Honey Trap

by JJ Marsh

  At the apartment, her first priority was Matthew. He seemed in excellent spirits, doing something on the computer with Luke.

  “Old Thing! You’re awfully late. Is all well at Ecco?”

  She dumped her bag and came to kiss him. “No, all is not well. Hello, Luke!”

  “Hello, Beatrice, do you want to learn how to download pictures and make a slideshow? I’m teaching Granddad.”

  “Thank you but I need a shower right now. Have you two had a nice day?”

  Matthew looked up at her, concern in his eyes. “We certainly did and can tell you all about it over dinner. Just wondering if you’re all right.”

  “Dog tired and beginning to wonder if this case is far too gnarly and deep-rooted for one ageing crone to tackle. Where are the boys?”

  “Hiking up a volcano. Luke and I are cooking tonight. How does lasagne sound to you?”

  “Perfect. I’ve had nothing since breakfast apart from a glass of Prosecco and feel positively squiffy. Back in a minute. Matthew, are you really feeling well?”

  “Never better. Although I am a bit peckish. Small Fry, do you think we can put this on pause then go and start dinner?”

  Beatrice smiled to herself as she walked down the corridor to their room, listening to Luke explaining the difference between Pause, Save and Log Out to his troglodyte grandfather.

  After a welcome dinner with far too much bread but no dessert, Beatrice tucked Luke into bed and kissed him goodnight. Then she returned to the dining room to explain to the men in her life what had happened that day and how she planned to tackle the problem.

  “The only way of knowing if someone actually stole our recipe or made an approximate copy is to go there and taste it myself. In order to do that, I need to get a table at Ristorante della Nonna tomorrow night. It’s fully booked, I already checked. So I need someone to call the place and tip them off that a top critic is in town and looking for a last-minute table. Adrian, might that be your forte?”

  Matthew, Will and Beatrice all burst into laughter at Adrian’s hand-over-mouth, hand-on-heart Oscar winner expression of delight.

  “It most certainly is! I would be honoured. Are we all going or just you?”

  “See if you can get a table for one or at most two. Any more is pushing it. Meanwhile, you can take Luke to Ecco.”

  Now it was Will’s turn to gush. “You can get us in there? Wow!”

  “Of course I can, I’m the bloody pastry chef. But you’re not going on a jolly. This is reconnaissance. I will give you detailed instructions as to what to order and how to evaluate everything on your plate. That’s not to say you won’t have a fabulous dining experience, just one that is highly analytical. Matthew, if Adrian can blag us a table for two, you have no instructions whatsoever. I want you to go into this blind. What you must do is give me full and comprehensive feedback on everything you eat.”

  Matthew took a sip of coffee. “I daresay I can manage that. Will we have the usual driver?”

  “No.” Beatrice folded her arms. “This is a private mission. One Isabella and Agusto know nothing about.”

  Chapter 19

  The following morning, Adrian practised his speech in the mirror until he’d got completely into character. Only then did he pick up the phone. Someone answered after the first ring.

  “Ristorante della Nonna, pronto?”

  “Ah, buongiorno. Can I speak English?”

  “It certainly sounds like it to me, but I don’t have much to go on.”

  Adrian stopped, wrong-footed by the woman’s caustic response and the plummy British accent. He instantly dropped the transatlantic twang and spoke in a clipped Home Counties voice. “I’m sorry; I meant may I speak English. My name is Adrian Harvey and I’m personal assistant to Mr Matthew Bailey. I’m calling to see if you might have a table for two for dinner this evening.”

  Her response was immediate. “Afraid not, we’re fully booked tonight. Would you like me to check availability for tomorrow?”

  “Oh dear. That is a pity. No, we have to fly back to London in the morning. Never mind, we understand it is dreadfully short notice but we only heard of your establishment yesterday.”

  “Can I ask where you heard of us?” The woman’s voice had a hint of curiosity.

  Adrian affected vagueness. “Um, good question. I believe it was from our concierge at Hotel Romeo. We’ve tried all the other Michelin-starred fine-dining experiences and this chap recommended your establishment. Mr Bailey’s curiosity was piqued. He loves to discover hot new locations ahead of the crowd.”

  The sound of a mouse clicking came down the line. “Did you say two people?” she asked.

  “That’s correct. We’re quite flexible as regards time.”

  “In that case, I might be able to free up a table by nine o’clock.”

  “Why, that would be marvellous! Most kind of you. He will be very pleased. Shall I give you my number?”

  Adrian was sending Beatrice a triumphant message when Will came back from his run, sweaty and panting.

  “Guess what!” demanded Adrian, before Will had even closed the door.

  “You got the table.”

  “Yes! It was a total piece of cake. Turns out the maître d’ is a British woman. So it should be maîtresse d’hôtel, I suppose. Although that has a whole different ring to it. Anyway, they have a table for nine tonight, thanks to my exceptional performance. How was your run? Your face is very red.”

  “It’s already warm out there. On top of that, dodging scooters and dogs and unpredictable old folk who stop suddenly in the middle of the pavement keeps you on your toes. Are Matthew and Luke still in bed?”

  “No, Luke’s just come out of the bathroom and Matthew is scrambling some eggs. He says he does want to come to Herculaneum with us, so long as we take it slowly.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. As an ex-Classics professor, he’ll be fascinating on the subject of Roman ruins. OK, I’ll have a quick shower, let’s eat and get on the road.”

  Will was quite firm about protecting themselves and their valuables. Everyone donned hats and applied sunscreen, packing extra sun protection along with water bottles and fruit in their rucksacks. The Circumvesuviana trains attracted lots of distracted tourists and, as a result, a certain number of thieves. Will used a body belt to keep his wallet and phone safe. Adrian tucked his personal items into a bum bag, which he wore underneath his shirt. While Adrian assisted Matthew in concealing his wallet in what he referred to as his Action Man vest, Will sat Luke down for a serious talk.

  “The train and the station will be very crowded and we will probably have to stand for the journey. I want you to stay very close to me. It’s not dangerous so long as we don’t get sloppy or split up. We must stay together at all times. Where is your iPad?”

  “Inside my jacket, zipped in.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. If you get too hot and want to take it off, I’ll carry it in my backpack. Matthew, the ruins are quite exposed and the sun can get strong, so whenever you feel like a sit in the shade, let us know.”

  “Absolutely. I wonder if Isabella would mind my borrowing a walking stick. Not that I actually need one, but it might come in handy for leaning and perhaps even getting a seat on the train.”

  “Excellent idea. Right, team! Are we ready for the next adventure?”

  Will’s predictions turned out to be right. The graffiti-covered train consisted of three coaches for a crowd which could have filled six. Once everyone had crammed themselves in, Adrian thought he might as well have been on the Northern line in rush hour. A young woman stood to offer Matthew her seat, Will and Adrian formed a protective cocoon around Luke and they all watched the scenery. Colourful washing flew from balconies in the crumbling suburbs of Naples, with flashes of green from gardens with orange and lemon trees or plots of beans and peas. The bay spread out to the right with the sun twinkling off the sea. Perhaps his imagination was working overtime because of their destination, but the presence of
Vesuvius loomed large to their left. The fact that many passengers had extinguished their cigarettes moments before boarding made the air feel stale and the atmosphere muggy. Adrian was relieved to get off at Ercolano Scavi and breathe a lungful of fresh air.

  Without verbalising the arrangement, Will took charge of Luke, leaving Adrian to assist Matthew. The system was perfect. Luke’s curiosity and energy were matched by Will’s and the two of them dashed down the hill, heading to the ruins to buy tickets. Matthew and Adrian followed at a sedate pace, both wearing panama hats to deflect the sun and dismissing eager taxi drivers with a shake of the head.

  The fact that the ruins were so much lower than modern-day ground level took Adrian by surprise. Much like Pompeii, the Roman town had been obliterated by the same eighteenth-century eruption of Vesuvius. Yet the level of preservation at this smaller, lesser-known site was extraordinary. They wandered from ancient house to house, temple to marketplace, marvelling at the brightly coloured friezes, the ovens, the columns and arches of the ‘sacred place’, all testaments to a sophisticated, advanced, artistic civilisation destroyed by the lethal volcano.

  Luke and Will had grabbed an audio guide each, but Adrian had no need of such a thing. His guide was Matthew, who slipped into his professorial role as if it were born for it.

  “The most dreadful thing about this disaster was that the people were completely unprepared.”

  “How so? They must have known they were living beneath an active volcano.”

  Matthew leaned his forearms on a stone wall and surveyed what used to be a busy little port on the Bay of Naples. “On the contrary. They saw the mountain as a rich and fertile benefactor, providing green slopes on which to cultivate grapes for wine-making. You are undoubtedly familiar with Lacryma Christi.”

  “I am. The tears of Christ. A very decent wine indeed.”

  “Isn’t it? For the people of this region, Vesuvius was benign and the only geographical threat was from earthquakes. Those arches where all the skeletons were found? They were built as a refuge. The quake of ’63 was recorded in some of the reliefs and not all the damage had been repaired by the time of the eruption sixteen years later. Seneca himself said there was no point in fleeing the region as earthquakes could happen anywhere.”

  “But not volcanic eruptions,” said Adrian. “You need a volcano for that.”

  “With millennia of hindsight, that’s obvious. Consider how much more we know about our environment. Not that we have learned any more respect for it. What I mean is that it’s almost impossible to put oneself in the minds of the four thousand people who called this place home. We have only hints of the cultural, historical or geographical context. What one must remember, however, is that Vesuvius had not erupted in living memory. There was simply no reason to expect what happened and no preparations made. Some ten per cent of the population sought refuge in the arches or attempted to flee from the surrounding beach. They fled to their waterside bunkers, which of course were no use against an ash fall hotter and deeper than that of Pompeii.”

  Adrian imagined the scene. “What a horrible way to die.”

  “Yes. They were quite literally cooked. That human tragedy must always be foremost in our minds. Yet for the modern-day historian, the preservation of buildings, furniture, mosaics and even documentation carved on wood or stone makes this site an extraordinarily rich source of information. Far more so than Pompeii, in fact.”

  “If that’s true, why is Pompeii so much better known?”

  “In time, Herculaneum will outshine it. Scientists and archaeologists have uncovered less than half the information it holds. Pompeii holds a grim fascination due to the casts of the bodies. It’s like seeing the dead. The problem was when they made those casts; they did not preserve the skeletons. Here, the bones of the ancients have revealed many more secrets. We can prove what a sophisticated society this was. Their sewage system and clean water supply, their legal records on slaves becoming free men, the fact they kept pets and even their diet. Thanks to contemporary scientific methods, we know they ate a huge variety of fish, fruit, herbs, spices and even black pepper.”

  Adrian became aware of two tourists standing behind them. “I’m sorry, we’re hogging the view.”

  “Not at all,” said the man in an American accent. “We were just eavesdropping. You sure know your stuff, sir. We couldn’t tear ourselves away.”

  “Thank you, you’re very kind. I taught Classics for many years, so the history of the Roman Empire is one of my passions. Have you seen Pompeii yet?”

  As Matthew engaged the Americans in enthusiastic chit-chat, Adrian wandered out into the street, searching for a glimpse of Will and Luke. Tourists thronged the thoroughfare, all with cameras and phones held aloft. He could see nothing of his husband or their young charge and the sun made him squint. He turned to go back inside. Just then he saw a face he recognised. Black Beret Man, without his beret, was leaning on a barrier, looking down to the level below. Adrian followed his sightline. Luke and Will were pacing across a courtyard with a military bearing, playing Roman soldiers. Any warmth Adrian might have experienced at the sight was cooled by the fact he was not the only observer.

  Someone was following them. No, not true. Someone was following Luke. Sweating, footsore and uncomfortable in direct sunlight, Adrian sensed a chill creep through his whole body. He went to find Matthew, searching for any kind of plausible excuse for why they should leave. Before he could even interrupt, Matthew spotted him and raised a hand.

  “Ah, here is my friend. I must leave you now. It was lovely meeting you and I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay. Goodbye and bon voyage!”

  Adrian smiled and waved as the happy American couple watched them leave. He offered a forearm to guide the ex-professor, but Matthew was moving off at some speed, with the aid of his stick.

  “Are you feeling all right?” asked Adrian, taking long strides to catch up.

  “Yes, yes, just need the bathroom with some degree of urgency. I know where it is. Why don’t you round up the other two and we’ll meet at the café for something cold?” He hurried away, intent on the visitors’ centre.

  Eyes peeled for any sign of their tail, Adrian made his way along the street, unable to forget the thousands of people whose mountain protector turned on them and left them no escape. He looked up and saw Luke running towards him, with Will a few paces behind. Mr No-Beret-Today was nowhere in sight.

  After a modest lunch of salad and panini at one of the many restaurants lining the road to the station, the party boarded the return train to Naples. Luke was visibly flagging and a pair of wiry older women insisted Matthew and Luke take their seats. That was the moment Adrian had been waiting for. As grandfather and grandson dozed against each other, first Adrian scrutinised the carriage then murmured into Will’s ear.

  “I haven’t said anything before, because I wasn’t sure and anyway I wanted to tell Beatrice first. But it just seemed another worry on top of her restaurant job when Matthew was poorly as well. The thing is, I noticed a man watching Luke when we were on Capri. Then I saw him again, that same evening, outside our apartment. The next day, when we were running to get out of the rain, he was there again and just to prove it was not my imagination, Luke recognised him too. He said the same man had been photographing them while I was trying to hail a taxi. Today, I saw him again, in Herculaneum. He was watching you and Luke playing soldiers.”

  Will stared into his eyes. “How can you be sure it’s the same bloke?”

  “The first couple of times I saw him, he was wearing a black beret, you know, like the fishermen wear. He’s in his late fifties, I’d guess and looks typically Italian. Other than that, he’s average height and very slightly built. Today, he’s wearing a yellow shirt and a leather bomber jacket which is frankly unflattering at his age. I’ve only seen his face twice before today. He has a moustache, sunken cheeks and leathery skin, as if he spends his life outdoors. It’s the same guy, Will, I am one hundred per cent co
nvinced. And I think he’s after Luke.”

  The train rattled to a halt at a suburban platform, allowing more passengers to exit and board. Will glanced over at Matthew and Luke, a frown tensing his face.

  “If this guy knows where we’re staying, it’s unlikely he’ll follow us home again. Unless he wants to learn our routines. OK, listen to me. When we arrive at Porta Nolana station, you three get a cab back home, lock the doors and stay there. We’ll tell Matthew I’m going shopping for dinner ingredients. I’ll hang around the streets and see if anyone is watching our apartment. If someone matching your description shows up, I’ll take pictures. We need evidence in case we need to go to the police.”

  Adrian clutched his arm. “Promise you won’t do anything dangerous? I mean, that’s the one man I’ve seen, but there might be others. I’m worried for you, Will.”

  “Don’t be. I’m trained for this shit. All I need from you is to make sure Luke and Matthew get back safely. Can you lend me your hoodie? Oh, and give me that cap you bought at the gift shop. You and Matthew keep wearing your panamas. Makes you easy to follow.”

  Once the train pulled into the Porta Nolana terminus, Will slipped out onto the platform, disappearing into the crowd before Luke and Matthew had even opened their eyes.

  Tucked into the shadows behind a staircase, Will watched the occupants of the train disembark and grimaced at the pungent stench of urine emanating from the filthy corner. He narrowed his eyes, on the alert for a yellow shirt or black bomber jacket, especially when he saw Adrian and Matthew in their distinctive panama hats, walking down the platform either side of Luke.

  The crowds surged and flowed around the trio, making it a challenge to keep them in his sights. He tugged the cap down over his eyes, pulled up his hood and shuffled into the flow.

  He waited till he’d seen Adrian guide Matthew and Luke into a cab, then scanned the mass of humanity once more. The taxi drove away and a movement caught Will’s eye. A figure in a brown leather bomber jacket, who had been leaning against a wall, straightened and made off into the Metro station. Will sped after him, hampered by suitcases, small children, groups of noisy teenagers and random people changing course as if to deliberately collide with him.