Claire Gulliver #03 - Intrigue in Italics

by Gayle Wigglesworth

  The entire Ng family seemed to be involved in the restaurant business. Many years ago, in anticipation of Hong Kong reverting to the Chinese, the family had diversified. Now they had children and grandchildren running restaurants in Hong Kong, Vancouver, Honolulu and San Francisco. LiAnn and Sam, pioneers in fusion cooking, still played an active role in all their businesses. They mixed Chinese, Vietnamese, Japanese and Italian dishes creating a new craze. They said they came to the Retreat to learn from Chef Martin. Judging by the intense gleam in LiAnn’s eyes, Millie assumed she was another of his fans. And they were here, Sam had added, because they loved Italy.

  Now Millie said in LiAnn’s ear as she settled into the aisle seat, “Don’t forget we need to get some ideas for the wine on Monday.”

  LiAnn nodded, and then turned to speak rapidly to Sam in what appeared to be some Chinese dialect.

  Millie explained to Ruth, “Our group is doing the wine on Monday. LiAnn and I are both admittedly pretty green in our knowledge of wine. We’re a little worried about our ability to contribute to the selection of the right wines. Anything we learn today will be a help.” Then she leaned across the aisle to answer a question from Michael, who was sitting with Randy Jackson.

  Randy was from California, not far from where Millie lived in San Francisco. He told her he had worked long and hard to help build a company which supported some of the newest innovations in the computer field. Now, having sold the company, he was at a crossroads. So he decided to give himself a break and pursue his favorite hobby by attending the Culinary Retreat. After he got back he was going to finish remodeling the kitchen in the little house he bought in Menlo Park before deciding what he was going to do next. His computer expertise was lost on this group. None of them even understood the importance of the device his company developed. But he loved to cook, so in that aspect he fit in here.

  Randy was young, probably in his twenties, medium build. In fact he looked like the stereotypical computer nerd. He was quiet but pleasant company and while he didn’t belong to the clique with Steven, Zoe and Michael, he sometimes hung around with them.

  Helga and Frederick Lowenthal were last on the bus and therefore had to take a seat in the back while Sal dropped into the seat in front with Wanda. Helga smiled at Millie as she passed. She seemed very nice, but then how would Millie know, not being able to communicate with her. Sal had told her the Lowenthals owned an inn on Lake Garda in Italy. It catered to Swiss, Italian and German tourists. They, as many of the others, were here to refresh their skills in Italian cuisine. Millie hoped before the retreat was over to get the address of their inn. She thought Claire might like it to pass on to some of her customers.

  “All right, we’re all here. Hang on, we’re away,” Chef Martin called out as the bus door closed with a whoosh and the bus headed out.

  The chatter in the bus was deafening. After only two days together friendships had been formed and alliances made.

  The first winery was perfect and Millie assumed that’s why they started with it. Una Cantina Delle Sette Cantine, Millie let it roll off her tongue, repeating it after Chef Martin. It sounded as lovely as it was. The hills were covered with rows of green vines while the stone buildings of the winery nestled in a little valley. The Seven Cellars Winery seemed an appropriate name as they moved through cellar after cellar cut deep into the stone hills.

  “Wow, look at this.” They looked around the huge manmade cavern filled with stainless steel vats and rows and rows of racked bottles.

  “Smell it. I think I could get high just from breathing the fumes.”

  “Not me, I’m waiting for the real thing,” George retorted, “and I’m starting to feel thirsty.”

  Their guide heard George’s comment and assured them. “Soon, I promise you. Only two more cellars to visit and then we come to the VIP tasting room.” He led them into the next cellar, this one containing row after row of beautifully carved, huge white oak aging casks.

  “Here are the casks that give our wine that oaky taste we’re known for. These barrels were made in the 17th century and have survived the ravages of time, war and natural disasters. They are very valuable to us as white oak is extremely hard to obtain now. And then, of course, the carvers were artists. It would be impossible to duplicate this quality.” He was willing to pause long enough for them to examine the barrels closely. The carvings done in deep relief were magnificent, every bit as detailed and beautiful as ones Ruth and Millie had admired in the museums in Florence.

  But finally they entered the VIP tasting room, an alcove off the last cellar. This room was dark and filled with racked bottles. In the middle of the room was a bar, bathed in light, where the sommelier was waiting to serve them.

  “You understand that all other tours end up in the tasting room where we started. There they are given a taste of a select number of wines and can purchase bottles of wine if they wish. However, for this group, we have a special tasting.”

  Their guide gestured toward the sommelier wearing his little tasting cup on a chain around his neck. “Henri is here to explain the wines for you. Taste as many as you wish. However, Chef Martin has asked me to remind you there are two more wineries to visit before lunch.”

  They laughed. It was a gracious way of telling them they couldn’t stay forever. They surged toward the small bar where Henri presided, pouring generous amounts in the glasses before him. And while they were being passed around, he described the wine.

  “This is a classic red Tuscan wine. It's made from Sangiovese and Cabernet Sauvignon grapes from our own vineyards. Notice the color.”

  He held his glass up and swirled it. They all followed suit.

  “Smell it,” he ordered dipping his nose in the glass and inhaling. “Smell the notes of cherries, smoke and vanilla.” He looked around as one by one they nodded; either identifying the aromas or saying they did rather than admitting their ignorance.

  "Taste it.” He took a sip and rolled it around in his mouth, smiling with pleasure when he swallowed it. “Aged twenty-four months in the white oak barrels to get that oaky taste and the body is velvety and smooth; the finish is long and lovely.” He took another sip and they followed suit.

  “Now tell me, Chef Martin, wouldn’t you love to serve this with one of your famous pork dishes?”

  Chef Martin’s expression conveyed no doubt as to his enjoyment of the wine.

  Henri generously poured a bit more in the glasses held out for another taste and then he passed around a little dish of crackers urging them to cleanse their palates before tasting the next.

  Finally, several wines later, Henri opened a Moscato d’Asti. “I have been signaled by your leaders you need to be moving on, so I want to give you a taste of this wine. I love this wine. It’s equally perfect to start or finish a meal.” He poured into the new tray of glasses which had been set down in front of him. “It is fabulously fruity.” He swirled again and they all did the same.

  Millie was feeling like she was really getting the hang of this swirling business. And she liked the smell of this wine, it was different than the others. She could actually smell the fruity odor. And when she tasted it, she felt the little fizz on her tongue and the slight taste of peach. She would remember this one for sure. But to make sure, she made a little note on the brochure she had picked up at the beginning of the tour.

  If the mood had been festive at the start of the morning, it was more so now. The wine had relaxed them and this pleasant visit had only heightened their expectations of what was to come. They were ready for the next winery.

  * * *

  For a moment everyone seemed frozen, then Kristen was on her feet, her eyes wide with horror as she looked back down the street at the smoke pouring out of the building at end of the next block. Little spots of color identified victims down on the street amidst the rubble.

  People were already running to their aid, as was Kristen. Grabbing her backpack, she shouted back at Claire, “Come on. Hurry! It’s down near the
store...”

  The police vehicles, sirens screaming, passed before they even got to the nearest corner, and they could see the police were already cordoning off the street; refusing to let anyone enter.

  Kristen paused a moment, then turned to her left running down the street. “This way, we’ll go around behind. Maybe we can get closer from the other street.”

  Claire was noisily panting when Kristen stopped. This street was also cordoned off, but they were better positioned to see what was left of the art store on the corner and the building on the other side of the little alley. There were gaping holes through the rubble that had so recently been solid stone walls. They could see the flames. The firefighters were already on the scene connecting their hoses and forming groups preparing to enter both structures. More police, fire trucks and emergency vehicles were arriving filling the street. Passersby and emergency staff attended to victims lying randomly on the street. It looked like a war zone.

  Kristen was in shock. She stood pressed against the barricade with tears running down her cheeks as she recited the names of her co-workers. She started forward; she had to get closer.

  Claire pulled on her arm. “Wait, you can’t go in there. Can’t you see we’d just be in the way?”

  “But I have to see if anyone made it out. I have to know.”

  Claire nodded, understanding Kristen’s need. “I know, but everything is chaotic now. They need a little time to sort it all out. Why don’t we go back to my hotel and put on the TV. I’m sure they will be reporting on this. Then later you can call the authorities and tell them who was there and find out what happened.” She tugged on Kristen until she turned and followed her docilely down the street.

  Later Claire stood glumly at the window, watching the still billowing smoke. It was obvious the fire fighters were waging a battle with the flames. Kristen was lying on the bed, a cool wet towel draped across her forehead, a cup of cooling tea forgotten on the table beside her.

  Claire had needed a bracing cup of tea and thought Kristen would benefit from one too. Luckily the hotel catered to English guests, so it kept tea kettles and supplies in each of the rooms. They didn’t talk. What was there to say? Kristen was still crying. While her sobs had diminished, the tears still oozed from her eyes, trailing down her cheeks. She couldn’t seem to stop, but she said the wet cloth helped her head.

  Abruptly she sat up. “There, turn it up.” She listened intently and repeated in English for Claire. “No survivors from the two buildings. Four people on the street were killed and sixteen more were injured from debris, some seriously.”

  She turned and looked at Claire. “If you hadn’t found me I would have been one more casualty.” She looked as horrified as Claire felt. This time Claire cried too until she finally went in the bathroom to get a damp cloth for her own head.

  Kristen had attempted to call the authorities on two different occasions but the lines were apparently jammed with calls. Now she stood up and gathered her things announcing she was going home; she would try to call the police again later. It wasn’t until she realized she would have to walk, having parked her bike as usual in the storage room at the store that Claire realized her bike was also gone. She groaned. It would take a lot of effort to explain this to the bike rental shop. She suspected she had bought the bike.

  Since Kristen was determined to go home, Claire decided to go with her, feeling responsible for her now that she had resurrected her, so to speak. She wanted to make sure she made it home safely. But before she turned off the television Kristen put up her hand to stop her. Her face drained of color as she looked at Claire.

  “It was a bomb. They said it was a bomb in that little alley we use between the two buildings. It’s like the bombing of the Uffizi a few years back. Someone parked a car full of explosives right next to the museum and detonated it. Luckily, it was at night so no one was around at the time.”

  Claire felt the blood drain from her face as what Kristen said registered. “But I parked my bike in that alley.” She shook her head trying to clear it. “And there wasn’t any car there. In fact the alley is so narrow I don’t think a car would fit there.”

  Abruptly she collapsed on the edge of the bed. “There were only some bikes. And there was the bike with the big box on the back. The guy with the brown suit left it there. I saw him.”

  Stiffly she turned to Kristen, forcing the words out. “I might have seen it. The bomb!” She shook her head hardly able to believe what she was thinking. “It was that guy on the street in front of me. He had a box fastened to the rear of his bike.” She closed her eyes a minute. “Wait, wait I don’t think I saw the box yesterday. No, he couldn’t have had it yesterday; I’m sure I would have noticed.”

  “Yesterday, what do you mean? You saw the same guy yesterday?” Kristen was staring at her with very wide eyes.

  Claire nodded. “It would be hard to miss him. I was waiting for you on my bike. I was going to catch up with you and see whether or not it was really you. But after I pulled out into the traffic, he cut right in front of me to get behind you. I had to apply my brakes and they’re very touchy, so over I went. I didn’t see him after that, but I’m sure I would have noticed the box. I certainly recognized him today when I saw him.”

  “Where was he today?” Her voice had a little catch in it that caught Claire’s attention.

  “On the street, a few bike lengths behind you.” Claire was thinking. “But you don’t think...?”

  Kristen sat down, taking off her backpack again. “I don’t know what to think. Let’s talk this through. Tell me everything.”

  So Claire went through the sequence again. This time she mentioned everyone she had seen more than once on the street before or after Kristen passed.

  “What do you think?” she asked Kristen.

  “I don’t want to think about it. It would just be too horrible if I caused this mayhem.”

  They sat staring at the television trying to absorb the implications of what they were thinking.

  At last Kristen said, “Well, I won’t be going home. That would be too big a risk. I’m going to assume I was uncovered and act accordingly.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I’m leaving town. I’ve got to get out of here right away. That time someone bombed the Uffizi, they closed the city down. None of the buses, trains or even cars could get in or out. I need to get out now before that happens.”

  “But where will you go? How will you be sure you’re safe?”

  Kristen shrugged. “I can’t be sure, but I have some disguises and I’ll try to find somewhere to light until I can connect up with my controller.”

  Claire nodded, then making up her mind she said, “I’m going with you.”

  * * *

  Kristen moved through the crowded train station with purpose despite the confusion milling around them. Claire glanced longingly at the taxis waiting outside the exit, but Kristen crossed the street without a glance in that direction. Claire wasn’t surprised after Kristen’s “too easy to be remembered,” comment in Florence. They had walked to the train station when the buses along their route never arrived. They assumed the buses were held up in the traffic jam around the bomb site. Fortunately the train station was less than two miles from her hotel.

  Now, almost seven p.m., it felt later. Claire was hoping the hotel they picked from her guidebook would have room for them. Kristen inserted some coins in a blue machine, which spit out two pieces of cardboard. These turned out to be passes for the bus which came along shortly after. It wasn’t a long ride before Kristen signaled her they were at the stop they wanted. Claire was amazed at how much easier traveling was with someone familiar with the customs and at ease with the language. She didn’t say a word as she followed Kristen off the bus. They had decided it would be prudent if Claire didn’t give away her American origins, thinking two Italian women on a weekend holiday would be much harder to trace, if, in fact, anyone was trying to trace them.

  Now t
hey paused on the curved street running uphill from the edge of Il Campo, Sienna’s central piazza.

  “I think we should go directly to the hotel and try to book a room, because if they’re full, it may take us a while to find an available one. Then we can eat. What do you think?”

  Kristen nodded her agreement. “According to this map it’s up that way; I think only a couple of blocks.”

  Kristen still looked pale and her now dark brown, short hair altered her looks substantially. That, plus the dark circles ringing her eyes, made her look older and very tired. Claire imagined she was probably looking even worse. She didn’t have Kristen’s youth to help combat the ravages of stress.

  Despite the stress and the shock, Kristen had calmly gone about making ready to flee Florence after declaring her intention. Claire watched with awe as she pulled a pair of scissors and a package of hair dye from the bottom of her backpack. It didn’t take her long to alter her appearance. Then she gathered up the red locks from the bathroom floor, the empty dye packaging and tied it up in a bundle, announcing, “We’ll dump it along the way.”

  And when she couldn’t dissuade Claire from coming with her, she then supervised the packing of Claire’s backpack. As they left the hotel and turned in the key, Claire told the clerk she would be away for the weekend; shook her head sadly at the clerk’s comments on the bombing and then quickly left. Kristen had warned her, if she didn’t tell them she was to be gone, they would think the worse when she didn’t pick up her key for a couple days. It would be very awkward if the authorities were looking for her and even worse, Claire’s mother might become alarmed when she couldn’t reach her.

  The hotel they had selected had a very nice, albeit small, lobby. Kristen signed them into their last vacant room, handing over their passports and talking to the clerk in rapid Italian. The hotel was housed in an ancient building built into a hill incorporating part of the old wall of the town. Apparently the bottom floors of the building going down the hill were private homes. The first three floors above the lobby were business establishments and the hotel was housed on the upper floors, which had been added more recently. The elevators from the lobby only stopped at the floors the hotel used for rooms, breakfast and lounge. Their room on the eighth floor looked over part of the old wall and down the hill. Claire stood at the large window, but could only see dim lights and an inky sky.