Down at the harbour, Renzo approached and a wide smile crinkled his broad, tanned face. She noted his immaculate get up; everything so perfect as if he’d stepped off the page of a glamour magazine.
‘Good morning Joanne. You look good enough to eat but we don’t have to worry about getting hungry.’ He waved his arm towards the yacht, ‘I’ve been out to Bountiful with enough food for an army. She threatened to sink with what I’ve loaded on board.’
‘You always spoil me; I shall be happy to lighten her load!’ she gave a convincing little laugh with a toss of her head that she imagined was expected of her. Why had he provided so much food? The query was short lived as she told herself this was just another of Renzo’s extravagant displays to gain her approval – though why he should need to do so remained a mystery. And it did feel good to know more about his sorry background of being trapped in the clutches of the Camorra. Her thoughts fractured as Renzo spoke.
‘Come,’ he led her to the iron steps. ‘I’ll go down first and give you a hand into the dinghy.’
Everything’s going to be all right, Joanne affirmed as the prospect of being with Fabio at the end of this day rippled inside her. As she stepped on board, she accomplished all the tasks she’d mastered and secured the dinghy efficiently. When Renzo began to sing happily as he unfurled the sails, she felt totally sure it signified a good occasion omen and confirmed Renzo’s generosity in teaching her to sail. How silly she’d been to have any doubts about him.
‘Today I’ll teach you all you might need when sailing at sea - if ever there’s an emergency...’ he shot her a look. ‘Of course that’s in the very unlikely event the skipper is suddenly taken sick or incapacitated for example,’ he added.
He turned away and she failed to see his expression. A tiny waft of apprehension slithered in. Did this mean Renzo would purposely put the yacht at risk with her in charge? Would she be competent? When he turned back his smile seemed planned but he must have caught her anxious expression.
‘There won’t be any problems Joanne, I assure you. Just one thing,’ he remarked with a frown. ‘I’m not happy how the motor is performing – keeps cutting out. Better not to depend on it.’ He moved to cast off and soon they had dealt with getting the yacht organised. As Bountiful nosed out into the blue water spray rose like a sparkling curtain and reaching deeper green water beyond the harbour, Renzo cut the engine.
She must put her trust in him. Besides, what an absolutely lovely way to spend a day and wasn’t she fortunate not to be stuck in her stuffy office in Rome!
‘Renzo looked up at the sky and nodded, ‘Settled, 2 to 3 knots, perfect conditions with a steady breeze. Right Joanne, ready about!’
Joanne instinctively ducked under the boom and crouched on the Starboard side. She was puzzled about why he’d mentioned the motor. Surely there was no need to operate the motor in these conditions. The thought vanished as the yacht righted itself and skimmed through the waves.
Joanne leaned back and took deep breaths of fresh air while all around the sea appeared to be sprinkled with silver mercury. She was unprepared for the heat that filled her body with thoughts of Fabio and gave a start when Renzo spoke.
‘Come Joanne, it’s a good time to demonstrate how to navigate; just a simple explanation to make sure you how it works. It’ll be essential if you decide to take up my offer to instruct at the Sailing School.’ He glanced up to check the set of the sails. ‘You’ll definitely need to study Navigation if you intend to take your Master’s Certificate.’
Joanne stepped carefully into the cockpit, enjoying the motion as the vessel rose gently up and down beneath her feet. Renzo spread out a chart and pointed. ‘See this line I’ve drawn? We’re headed in the direction of Naples so the compass bearing is 65 degrees NE. That means steering in order to keep the compass needle as steady as possible on that course.’ He moved the wheel to and fro and she saw the compass needle shift position.
‘That makes sense. I guess it’s more difficult in rough conditions?’
‘Yes, you’d have to concentrate on the task. Now,’ he continued. ‘When sailing in the opposite direction back to one’s mooring,’ He moved the ruler and laid it across the chart; ‘the degrees directly opposite 65 degrees NE will be 130 degrees SW, all right?’ He gave her a beaming smile. ‘And I’ve already explained the self- steering system – it’s just a matter of correcting ones course and pressing this button on the controls.’
‘Why yes, I think I’ve got that clear. Thanks, Renzo. You know I was awfully hazy about how you steered the right course to a destination.’
He was folding away the chart. ‘Now, what I propose is to sail into Naples harbour. We’ll have lunch on board beforehand but I must go and find an engineer I know to sort out the motor.’ He clearly saw Joanne’s face drop. ‘It’ll be fine, give you a chance to see another side of Naples from your experience when you first arrived. You’ll have time to browse in the shops before we sail back to Ischia.’
Joanne nodded her agreement whilst every nerve in her body tensed. This was not the way she’d expected to spend the day sailing and it hardly seemed the right time to produce the gift she’d bought him. ‘That sounds good,’ she managed with a smile. ‘How long do you think it’ll be – before we set sail back to Ischia, I mean?’ Her thoughts were leaping ahead. ‘She found herself telling a white lie. ‘I’ll have packing to do if I’m to catch the early morning ferry for Naples tomorrow.’
Renzo failed to meet her eyes and busied himself with adjusting the sails. ‘Oh, shouldn’t take too long. You’ve got your phone here, haven’t you?’
She nodded and yet a noise like a siren rang in her head. This stop in Naples was an unexpected delay. Whatever time would she get back to Fabio?
‘Right then,’ he sounded pleased, ‘I’ll be in touch with you as soon as my business is finished.’
Joanne tried to do justice to the delicious lunch Renzo had supplied but her throat had tightened and she found trouble swallowing. Against her principles not to waste food, she made sure he wasn’t looking before dropping her quiche overboard and was horrified when a mass of seagulls swooped down onto the sea.
Renzo appeared not to have noticed her move and he waved his arms and shouted at the scavengers. ‘Wretched birds – they’ve got wind of a free lunch.’
It turned out to be a hasty meal, although Renzo wouldn’t allow her wine glass to remain unfilled and under his keen gaze she had no option but to drink it. He suddenly said he had things to do down below in the cabin and quickly cleared things away, checked the yacht was tied up securely alongside the jetty and then disappeared down into the cabin.
Her brain was fuzzy from too much wine and little food. It seemed ages before Renzo reappeared. Her actions seemed uncoordinated which made it difficult to concentrate. That wine was more than normally potent. She stared in a daze at the other boats moored in Naples harbour and the chime of their halyards seemed to ring warnings in her ears. Overcome with drowsiness, it would have been easy to lie down and sleep. But before she could relax Renzo appeared, his body in shadow as he blocked the sun. She felt him take her hand and assist her onto the jetty and had a vague sense of being helped along to the quay. She blinked as he flapped a piece of paper in front of her eyes.
‘Here’s a street plan of Naples, Joanne. Now you won’t get lost,’ his voice boomed from a long way off. ‘We won’t meet back here. I’ll meet you at ‘Il Torino’. It’s a pleasant café.’ He indicated the place he’d marked on the street plan.’ We’ll have one of their delicious ices or a cocktail before we set sail for the homeward run. After all, it will be my last opportunity to treat you.’
She felt him pat her arm and give her a gentle push. He’d become a stranger and not someone with whom she’d just been sailing.
‘Go and have fun shopping,’ he urged and pressed a wad of notes into her hand before she had time to refuse.
Joanne stared after him in a daze as he hurried off without a backward g
lance. It crossed her mind that on board she didn’t recall seeing the briefcase he was carrying. Perhaps it held the instructions for the motor, she thought vaguely and it vanished from her mind. What a fool she’d been to drink so much wine. She felt drugged. Desperate to find somewhere shady place to fight off the dizziness, she stood trying to balance on her feet and peered about. Everything felt strange in this city. Sea light bounced off the walls and blinded her. She stared down unseeing at the map but found it beyond her to drum up energy for shopping. Once again, she was conscious of being alone in Naples. Scenes from her first time in Naples set her pulse on a race as she recalled the trouble over her missing luggage and that weird journey to the railway station depot with the dwarf Alfonso. It struck her forcefully that this was the second time she’d been stranded alone in Naples through Renzo’s lack of planning.
Despite the heat which pressed relentlessly down, a little shiver ran down her back as she sensed the need for caution. Wasn’t this city renowned for its dangerous gangs and touts; a city of crime? There’d been reports of recent kidnappings - innocent people held by the Naples Camorra for exorbitant sums of ransom.
Determined, Joanne set about finding a public garden in which to rest. There was an urgent need to lie down and clear her muzzy head. Heat enclosed her as she stumbled blindly along.
How long she’d lain down on the park bench and slept Joanne couldn’t tell. She came to her senses with a jolt and couldn’t believe her watch which displayed 4.20 pm. It had been ages then! Her heart began to whop inside her chest and it was with a swell of relief that she snatched up her satchel, amazed it hadn’t been stolen.
At least the sleep had cleared her brain. Joanne extracted her mobile phone from her satchel, alarmed to see there was still no message from Renzo and two hours had passed since he disappeared.
She straightened her stiff back and tried to think what to do. Surely Renzo hadn’t meant to take this long? It crossed her mind that this might be one of Renzo’s ploys – first to scare and then alleviate the situation as if to satisfy a psychological need for control. Or had she read him wrong?
She thrust conjecture away as the need for action got her to her feet. She would hurry to that café that Renzo said to meet where he’d likely been waiting impatiently and getting annoyed.
Her lungs filled with noxious smells as she picked her way along, avoiding piles of rotting garbage dumped along the narrow medieval streets. Scooters roared in both directions, narrowly missing each other and small kids kicking about a ball, their exhausts fumes adding to the polluted air. High above, women’s raucous voices echoed between tall tenements as they hauled in lines of washing strung between them. Men shuffled past, hands in pockets and she gripped her bag tight under her arm. This sleazy district filled her with foreboding like the dark alleys by the railway.
Determinedly casting off unease, Joanne set to with purpose in search of the café. After twenty minutes walking one way and back tracking again, her rising temper set her heart thrumming in her ears. Then about to give up the search and return to the harbour, she finally located the café, Il Torino.
Joanne entered the open door, scanned the dim interior and seeing no sign of Renzo approached a waiter. ‘Has a Signor Balzarin been here – a tall gentleman in sailing clothes?’
This was met by a mere shake of his head. ‘No, I’m sorry, Signorina. Not been here.’
Whatever was Renzo playing at? Why hadn’t he got in touch? Feeling steadily more incensed Joanne sat down heavily, realizing Renzo had never offered his phone number, remarking that he kept it free for business purposes. Huh! What a fool she’d been to accept that. There was no solution so she sat down and ordered a dish of pistachio ice cream. Why not enjoy something while she waited for him?
Sweat trickled down inside of her thin shirt and dampened her forehead but even as the ice cream slid down her throat it failed to quell the anger rising hotly in her head. Why had Renzo disappeared and left her in this dreadful place? Worst of all, she had no means of contacting him. Most important, how was she going to get back to the Island in time to see Fabio tonight?
Her thoughts leapt to Fabio but she discounted trying to contact him. He’d explained he would be working hard to a deadline in order to finish that commission. Besides, whatever could Fabio in Ischia do to help her in Naples?
The waiters were beginning to slide odd glances in Joanne’s direction as she slowly drank water and then scooped up the last of the melted ice she’d been saving for nearly an hour. It was clear they wished to prepare for the evening rush. Her watch showed 6.40 pm and still she’d heard nothing from Renzo. Compulsion drove her decision. She would return to the quay. Quickly paying her bill Joanne left the café and hurried back along the narrow streets praying to find the right way to the harbour, a tremor in her legs as she began to run.
***
Arrived at the quayside, Joanne stood hot and dishevelled and waited to catch her breath. Surely Renzo would be on board? Bountiful sat where he’d tied her up. The yacht sat swaying gently, the halyards chinking in the evening breeze.
Pinkish light from the setting sun now stained the sea and transmuted to violet as it heralded the coming night. Was Renzo on board? Joanne shouted, listened and shouted again to no avail. Anyone within the yacht would have heard. The only sounds were the loud screeches as gulls took off from the deck.
Joanne stared wildly about the quay but Renzo was nowhere to be seen. Panic hollowed her stomach. She felt a scream rise in her throat. Time was running out to reach Ischia in time to meet Fabio. He might already be waiting for her on the harbour. Once again she resisted the urge to contact him, asking - did she really want to foist her fears on him? She had no intention of interrupting him finishing that painting before his client arrived to collect it. Briefly her mouth twitched in a smile aware that Fabio would throw himself into the harbour and swim to her across the sea if he knew her plight!
For some while, Joanne had been aware of a young dark haired man eyeing her and standing far too close for her liking. Instinctively she gripped her satchel. She was alone in Naples, a place notorious for every kind of crime; he might well be one of the Camorra! Her heart lurched as the young man raised his voice,
‘Signorina Joanne? No worry – message for you.’
Joanne clenched her fists – was this a trick? ‘Who are you?’ she demanded hotly. ‘How do you know me?’
‘No, no. He...’ he searched for a word, ‘hands...’ He made some actions with his hands that Joanne couldn’t understand.
‘What do you mean? Do you know Signor Renzo Balzarin?’ Dreadful stories of this dangerous city crowded her head. What if this young man was sent by the Camorra to trick her?’
‘Please, no frightened; Signor says - I sail with you. I Rurik.’ The young fellow seemed genuinely agitated. ‘All okay’ he insisted as he closed the distance between them. ‘Signor Renzo, he not come; he says you sail back. I sail with you, so okay’ He tailed off.
He was clearly Eastern European and Joanne could tell how as a foreigner he would struggle for words to explain.
Darkness fogged Joanne’s head. ‘What’s happened? Has he been kidnapped?’ she saw the young man flinch as she raised her voice to penetrate his mind. ‘Where is he, where’s Signor Renzo?’
The young man facing her pressed a hand to his forehead and seemed not to comprehend.
‘Why isn’t he here?’ Joanne’s voice shook. She began to give in to panic until a sudden inspiration had her speaking in Italian and relieved, saw Rurik look up with a grin.
‘Signor Balzarin, he, Signor Renzo – he say I take care of you. Rurik nodded and pointed to himself. Il Signor...’
Bewildered, she butted in, ‘Il Signor was not free to speak?’ Though his Italian wasn’t fluent they both seemed to make themselves understood now. She demonstrated someone who was gagged.
Rurik grasped her meaning. ‘Big trouble; bad men.’ He held up three fingers and Joanne instantly pictured the
scene. ‘Dark...’ he pointed to the ground. ‘Men tie him up so not sail to Island.’
Quickly Joanne pictured the scene. Three men had Renzo tied up and trapped somewhere underground.
This was no time to dwell on the awesome fact. Darkness was almost upon them. The impact of her precarious situation hit Joanne. She must sail the yacht on her own and taking action, stepped down onto the deck. Frantically, her mind darted about for alternatives. Why not leave Bountiful here? But she’d seen the last public ferry leave for Ischia half an hour before. Her thoughts raced ahead. It was essential to get back to the hotel for her luggage in order to get the ferry back to Naples and catch her booked train to Rome.
Fabio would be waiting for her and the ache of longing for him squeezed her heart.
She forced a deep breath and pulled herself together. She must focus on reality.
Her passport was the first thing the police would demand if she contacted them and so crossing that off her mental list, she resolved to deal with the immediate tasks that faced her.
Thinking hard, she made a rough calculation of the time it would take to sail from Naples to Porto d’Ischia. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rurik was hovering a short distance away. He stood staring down at her, his pinched face screwed up with anxiety and his arms pressed to his sides. Who was he? She wondered. Could she trust him or was he part of the gang who’d kidnapped Renzo?
Joanne eyed his shoddily dressed person and endeavoured to seek his motives. He looked undernourished but his tired, woebegone look struck her as honest.
Fabio, she murmured under her breath; if only you were here with me. She tried to ignore the fear lodged in her stomach and grimly accepted her fate. There was no option but to sail back and hope this unlikely young man could assist.
Beyond The Island Page 24