Beyond The Island Page 7

  ‘I’ve brought you a sun hat in case you forgot,’ Angelina handed it to Joanne. ‘Let’s sit in the shade over there.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s kind.’ She put it on and saw Angelina looking at her, head cocked to one side.

  ‘Very fetching!’ she said with a smile. ‘We must get a photo later.’

  As she helped carry the picnic baskets from the boot of the car, Joanne saw the three children already rolling down the slope in a race with one another. She breathed deeply and her lungs filled with the scent of herbage. A large amber butterfly rose up and fluttered away. ‘It seems awful to crush wild flowers,’ Joanne remarked as they laid out a couple of rugs.

  ‘They’ll soon spring back - tough as old boots here on the Island!’

  Later, the food demolished and the children still full of energy, she and Angelina lay back and quietly gazed up at the sky. It seemed an opportune moment to sound Angelina out about Renzo. She broached her query carefully. ‘I’ve been wondering, did Renzo leave Ischia a long time ago to work in Rome?’

  ‘Oh yes, the Island soon proved too small for him and his ideas. He left for good when he was nineteen or twenty – I forget exactly. His father was still alive and running the Winery and estates.’

  She couldn’t help probing. ‘Perhaps then, he missed the chance to make stable friendships here?’

  Her remark went unanswered and Angelina said, ‘Once he’d bought his yacht he returned from time to time but when his father died, all responsibility came to Renzo. He also has big construction projects on the mainland which must present a huge work load.’ She gave Joanne a quizzical look. ‘And if you are asking, has he never had a serious relationship with a local woman here the answer is I hardly think so!’

  ‘That wasn’t behind my remark but why do you say that?’

  ‘If you’d encountered some of those chic lady friends he occasionally brought to Ischia from the city, you’d gather my meaning. Oh dear, can’t help feeling sorry for Renzo. He must be torn between the attraction of beautiful, sophisticated women and his love of sailing.’

  Joanne’s face fell. She clearly did not fall into that category. So, it was a plain Jane he wanted to sail with.

  ‘Please don’t get me wrong.’ Angelina face expressed mortification. ‘You are a delightful, very attractive young woman Joanne. I firmly believe that in you, Renzo hopes he’s found the perfect...’

  ‘Oh no! I could never feel that way about him.’ Joanne hand covered her mouth. That sounded an awful thing to say and she added quickly, ‘Renzo certainly doesn’t have any feelings like that for me.’ Her head clouded. ‘He seems pleased I enjoy sailing and so far, I’ve managed to follow his instructions well.’

  ‘I was only fantasising, Joanne dear. I suppose it’s my hope that you’ll remain here on the Island, you see.’

  Warmed by Angelina’s comment, Joanne relaxed as she turned to her new friend and murmured, ‘such fun being here with you.’

  ‘I must tell you some tales about these young women Renzo brought here, hoping they’d enjoy sailing with him.’ Angelina said with a sigh. ‘They seemed all made in a mould – you know, beauty parlours and shopping was their main interest. All their faces were made up like Dior masks; painted finger nails half an inch long and high heeled shoes. I’m sure their designer clothes were still wrapped in tissue paper when they hurriedly left. They stayed here just long enough to soak their fine-tuned bodies at one of our luxury spas and then they disappeared back to the mainland. Oh Joanne, you would have been amused but it was really so sad.’ She hesitated, ‘I want to say more, other things – but maybe...’ Angelina frowned as she turned to pack up the picnic bag.

  Had she imagined the tension? To Joanne it seemed Angelina’s revelations had hidden something else. Despite a feeling of sympathy for Renzo the picture Angelina had drawn set off Joanne’s giggles. ‘Poor man, he must have been terribly thwarted,’ she exclaimed. Aware the children were getting restless, she jumped to her feet and called out, ‘How about a game of cricket you three?’

  ‘I’ll join in,’ Angelina exclaimed. ‘I’ll be fielding, all right?’

  Screams of excitement shattered the peace as the children raced back excitedly and rummaged in the bag for the bat and ball.

  After twenty minutes or so, all of them hot and red in the face, Angelina declared, ‘Game’s over! It’s time to pack up now children and make our way back to the car.’

  ‘I must take photos of you all first.’ Joanne reached into her satchel for her camera. ‘It’s like a dream being here with you and the children.’

  A huge sense of well- being filled Joanne as she tucked away the perfect afternoon like a treasured scrap. The children, healthily tired leaned against one another in the car and were soon asleep so the adults drove in silence back to the hotel. Despite her happiness, Joanne sensed something lay beneath Angelina’s explanations. Could there be something that family loyalty forbade her to reveal?

  ‘We’ll meet soon,’ Angelina said softly, ‘until next time then, Joanne.’

  Joanne glowed with pleasure. Angelina was the perfect friend. For some reason the word perfect stuck in her head and later that day Joanne turned over their conversation and sensed she may have misinterpreted what Angelina had been about to say at the picnic. Her heart began to thump. She screwed up her face as the unfinished sentence returned; ‘Renzo thinks he’s found the perfect...’ Perhaps Angelina hadn’t been alluding to a girlfriend. But what alternative ending might she have stopped herself saying?

  All this conjecture vanished as her mobile ‘phone rang. Expecting it to be Angelina, she answered brightly, ‘pronto?’

  ‘Fabio here, Joanne. Am I interrupting you?’

  Joanne’s head swam and it took a moment before she spoke quickly, ‘No, how nice to hear you.’

  ‘I’m busy completing a commission for a client and long to switch off. Would you be free perhaps to join me for dinner in the town this evening?’

  Her heart did a wild leap as she replied, ‘Thank you Fabio, I’d love to.’ It felt ages longer than just three days since she’d seen him and the sudden call set her in a tizzy as she slipped out of her clothes and ran into the shower.

  ***

  The following morning, Joanne sat in the hotel lounge, reliving every moment of her time with Fabio. He’d proved an interesting companion with historic tales of the Island and she found herself relaxed and able to respond without inhibitions about her own life to which he responded with sincerity.

  ‘I believe these things serve to make one whole,’ he’d said slowly, ‘develop perception and a natural sympathy for others.’

  She now held onto an inner glow and was relieved when Renzo appeared in the lounge dressed immaculately in a dark grey business suit, clearly having accepted her point about her own plans. She could now spend the day as she wished. She put down the book she’d been reading as he asked,

  ‘How are you this morning, Joanne? I’m afraid I neglected you yesterday afternoon but it’s a busy time for me so work cannot be avoided.’

  ‘I’m really happy to occupy myself when we’re not sailing,’ Joanne responded in all honesty.

  ‘Good. I have a few minutes to spare. What may I get for you; a glass of something?’

  ‘Just a coffee thanks, an Americano, but please don’t delay on my behalf.’

  ‘I need a coffee myself.’ He beckoned the waiter.

  Joanne sat on a straight backed chair since she’d found the squashy leather sofas almost engulfed one when you sank into them and right now she felt the urge to be alert.

  They sat with their coffees and made small talk until after a few minutes Joanne saw Renzo frown. He placed his empty coffee cup on the table.

  ‘It’s annoying, but unavoidable I’m afraid, Joanne. The conditions are fine at sea but there’s some business I have to attend to.’

  For a brief moment Joanne hoped he’d be going back to Rome and without thinking asked, ‘Your business in Rome?�
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  ‘No, no,’ he seemed quick to answer. ‘Naples, I must catch the next ferry.’ He looked at his watch.

  Why should it worry him? Surely there was no need to make excuses to her?

  ‘A nuisance, but my lawyer has urgent papers for me to sign. I shall have to discuss certain things – may take all day to sort things out but, he informed her, ‘I’ll be back this evening. Tomorrow we’ll sail around to Casamicciola Terme. I haven’t been there for some time and look forward to showing you our Island’s famous spa waters.’ Without a pause he rattled on, ‘During the season it becomes unbearably crowded, full of the wrong sort of tourists – the ones who come to show off their wealth.’

  Joanne nodded. ‘I gather from Angelina that a certain young celebrity couldn’t manage a dip in the waters without wearing her flashy jewellery; it weighed a ton and apparently pulled her down to the bottom of the pool and the staff had to drag her out. The paparazzi would have had a field day!’

  His chuckle sounded false to Joanne and he seemed to evade her questioning look. Puzzled by his manner she made a show of responding to him. She could accept a sail with him tomorrow but the venue he’d suggested held absolutely no appeal. ‘A really smart place then?’ she enquired. ‘I’d better have my hair tinted and buy a sparkly sequin swim suit - maybe borrow a fancy little pooch with a jewelled collar.’

  Renzo hardly seemed to notice her comments.

  ‘You’ll only need to bring your usual swim things for a dip in the pool. It’s a delightful place; overlooks a charming view of the town. Towels and toiletries are provided; part of the deal. I’m sure you’ll love it. We can have lunch by the pool – and bring your book,’ Renzo added, glancing at the one she’d been reading. ‘I shall have to do some work on my laptop while we’re there.’

  Joanne felt his eyes searching her face as if waiting for her reaction.

  ‘You have a demanding job. It’s wonderful just being here in Ischia. Please don’t think it necessary to organise my time.’ She didn’t care if that sounded churlish, irritated by the way he expected her to fall in with his plans.

  Renzo got to his feet and smoothed down his jacket. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, Joanne. How will you spend your day?’

  And when she’d responded vaguely,

  ‘I must rush now.’

  She stood still as he pecked her cheeks. Good thing he couldn’t detect her thoughts.

  He’d made such big deal of excuses for not sailing today. She wasn’t a fool. Those Spas were places for the mega rich. A brief impression came of another, darker side to his character and caution slid in once again. She must be careful, but how to extract herself from his control? She hadn’t expected to be so relieved to have a day without his sole company. Despite her enjoyment of sailing she was finding it uncomfortable to be alone for hours with him on his yacht.

  Her thoughts turned to Angelina and she pondered again if she’d imagined her new friend had been about to reveal more about her cousin. I guess imagination is getting the better of me, she mused.

  In need of a breath of air, she followed Renzo to the hotel steps and watched as he disappeared in a taxi. A memory flashed into her head. Back in Rome they were strolling along Via del Corso when Renzo took a business call. She’d moved away to give him privacy but couldn’t help hearing his voice raised in anger.

  ‘I don’t mind what it takes – they are needed here! It should all be in hand. See to it!’

  When he’d returned to her side, his mood appeared calm and taking her arm, he’d smiled and said with a shrug, ‘just another case of bureaucrats thwarting a deal.’ And he had taken her to a ritzy Art Nouveau café for lunch.

  Still turning over Renzo’s odd manner in her mind, Joanne went back inside the hotel. She’d been put out when he’d suddenly asked,

  ‘How will you spend the day?’

  ‘I’ll probably do some shopping here in the town - much easier without a man hovering about.’ Renzo appeared distracted and didn’t chuckle at her remark. Suddenly, she made up her mind. Shopping held no appeal and here was a chance to visit Monte Epomeo, the dormant volcano. An information leaflet showed a local bus went to Fontana. She’d buy a snack and climb the path to the summit.

  It didn’t take her long to get ready. Checking her wallet for money, Joanne slipped her camera into her satchel, picked up her straw hat and was soon making her way to the bus stop.

  At mid-day when the bus arrived at Fontana, she stepped into a wall of heat far too hot for the strenuous climb up the mountain, and foolish to think of tackling it, as a young woman on the bus had suggested,

  ‘You must do the climb at night when the moon shines; it’s magical - romantic too,’ she added with a lift of her eyebrows, ‘especially then!’

  Well, Joanne didn’t intend to ask Renzo to accompany her for a romantic climb up a mountain! Her heart gave a little leap as she pictured herself with Fabio on the mountain in moonlight. Lately, just the thought of him fetched a faster rhythm to the blood pulsing through her veins. Nevertheless, something nudged the back of her mind – what could it be that Renzo had demanded of Fabio back in Rome? Could Renzo have involved Fabio in some shady deal?

  Instinct suggested Fabio was too honest and it seemed to Joanne that Renzo’s comment on the phone call at the time had confirmed Fabio’s reluctance to be involved with whatever he was asked to do.

  She stood undecided in which direction to go in order to explore the ancient town. Stepping from one pool of shadow by the old stone walls to the next spot of shade, Joanne made her way through Fontana. The pretty, colour washed houses that edged narrow lanes offered little escape from the sun. Despite her straw hat and light clothes, midday heat rose from the flagstone pavements and threatened to burn through her sandals. Stone archways, cool and shadowy provided a brief respite from the sun.

  The glare of scarlet geraniums and orange marigolds dazzled her sight, a riot of colour planted in a crazy mix of old jars, olive oil cans and china pots. She admired how their vibrant colours livened the peeling paintwork of old doors and windows and holding her camera steady she took shot after shot. The heady scent of lavender and marigolds filled her lungs. Her spirits soared; this was a marvellous idea - soaking up the ambience in this small Italian town was a treat.

  ‘E molto caldo!’ An old lady mopped her face with her apron and smiled at Joanne. Covered from the neck down to her feet in black clothes, she sat on a hard wooden chair at her front door and placed down some lace work, clearly ready to chat.

  ‘Yes, Signora, far too hot for me!’ Joanne was pleased for an opportunity to halt and practice her Italian. She removed her straw hat to fan her face.

  ‘I’m fortunate to be able to sit out here,’ the old lady said. Her speech was heavily accented with the local dialect but Joanne could grasp her meaning.

  ‘Many old ones are trapped indoors, too frail to move. Our sons and daughters have gone – Australia, America!’ Her face lengthened, ‘Who will care for us all in our old age? If it wasn’t for the lovely Il Signora Pardi who helps us no one would care...’ She heaved a sigh. ‘There’s no future here for young ones.’

  ‘That so sad,’ Joanne replied thinking; Angelina is so caring and clearly brings comfort to these old people. ‘I’d love to take your photograph, working the lace?’

  ‘Si, si. Even handmade lace is not wanted now. Factory lace – that’s what they want - cheap tablecloths...whatever’s the world coming to?’

  Joanne saw deep wrinkles merge as the old lady sighed. She nodded in sympathy, her response not required. ‘I’d like to take your photograph working the lace.’

  A cackle of laughter greeted her request. ‘I’m not pretty like you, Signorina!’ Her wrinkled mouth then moved silently as she picked up her lace.

  Joanne waited until the old lady began to work the bobbins and then took several photographs while trying to think what she could offer in return. There was nothing suitable in her satchel so she’d buy something and pop it i
n her door later on. Joanne smiled down and made ready to leave. But her presence was hardly noticed as the old lady continued to mutter to herself.

  ‘Apart from the lovely Signora Pardi...’ the old woman shook her head, ‘where would we be?’ ‘These immigrants cope with old ones now; they don’t mind hard toil. Whatever’s the world coming to; all this way to earn your crust of bread, can’t be anything for them where they come from; won’t be long and there’ll be more of them than us locals, ready to work like slaves...well, Signorina, enjoy your holiday.’ And with that the old lady’s chin dropped on her chest.

  Joanne had understood the gist of all this and she reflected how this was the same situation all over the world while she continued on towards the town square. Suddenly she recalled the old woman’s remark about Signora Ross. She must have been Angelina’s and Fabio’s mother. But Angelina now took an interest in caring for the old folk. Maybe the woman had confused Angelina with her mother, Joanne reflected, aware her new friend was a very caring person.

  She’d noticed several women from Eastern Europe on the bus and guessed they were here to do menial jobs. It was such a long way to come from their own country; Joanne brooded as she wondered how they got here.

  Her thoughts were whisked away as a group of young teenagers passed by laughing, playing the fool and their feet raising dust as they skipped along. The girls wore skimpy skirts and tops and the boys had slogans emblazoned on their T shirts. Joanne smiled at them and suddenly was overcome by an urge to visit the ancient buildings that had lasted throughout all these changing times so she turned her steps towards a small, 16th century church.

  The spicy scent of incense wafted out as she pushed open the heavy church door. A rough curtain brushed her hand in the pitch darkness and startled, she turned blindly to leave. Then chiding herself, she cautiously touched the curtain, drew it aside and stepped on ancient flagstones which led into the nave. Instantly, she found herself absorbed by the mystic aura. It seeped into her consciousness, the weight of silence almost audible, just a gentle throbbing in her ears. She knelt down in a pew and gazed at the gleaming brass candlesticks and myriad colours illuminating the icons of saints as light glowed from stained glass windows as she prayed for her departed mother. Red plastic glasses held votive candles. There was the scent of old wood and musty hymnals and at first the sound of mumbling voices from the confession box failed to register. When they impinged she rose and slipped instinctively into a shadowy niche just as a man emerged from the box.