, ‘Better take care! Arrivederci, Signorina.’
How dare he! Wretched macho. Her heart beat with dull thuds as she stared after him and watched the van disappear up the hill, furious that she’d stopped to talk with this rough, prejudiced man. His odd warning disturbed and thrust her into a black mood just when she’d set out for a stroll in a happy frame of mind. Hardly seeing where she was going Joanne walked slowly back to the hotel with Marco’s warning repeating in her head.
Ignorant man, she told herself firmly. But another thought came with a prick of caution. Could he really have alluded to something else when he’d warned her to take care? Stop being an idiot, she urged. The man’s a prejudiced oaf. It could be jealousy; Marco might resent the fact that Renzo had not invited him to crew. Yes, she decided. That must be it and she looked forward to meeting someone pleasant like Tom Saunders.
***
Tom Saunders suggestion they meet in a workman’s café in the backstreets of Ischia Porto was not a place Renzo was likely to frequent. Tom had listened to her brief explanation and seemed to understand the need for secrecy and she hoped the young American could throw a light on the odd things she suspected were going on.
The following day, Joanne set out early for Café Bertoldo but the lanes in this poor district twisted randomly. She stopped to ask directions from a young woman pushing a buggy.
‘Si, al’seconda destra, poi sempre diritto,’ she pointed and stared at Joanne as if she’d been asked where the Mafia lived.
‘Grazie, Signora.’ Joanne smiled her thanks. Go right at the second turning and then straight ahead,’ she translated. The narrow roads stank, piled either side with filthy refuse. The Camorra was in control and only employed children who earned a pittance. So refuse remained uncollected. She caught sight of scraggy cats lurking in the shadows. Nauseous smells seeped into Joanne’s lungs and she brooded how a café could produce hygienic food in this area as she hastened her steps.
She turned the corner into a street of small shops, pleased to see their frontages looked tidily attractive and suddenly found herself in a district that resembled a local village.
Soon, a sign on the pavement drew her attention. “Cafe Bertoldo”.
Entering the café and glancing about, Joanne spotted Tom Saunders. He’d clearly been looking out for her, he got to his feet and strode towards her with a wide grin.
‘Hi there, Joanne, it’s great to see you again!’
Joanne noted how young he was despite his little ginger beard as he reached to shake her hand as Americans do, unaccustomed to the Italian way with ‘air kisses’.
Joanne raised her voice over the hubbub. ‘Thank you so much for meeting me, Tom. I’m not taking you away from anything?’
‘No way; nothing at all.’ Tom indicated a table he’d reserved in an alcove. ‘Now what do you drink, Joanne? The local red wine is strong but I can recommend it.’
Then he must frequent this café, she thought. ‘Thanks,’ she said, already feeling comfortable in his easy company. ‘I’d rather like a non-alcoholic drink, please.’ She needed a clear head to think how to approach this friendly young man with her questions.
When they were seated Joanne looked around, pleased to see the locals were noisily engaged in conversation and took no notice of them.
Tom took a sip of wine and looked up.
‘How’s the sailing going, Joanne?’
‘Good thanks, the sailing’s brilliant.’ There was hesitation in her reply and she asked quickly, ‘I’d like to hear how your trip has gone first. You were doing a project, I remember. Did you manage all the research?’
‘I still need to sort it out before I head back to the States later on.’ He frowned. ‘I’ve discovered aspects of this Island which are... interesting.’ His eyes widened.
Joanne’s pulse rate increased. Perhaps his concern related to Renzo’s construction business on the Island and she also sympathised with the people uprooted from their old homes. She waited for Tom to expand. It was merely a hunch.
Tom gave her a searching look and commented. ‘You know, after we’d been separated on the tour bus I kept puzzling about that question you’d asked the guide. I suspected it had thrown him.’
Joanne eased her shoulders, thankful to find Tom astute and prepared to listen to her. ‘I must have seemed off hand Tom,’ she volunteered, ‘when we bumped into each other at the Winery. My only excuse is that I had worries even then about the outfit – as you will hear in a minute.’
Tom shook his head. ‘No, but I could tell you had something on your mind. What you say is interesting, Joanne. Maybe we’ll have facts to share. By the way, I work here in this café kitchen in the evening; helps to keep me solvent.’
‘How long will you be on the Island Tom?’
‘Another month and then I head off for the Monte Amiata region, south of Sienna to meet up with my girlfriend. She’s working as a nanny; how about you?’
Joanne had already calculated her remaining holiday. ‘Five days to go.’ She shrugged, ‘far too short.’ She extracted his card from her satchel and waved it front of him. ‘Environmental Research’ she read aloud. ‘I’m taking you away from your studies. Lunch is on me.’
Tom’s laugh caught her off guard. ‘If you think I’d invite you here and expect you to pay, you are mistaken!’
‘All right then thank you Tom, maybe another time. I’m keen to know what you are researching.’
‘It involves study of land resources; types of soil and water supplies amongst other things,’ he explained. ‘I hope to use the information towards my studies. I’ve a general interest in crop growth for instance.’ He paused. ‘My study programme does
not include setting out to expose any ill practices. Nevertheless, I’m curious about certain things and it adds another dimension. So tell me, what do you suspect and how can I be of help?’
He persuaded her to share a bottle of red wine and Joanne accepted with a smile, finding him easy company. Tom ordered their meal while they both sipped their wine and she was aware he patiently waited for her to broach the reason for phoning him. She couldn’t put it off any longer.
‘How to begin,’ Joanne said slowly. ‘I’ll try to make it clear. You see, it’s the owner of the Winery, Renzo Balzarin who is giving me the sailing lessons. We met by chance at a business function in Rome,’ she explained. ‘I’d already booked my holiday here and was astonished by his offer to crew.’ Joanne hesitated. ‘I had no inkling of his connection with Ischia or that he owned the family Winery. Before I came here I knew nothing about him.’
Tom stared at her; his eyebrows raised but didn’t speak.
She spoke softly and went on quickly, ‘must sound crazy taking up the offer. My concern is that I can’t get to grips with why he picked me – especially a novice instead of someone living on the island. And small incidents here won’t leave my mind; gossip I overhead on the bus and Renzo’s lies about his whereabouts. Apart from the Winery, he’s inherited land and the dwellings on them. I found out that long standing tenants are being evicted so I guess Renzo has other uses for the land.’
Joanne lowered her voice further, ‘apparently in past centuries his antecedents were notorious as harsh employers. Renzo might have inherited their ways – and the slur exists amongst the locals.’ She paused for breath, ‘Renzo Balzarin is covering something up, I’m certain.’ She frowned into her glass of wine. ‘Perhaps I’m just being paranoid.’
‘Wow! I can see how this must be unsettling, Joanne. Do you feel threatened in any way by this Renzo?’
‘No, he’s always considerate and I really appreciate the tuition. I can’t understand why it’s beginning to affect me. His activities are his own affair – none of my business.
Tom frowned. ‘You sound like you’re stuck an awkward situation. Has this Renzo picked up any of your doubts, d’you think?’
‘No, no! I’m certain he takes me on face value. I don’t let him see anything untoward. Something else. The local man who maintains the yacht gave me a strange warning.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, he hinted I shouldn’t be sailing, a young woman was at risk sailing with Renzo.’
Tom frowned. ‘That was unpleasant for you. Any thoughts why he should warn you?’
‘No, but he may feel thwarted because he hasn’t been invited to crew – that’s all I can think.’
‘Then that’s probably the reason. You seem perceptive Joanne and if you don’t find it disturbing sailing with Renzo, then maybe that’s the reason for that guy’s remark.’
‘Thanks Tom, you’re very reassuring.’
‘By the way, the Balzarin Winery is right up in the profit margins,’ Tom said. ‘I worked out how they do it, since normally the big boys – you know the European supermarket sleuths, strike a very hard bargain...’ He shook his head. ‘The Winery is able to keep their margins down by using immigrant labour on barely subsistent wages, poor devils.’ He looked up quickly as he heard Joanne draw in her breath. Worried lines creased his forehead. ‘You haven’t got shares in it, have you? Hope I’ve not put my foot in it!’
‘No!’ Joanne grinned as she guessed Tom was joking. ‘But I’m shocked.’ She bit her lip and decided suddenly to put her cards on the table. ‘It’s the kind of thing I was afraid of.
She shook her head and spoke quickly. ‘It wasn’t long before I guessed something like this was going on after I visited the Winery, and began to put ideas together from little incidents. But I’m in an awkward position. The real problem,’ she continued with a frown, ‘is I can’t think why he invited me to sail on his yacht. I made it clear I had little sailing experience and only accepted when I was convinced he had no other demands – you know...’ she hesitated, ‘before I knew it would all be above board. I certainly wasn’t attracted to him in that way. I had some holiday due from work in Rome. I’d already booked to come to Ischia and it appeared as if fate had stepped in because I do enjoy sailing.’
Tom nodded but said nothing, waiting for her to continue. ‘Do go on Joanne,’ he urged.
Her words tumbled out. ‘Everything pointed to him being wealthy. He owns an expensive yacht. I found out he also has big construction projects on the mainland. I just feel there must be some ulterior motive in his benevolence. It’s so odd,’ she finished lamely.
For a few more moments, there was silence between them before Joanne filled the gap and didn’t stop talking. ‘I’m certain Renzo’s cousin Fabio must know what is going on but he’s unwilling to reveal the truth. Fabio is definitely not implicated but his loyalty is to his family. He’s an artist and lives on the Island – oh, he’s a marvellous person,’ she hastened to add. ‘He dropped a hint that he keeps quiet about Renzo’s activities to protect his sister, Angelina, who is very fond of their cousin.
‘Apparently, Renzo provides financially for her and her children. Fabio told me that Angelina actually believes her income comes from insurance on her husband’s life – Lucio. He managed the Winery and died in an accident there. That, by the way is another mystery.’ There, she’d got it all out. What a ridiculous impression of her he must have.
‘It’s all very complicated,’ Tom frowned, deep in thought, ‘a lot for me to take in all at once and a little out of my field. If I understand you correctly, Fabio’s sister’s income does not arise from the insurance on her husband’s life, is that it?’
‘Correct,’ Joanne replied. ‘Fabio also revealed that his cousin has unlawful contracts. Apparently Fabio has equal shares but Renzo is the elder and controls the income from the Winery and estates. He apparently provides generously for Angelina and her children.’ She drank some more wine. ‘I’ve got a nerve burdening you with all this. Just tell me to shut up, okay?’
‘Not a bit of it Joanne. You’ve got me intrigued – it’s my research nose! Now, I’m not clear why Renzo owns everything,’ Tom said slowly, ‘the Winery etc. I understand from their literature it’s an old established family business, handed down from two brothers – I would have thought both the sons would have inherited.’
Joanne hurried to enlighten him. ‘Angelina explained to me that Fabio has always been an independent spirit and makes his own way financially as a successful artist. Their father died first and everything passed to Renzo’s father, the eldest. His Will then stipulated his son Renzo would have control of the Winery. A proviso was that Fabio’s share was invested for the benefit of Fabio’s future offspring. That’s probably a simplification of it all. I imagine the prime idea though was the Winery remained in the hands of a male descendant.’
‘I believe I’ve grasped that, but does it have any bearing on your questions?’
Their food had arrived and Tom joked for a few moments with the waiter. When the waiter had gone Tom said, ‘sorry about that. I’ve got to know Valerio through working here.’
‘That’s fine.’ Joanne continued as her lungs filled with the tantalising aroma from her risotto asparagus in a creamy sauce. ‘I’ll just mention that they appear to avoid contact with one another – I mean Renzo and Fabio.’
‘Fabio has obviously gained your confidence,’ Tom remarked with a lift of his brows. ‘He’s a good guy, eh?’ He began to tackle his dish of chicken polenta.
Joanne was mortified as heat flushed her cheeks. Was she so transparent? A picture of Fabio flew in and she longed for him to be here with them.
‘Maybe he’d agree to meet me before I leave Ischia,’ Tom said. ‘Someone with local knowledge would be useful for my research of various technicalities. Incidentally, I’ve discovered an interesting fact which may or may not be relevant. I believe parties of immigrants arrive during the night under cover of darkness. It�
�s not illegal to employ them here in various industries, but they should be registered with the authorities and paid wages.’
He ate a few more mouthfuls before saying, ‘My guess is that this Renzo is avoiding paying tax, concealing huge profits he’s making by paying very low wages to his immigrant workers. I’m certain if it weren’t for these poor wretches working at subsistence level, the Winery couldn’t compete with larger concerns.’
Joanne shook her head. ‘That’s got to be important,’ she brooded aloud; ‘but how, I can’t fathom just now.’
‘If you don’t think it impertinent, are you happy to sail with this man now?’
Joanne frowned. ‘I don’t mind you asking; it’s a question I ask myself but I don’t find Renzo a threat, even though he tries to control my day to day activities. He’s patient with sailing instruction,’ she said slowly.
For a few minutes they both concentrated on eating and Joanne put down her fork as Tom spoke again.
‘By the way, I managed to slip away from the tour group and bumped into one of the truck drivers who collect loads of empty bottles from a cleansing depot on the Island.’ Tom rubbed a hand over his soft beard and continued, ‘He was keen to let off steam and quite forthcoming. The poor guy was all bottled up about things there - excuse the pun - grumbled about the work conditions. How the immigrants are all housed in terrible conditions – it sounds dreadful,’ he said grimly. ‘My instinct suggests they are conned by the Immortale – that’s an arm of the Mafia. These illegal immigrants are trafficked from Eastern Europe with the promise of lucrative work in Italy.’ His brows met in a frown. ‘There must be links along the route to Naples; places to keep them locked up in the city until they can be shipped over here.’
Joanne stared at Tom, deeply concerned. It was one thing to employ immigrants to care for the elderly but this was something else. It was when Tom spoke of them being locked up that she had a sudden vision of one of those baggage handlers at Naples railway station. As he placed her cases down he’d rattled a bunch of keys and the other men nodded. Keys to lock something up? Had she imagined that they’d shot her a glance? Afterwards she told herself to stop fantasising. At the time everything had seemed weird and magnified in her mind.
Beyond The Island Page 15