Shadows of the Past

by Blake, Margaret

  ‘I know. You did it, Alva. Do you think I can do it too? Can I come out of this … this feeling … this misery … ?’

  Her eyes were wide and dark and filled with a kind of fear that Alva recognized.

  ‘It’s a dark lonely place, Renata, but there is light. I promise you that you can come out the other side. Just accept their help; they do know what they are doing, even if sometimes you hate them for it.’

  ‘You ran away … ’

  ‘I know. I wish I hadn’t but when your father, in an attempt to help me, said I had thrown myself down the stairs, I could not stand even to think of him.’

  ‘I really believed him when he said he had seen you do it.’

  Alva knew she was talking about Perseli; Renata never used his name any more. That had to be a positive.

  ‘I know you did, Renata. You would not have lied about something like that. Not when it was your half-brother involved.’

  ‘You think not?’ Her mouth turned down. ‘I hated the idea of having a half-brother, Alva. It was another competitor for my father’s affection.’

  ‘Here’s Guido. You will be all right, Renata. Call me, talk to me, anytime.’

  ‘You’re very forgiving, Alva. I doubt I could be like that, but thank you.’

  *

  They went back to Santa Caterina using the public car ferry. Alva felt safe with Guido, safer with him really than anyone. Carlo was still her bodyguard but now that Guido was around more, she found she liked him. He had a good sense of humour and a warm heart. He talked to her and told her about his girlfriend and his hopes for his future. Carlo was quieter these days, more reflective. She felt she needed to be with someone who could make her laugh and she told her husband so.

  ‘I am going to promote him so enjoy him while you can. I have a feeling that Guido has more to offer than just being a chauffeur-handyman. He is intelligent and he is from the island, too. He knows how things are done here.’

  She did enjoy having Guido around, preferring him to accompany her on her ride and to drive her to the port, or take her across on the launch. Besides, being from the island, he had a lot of local knowledge and she determined to learn as much as possible so that she too could help her husband with the management of the island.

  The day after Renata left was a perfect day, very warm and sunny. Dressing in a one-piece bathing suit, she tied a sarong to her waist and added a thin shirt for going through the house, then went down and out to the pool.

  After putting her things on a sun-lounger she dived into the pool and swam several laps. Someone had been from the house while she was swimming; there was a coffee pot on the table and the umbrella had been opened over a lounger. Grateful, she slid on to the lounger, slipped her sunglasses on, and then poured coffee.

  I am a little happy, she thought. No I am very happy. My husband and I are in love, the darkness is in the past. If Antonio’s murderer had wanted to kill her, he would have done it when he had the chance. Even the commisario agreed on that point.

  It was Antonio who had wanted her out of the way, Antonio who must have feared that she would remember everything and reveal what he was doing. Content, she fell asleep. She came to drowsily, hearing someone addressing her.

  ‘Mm,’ she murmured, her eyes still closed.

  ‘Contessa, the conte is on the telephone. He will be late home. Apparently, one of his tenants has just died and — ’ The voice! Alarm bells rang; she felt herself shiver. Her eyes flickered open. Carlo stood at her side. Glad that the sunglasses hid her eyes, she murmured. ‘Thank you, Carlo; I’ll come into the house in a moment. Did you take the number?’

  ‘I think he was on his mobile phone, Contessa.’

  ‘Oh, of course. Thank you, Carlo.’

  Cool, she thought, be cool, stay where you are, and do not move. Your legs will tremble if you stand. Glancing up, she saw him turn and go back towards the house.

  Carlo? Carlo, whom she trusted. It could not have been him on the beach, yet the voice — concentrating on the voice and not the man, she recognized it. That slight accent. He was not a Florentine. He had lived in Florence but he was not from there, she remembered him saying. But then again so had Antonio, and Rosa d’Casta was from Florence. It all made sense — like a jigsaw, each little piece was falling into place.

  The man on the boat — he, too, was from somewhere different from here. She had thought Istria or Switzerland but now when she came to think of it, his accent was not so different from Carlo’s. Oh, God, had Carlo taken over from Antonio? Was there really some kind of smuggling operation and was it still going on? Of course, it would once things died down. It would start up all over again because there was so much money involved. And it was a perfect place.

  Taking her time, ignoring the heavy thud of her heart, she gathered her things together and strolled back into the house. Going via the loggia she only felt safe when she slid into the sun lounge. Now in the confines of the house she knew she could rush, but she didn’t. Holding herself back, first she went into the kitchen. Claudia announced that Guido was with the conte. There was no man, apart from Carlo, in the house. There were the gardeners but on this vast estate they could be anywhere.

  She went to her bedroom, searching for her mobile phone. It wasn’t where she usually kept it and then she remembered it had to be in her handbag. The last time she had had it with her was when she had gone to the port only yesterday. One of the designer shops had opened for the summer and she was anxious to see what kind of things they would be selling.

  Her hand started to tremble. She rested it on the bed for a moment, clasping and unclasping the silken sheet. She looked at the phone by her bedside but was afraid to use it because someone would be able to hear what she said should they pick up an extension.

  All her handbags were on a shelf in the walk-in closet. It was an effort to cross the room, pull open the door and pull down the navy leather bag she had had yesterday. Snapping open the clasp she looked inside. Her phone was not there. Damn, where had she left it?

  Her head started to throb; those flickering images whirled up, flashing before her eyes, things that had happened, the jumble that she could never somehow put in order. Crossing back to the bed she climbed on it and lay down. There was no reason to panic. Carlo did not know that she had recognized his voice. She was quite safe.

  Carlo had not killed her on the beach. But, a little voice piped up, he had not rescued her either, he could not have cared what happened to her, just so long as he could get on with whatever he had been doing. He was a killer — he had killed once that she knew of, and he would not hesitate to kill her if he realized she had recognized him. Raising herself up, she was suddenly overcome with the feeling that she was on a merry-go-round. Her head was spinning, weakly, she sank back and closed her eyes but that made her feel nauseous. A faint tapping on the outer door had her leaping from the bed. Claudia never knocked so she knew it was not her.

  It was him! He called her name. ‘Contessa, are you there?’

  Wildly looking around, she realized she could not hide. The bed was too close to the ground for her to dive under it, the closet was obvious. The balcony, well that was dangerous — how easy it would be for her to fall off …

  The passage. Tip-toeing at speed, she crossed the room, pressed the switch and as the panel gave way, nimbly stepped inside. Remembering to pull the lever to close the panel, she slid to her knees, her ear against the door.

  It was dark, yet she could hear. He had opened the door and was in her room. She prayed that he did not know about the passage. The spinning of her head started to steady; closing her eyes, she felt the nausea but it was not as bad as it had been when she had lain down.

  Her first thought was that there had been something in the coffee but now she was not sure. It had to be the hyperactivity of her mind that caused it.

  She listened to Carlo on the other side of the panel; he was going through her room, opening drawers, going into the closet. What was he l
ooking for? He could not know that she had recognized him. It was not that — but then, what was it?

  Something was crawling on her bare leg. She jumped, running a hand along the flesh, it was small, an insect of some kind, perhaps a spider — she could not see in the dark. She brushed it off, curling up her toes with distaste.

  A door closed. The door to her room, he had gone. Not trusting him, she slowly pulled herself up, then, hands braced against the walls on either side of her, she felt her way along the passageway.

  A hard object knocked up against her hand, touching it, she felt its rounded rim and in the middle was a small pointed button. Breath held, she pressed it; dull light, temporarily making her eyes scorch, illuminated the passageway. She could see that she had travelled some way from her room but if she went on, with the light now on, dim as it was, she would see if there was a lever. Moving more rapidly now, it nevertheless took some time for her to locate a lever. She pulled it and a panel slid back. Stepping into the opening she saw it was her own room. She had gone round in circles. Realizing she had to have been in the dark longer than she imagined, she quickly stepped inside her room and closed the panel.

  Going to the door, she opened it. The corridor was deserted; quietly she stepped out, running as silently as she could along the landing, and when she reached it, into Luca’s room.

  He used it very little nowadays, preferring to spend the evenings and night with her. He had shown her the safe, though. One night he had taken her to his room and shown her where her jewellery was kept so if she wanted a particular piece, she knew where it was. That is what he had said, her jewellery, as if it were some kind of confirmation that everything was all right now. However, she had seen something else in the safe. A small gun.

  Recalling the combination more easily than her past life, she clicked open the safe. The small gun was there. She took it in her hand, as she had done that night with Luca, and he had shown her how to check for ammunition and how to remove the safety catch.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ she had said, putting it back with relief.

  ‘I don’t either, but after all that has been going on I’m glad I have it.’

  There was nowhere for her to hide the gun. Still wearing the flimsy sarong and top, it was impossible to put it anywhere but in her hand. But there was a place closer than her room where she could find something to wear.

  She and Renata were similar in size; going to her stepdaughter’s room, she went in and directly to the closet. Pulling out a pair of jeans and a shirt, she slipped out of her clothes and put these on. The gun slipped into the back pocket of the jeans and the long loose blouse hid the bulk of it.

  Once downstairs she headed for the kitchen. That would be the safest place to be, there would be servants as well as Claudia, safety in numbers, but when she reached the kitchen only one person was there. It was Carlo.

  ‘Contessa, I have been looking for you.’

  ‘Really?’

  She feigned surprise, casually tucking her hair behind her ears.

  ‘Yes, the conte rang again; he wants me to take you to him.’

  ‘He does? I need to call him first.’

  ‘He said his battery is low on his phone. It will be all right, Contessa, you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do. It’s just that we had an arrangement. I am never to go anywhere without I speak to him, you do understand?’

  ‘But Contessa, that was when someone was out to harm you and that threat has gone.’

  ‘I’m not sure it has. I don’t want to be awkward, Carlo.

  ‘You don’t trust me? Your bodyguard?’

  ‘It isn’t that. It’s just that the conte was specific, he said — ’

  ‘Sí, I know that, you said. But I could not find you; I came to look for you … where were you by the way?’

  ‘That’s none of your business, Carlo. Where is Claudia, where are the servants?’

  ‘I imagine they are taking their rest. It is that time, is it not?’ He checked his watch. ‘Between two and five they are free to do as they wish.’

  ‘Yes, but someone always stays around just in case.’

  ‘That person is me, Contessa.’

  ‘OK, I buy that … ’ Casually, she slid her arm behind her back, resting her palms flat against her pockets.

  ‘Then we shall go to the conte,’ he said.

  ‘No, I’ll wait to see if he calls me … ’

  ‘Contessa, I must insist.’

  Someone help me, she thought desperately, someone come to me now, don’t let me do this, but her hand was moving quickly, sliding under the shirt, pulling the gun from her pocket, she brought her hand round and held it out. She was not certain who was the more amazed, her because her hand was steady or Carlo because of what she had done.

  ‘Contessa, what are you doing?’

  ‘I know who you are, Carlo. You killed Perseli.’

  He relaxed, he was big and strong and somehow omnipotent and she was stupid if she imagined he would let her get away with it. But she had to try, did not want to be a victim yet again.

  ‘Now where did that come from?’

  ‘I recognized your voice.’

  ‘No … not enough, Contessa … besides, I saved your life, isn’t that something worth celebrating with me? That I stopped that bastard from killing you?’

  ‘I wonder why you did that.’

  ‘Stupid thing to do — it was bad enough that he killed Rosa, bringing cops all over the island. Imagine if he had killed you — the island would have been crawling with them. Everything is going to end — we’re getting out. It’s getting too hot, but he messed everything up for us. One more delivery and then I have what I want; you won’t deprive me of that, Contessa.’

  ‘What about the other man, the man on the boat?’

  ‘Perseli’s guy, nothing to do with me. But he has gone, Contessa, the way of all flesh — isn’t that a saying or something?’

  ‘You killed him too?’

  ‘No one messes up my operation, Contessa. Not even someone as beautiful as you.’

  ‘Sit down,’ she commanded, pointing with the gun to the chair. ‘We can wait for the conte to return.’

  ‘I told you, Contessa, he is waiting for you … ’ He laughed. ‘You think it was a lie, a trick? It was no trick, Contessa; he really is waiting for you. At the port, he wants to take you somewhere special … ’

  ‘That’s an old story and one I am not going to fall for again.’

  Carlo shrugged, ‘Suit yourself, Contessa, but I assure you the conte will wait and wait … and then he will find a telephone and call here. No one will answer, at least not until it is too late.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because they are off duty till five, all of them and by five o’clock, well, we have to be gone from here by then.’

  ‘You’re going nowhere, Carlo. I do assure you of that.’

  ‘And you think you are going to stop me, you and your little pistol … ?’

  It was an old trick she had seen in so many films — Carlo looked over her shoulder, and his mouth turned in a faint smile.

  ‘I told you I should take you to the conte,’ he said.

  ‘It’s all right, Alva, give the gun to me.’ Luca! Rather than turn her head she gave a sideways glance, it was all right, it was Luca.

  ‘I didn’t believe him … he’s … ’

  ‘I know, Alva, give the gun to me. I suddenly remembered our arrangement and knew you wouldn’t forget. Now give me the gun, you don’t want to hurt yourself.’

  Speechless now, she handed him the gun. Luca’s long fingered beautiful hand clasped it and then let his hand drop to his side.

  ‘But … but — ’ she began.

  ‘I think it’s time you left,’ Luca said to Carlo.

  ‘Luca, he … he was the man … on the beach, the one that shot — ’

  ‘Be quiet, Alva, you don’t know what you are saying.’ His voice was calm and cool, yet the effect was a
like a slap across her face. Stumbling away from him, she reached out a hand for something to rest against. She came up against the huge carved dresser and leaned against it, looking up at Luca, not understanding. Not wanting to understand.

  Carlo said. ‘Ciao, Luca.’ He held out his hand. Luca ignored it.

  ‘See you around sometime … ’

  ‘I hope not,’ Luca said.

  With frightened eyes, Alva watched as Carlo swaggered out, closing the kitchen door softly behind him.

  ‘You really should have listened to him. I wanted you away from the house.’■

  ‘I don’t understand!’ But she did; now she knew what it was all about. The shocking truth flashed in her mind, the memories long buried surfacing at last. Luca in the past, ignoring her warnings that something was going on. Arguing with her, being cold and unresponsive, almost brutal in his rejection of her concerns. Telling her she was being hysterical and imaginative. Of course he would have said that. He was involved. He had known about it all.

  ‘You let him go,’ she said, ‘and he killed Antonio.’

  Luca, the man she thought she loved, merely shrugged. ‘Antonio was an idiot. He went too far.’

  ‘He almost killed me.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘Carlo.’

  ‘No he didn’t. He saved you.’

  ‘He threw me down the steps at the tower; he left me there with a bag over my head.

  ‘He took you down the tower and dropped you from halfway down. He threw you nowhere, and you imagined it was further because of the bag over your head. You were never in real danger because I came to get you.’

  ‘Why? Oh, Luca, why? I don’t understand it; look at who you are — ’

  ‘Who I am, cara? I was a penniless aristocrat. My father left me this house, this island and nothing else. I have made it what it is and I had to cheat in order to get the money to do it all. I did not like what I had to do but I had to do it. Nothing is more important to me than this island and its prosperity, not even you!’

  She stared at him, remembering how she had felt when she had gone out with him, how he made her feel when they made love. The magic she thought he brought into her life. It was a fairy tale, only the fairy tale really had an ugly side to it like, she supposed, all the old fairy tales really did.