Carlina hesitated. The white t-shirt confused her. He wasn't dressed for camouflage. Did Ernesto only want to go for a night out? Some of the clubs on the promenade were open all night long. Maybe he just wanted to have a few hours of fun, away from it all. He was a young man, only eighteen. He had a right to do that.
Carlina frowned and followed him at a safe distance. If a night in a club was his reason for going out, finding his cousin on his heel would be extremely awkward. She prided herself on being less protective than his mother and his aunt, but she would lose what little trust he had in her if he found her on his heels like a spy.
She allowed the distance between them to grow. Maybe now was a good time to head back to the hotel?
Something made her go on. She ambled forward, trying not to feel conscious about her sleep shorts. Loads of people wore skimpy shorts during summer. Besides, there was nobody about. If Ernesto was heading to a club, he had some way to go. The promenade stretched for miles, until Carrara or so in the north. She'd never been that far. Reaching the hotel had always been enough for the Mantoni family. Did she want to follow Ernesto that far?
She passed the palm tree in its wooden tub. The soft night breeze rustled its palm fronds. Really, it was quite peaceful and beautiful in the middle of the night. No blaring radios. No screaming kids. No trampling hordes of tourists. Just the sweet summer night air and the rustling of the palms. She should go for a midnight stroll more often.
Suddenly, she realized that Ernesto was gone. She had seen him one second, and the next, he had disappeared. A sudden chill went down her back. Where was he?
With a soft tread, she went to the spot where she had last seen him and discovered a dark alley between two buildings. She'd never noticed it before. In fact, it wasn't an alley, that was much too generous a description for the tiny tunnel in front of her. It was a space between two clubs, hardly broad enough to squeeze into, and it was pitch black. She stared into it. At the far end of the tunnel, something moved in the dark, and then, she could see a shape emerge and walk away. She knew that walk. It was Ernesto, and he wasn't heading to a club. He was heading down to the beach without once looking back.
Carlina clenched her teeth and dove into the dark. I hope there aren't spiders. Or bats. She focused her thoughts on Ernesto, away from spiders, away from bats, when something soft brushed against her ankle.
She bit down a scream and jumped forward, then looked back at the ground, her heart hammering. A pair of eyes, just slits and green, stared at her, then the cat slunk away.
Carlina gulped. I have to get out of here. She hurried through the tunnel, her hands stretched out in front of her until, with a sigh of relief, she reached the end.
A sea of folded umbrellas greeted her. It was lighter here, with the water reflecting the weak moonlight. She slipped past the umbrellas and orderly rows of plastic sun loungers, toward the shore, where she could see Ernesto.
Ernesto stopped at the last row. He dropped onto one of the sun loungers and sat there without moving, staring out into sea.
Carlina hovered in the background, unsure what to do. Was he waiting for someone?
It didn't seem like it. He didn't check his watch; he didn't look around. He just stared into the distance.
Carlina scanned the sea. There was nothing there. He was too old to wait for a mermaid. When she returned her gaze to him, she knew without being told that Ernesto was staring ahead unseeing, focusing on something nobody but he himself could see. He was grappling with some inner emotions that made his whole figure taut.
He did not want to drown himself, now, did he?
The sudden thought made her heart clench and made her feel better about overcoming her scruples and shadowing him. If he needed her, she would show up. If not, she'd keep at a distance.
Carlina stepped to the side and pressed herself against one of the umbrellas. If she kept very still, he would not see her in the uncertain light, even if he should turn around.
Her cousin sat like that for a long time, not moving, not doing anything.
Carlina hugged her arms to her chest. The breeze was cold. She'd better head back. God knew what Ernesto had wanted to do there. Maybe he'd just wanted to get a bit of distance. Well, nobody could blame him for that. The hotel had started to feel stifling.
However, if she turned back now, luck might have it that Ernesto would turn, too, and see her. Under no circumstances did she want to risk that. She simply had to stay and wait until he left. Served her right for being so curious.
She sighed and looked at Ernesto. He had something in his hands now, something he studied with an intensity she'd never seen before. A picture? It was too dark to discern anything. What on earth was he doing?
Then Ernesto dropped his head into his hands and started to sob.
Carlina froze. The muted sound of the sobs, half-suppressed but heart-wrenching, reached her like red hot barbs. Without thinking, she went forward a few steps. He was so unhappy. He needed someone to hold him, to console him. She couldn't leave him like that. He was Ernesto, her little cousin who had always been so even-tempered, so laid back and easy about everything. What had made him so unhappy now?
Then she stopped in mid-movement. Ernesto had slipped out of the hotel in the middle of the night. He had gone as far away from the family as he could, to be alone, to relieve himself, to let his feelings go without any witnesses. If he had wanted to be consoled, he could have found plenty of willing arms at the hotel. But no. He had created the biggest distance he could to be alone. She had to respect that.
It wrung her heart, and her first thought came back to her. What if he'd decided to kill himself? She hadn't known that he was so desperate, so deeply unhappy. What dark secret was he carrying around? What was it that he couldn't share with anybody? If only he would talk to her. If only he would trust her. She would have to make him to speak. But not now. Now she had to give him some time. She would stay there, would hover like a protecting angel, unseen, unheard. A freezing protecting angel. She rubbed her arms and went back to the umbrella.
It seemed to take forever, but at some point, the sobs got less desperate, and finally Ernesto calmed down. She heard him sigh, then he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffed one more time. She retreated even further away into the shadows.
With a sigh so deep and unhappy that it almost made Carlina run forward, he got up. His head hung low, and his shoulders sagged as he slunk past her.
She followed him at a safe distance, relieved that he had not tried to walk into the water.
He made a beeline back to the hotel. Carlina waited until she saw him slipping back into his hotel room via the convenient French door, then she went around the hotel to the official entrance, unlocked it, and stumbled up to her room again. She was bone-tired, cold, and depressed. Tomorrow, she would have to find a way to get Ernesto's confidence. Somehow, she had to crack through that lonely shell of his. If only she knew how.
When she opened the door, she was glad to hear Stefano's even breathing. She quickly went to the bathroom, then snuggled against him with a sigh of relief. He was warm and solid and comforting. A weight fell from her shoulders. All would be well. She just had to believe it. All would be well. If she repeated it often enough, it would come true.
“Huh, you're icy,” Stefano murmured when her cold legs touched his. His arm came up and drew her closer. “Where have you been?”
“The bathroom.” It wasn't really a lie. It was half the truth.
With a sigh of relief, she sank into sleep.
She slept longer than usual and woke up to the sun already high in the sky. For an instant, she stretched, happy to be on vacation, happy to feel the smooth linen on her skin, happy to wake without worries. Then, like a solid block, the memory of last night came back to her. Drat. She had to find Ernesto and pin him down in a talk. She couldn't just stand at the sidelines and see him suffering without doing anything.
When she jumped out of bed, she discove
red a note on the floor with Stefano's distinctive handwriting. “Had to go and didn't have the heart to wake you. Hope to see you later today. Love, Stefano.”
She smiled and carried the note to the bathroom, where she slid it into the slight crack between the mirror and the frame while she brushed her teeth. She would miss him today, but she had to keep in mind that her next project was better done alone. She threw on her bikini, plus a halter top in white with pink flowers, a pair of shorts in pink, and white sandals with a small heel, then brushed her curls, and ran downstairs for breakfast.
The family had already finished breakfast and gone to the beach. Carlina didn't know if she should be relieved or not. She wasn't in any mood to talk to the family that morning, but they could have told her where Ernesto had gone. It was quiet in the breakfast room. The only person was the little waitress Nora with her thick braid who cleared the tables with a somewhat dejected air. Carlina exchanged a few words with her, then grabbed some biscotti, drank a cup of cappuccino, and hurried outside again. She had to find Ernesto. She checked his room, but there was no reply, and when she went outside and peered through the door, she could see that the room was empty. Last night, Ernesto had gone to the sea for solicitude and comfort. Maybe that's where he had chosen to go today as well.
She went down to the promenade, using the short cut through the hotel grounds again, but when she came to the beach, her heart sank. Rows and rows of sun loungers and little umbrellas stretched as far as the eye could see. The beach was overpopulated with families, teenagers, kids, lovers. Hundreds of young men wearing bathing shorts very similar to Ernesto's were coming and going. Some were wind surfing. Surfing! She stopped in her tracks.
Surfing was a great way to get away from both the family and the crowds, and Ernesto liked to surf. Why hadn't she thought of that before?
She decided to go down to the Pontile, one of the most famous landmarks of Forte dei Marmi. The three hundred meter long pier that stuck at a right angle into the sea had originally been built in the early sixteenth century to accommodate the shipping of the huge Carrara marble slabs coming from the mountains just a bit further up north. It was beautifully maintained up to today, even if no more marble was shipped from here. Instead, it was a great place for a stroll or to watch the surfers out on the Ligurian Sea. She crossed the circular entrance area of the pier with its palm trees and the marble decoration on the ground that made it look like a gigantic pie with dark and light slices and hurried past the happy tourists to the furthest tip of the pier. She would have a great view of all the surfers from that vantage point.
But when she came to the end of the pier, she didn't have to scan the water for a lone surfer. Ernesto was sitting at the furthest end of the pier, to the left hand side. He had partially slipped underneath the white railing, with his feet hanging down, but he wasn't watching the surfers with their colorful sails on the bright blue sea. Instead, he had buried his head in his arms, impervious to the summer frolic going on all around him.
Something clenched at her heart. Ernesto was in real trouble. If only she could help him. Carlina slid into the same position at his side and stared out at the sea. Bright sunlight broke on the blue waves and reflected in a million darts of light. Good thing she'd put on her sunglasses and had applied enough sunscreen before venturing out. She hoped that Ernesto had done something to protect his skin as well. With his flaming red hair and light skin, he was easily burned. She shook herself. She hadn't come to scare him off by treating him as if she was his mother. His skin was of secondary importance at the moment.
Ernesto turned his head and looked at her. “Carlina! What are you doing here?”
“I was looking for you.” One brief look confirmed her worst fears. His eyes were red rimmed and looked like those of a beaten dog. The fact that he hadn't even put on his sunglasses spoke volumes. He had been quite proud of his new model, the ones that reflected everything in bright blue and made him look like a gangster in a cheap movie. Her heart ached when she recalled how different he'd been just a few days ago, so excited to go on vacation. Quickly, she turned her gaze away again and stared at the horizon as if that was the most interesting thing to see.
“Why did you look for me?” He jerked up. “Have they come to arrest me?”
“No, no, of course not.” Carlina shook her head. “I'm really glad they've put Stefano on the case.”
Ernesto lowered his head again, and his words came out muffled from beneath his arms. “You mean they would have arrested me in the meantime if it wasn't for Stefano?”
She decided to be honest. “Possibly.”
He didn't react.
She waited a few minutes, but when nothing else came, she decided to try the brutal approach. “Who are you protecting?”
Ernesto's head shot up. “What?”
She met his gaze without flinching. “You're covering for someone. Who is it?”
He licked his lips. “Why do you think I'm covering for someone?”
“Because I know that you didn't kill the manager, but you're behaving as if you did. You must know something, and if you're not willing to share that knowledge with anybody, then it must be because you're trying to protect someone. Someone who's very important to you. Who is it?”
He turned his head away, his jaw set. “I'm not telling you anything.”
She put her hand on his arm. “Ernesto, please. I know that it might look as if it's better not to talk, but believe me, it's better if the whole truth comes out. I . . . I've made that mistake myself before, and I've learned that it's wrong.” She paused. “You trust Stefano, don't you?”
He pushed out his lips and shrugged without looking at her.
“You can trust him.” She put all her confidence in Stefano into her voice. “He'll go for the truth, and he won't take any comfortable short cuts like that fat Commissario who was first on the case.”
He swallowed so hard that she could see his Adam's apple moving. “I believe that.”
“Good.” She took a deep breath and waited. Stefano had once said that long silences made most people so uncomfortable that they would talk eventually.
However, it didn't work with Ernesto. He just stared out at the bright sea, his jaw and his fists clenched, his whole body one miserable, tight bundle of muscles.
“Ernesto.”
“What?”
“Talk to me.”
He shook his head.
“Please.”
He didn't bat an eyelid.
Carlina stayed next to him, feeling the sun scorching through her halter top. It was too hot here on the pier. “Let's jump into the water and swim ashore,” she finally said.
“Go on.” He sounded relieved. “I'll stay.”
Drat. She wanted to shake him, wanted to shout at him, but she couldn't do either. It wouldn't help. Instead, it would only alienate him further.
“Look, I understand that you don't want to talk. But if you should change your mind, come to me at once, will you?”
He nodded without looking at her.
She gave his shoulder an awkward pat, then pulled herself up.
He put out a hand and stopped her. “Carlina.”
“Yes?” Her heart made a little skip. Was he finally going to relent?
“Thank you for coming to see me.” A sigh went through his whole body. “It's . . . hard, growing up, isn't it? I . . . I'd thought it would be easier.”
She stared at him, then she crouched down, so he would hear her voice, even though she almost whispered. “It's easier if you share the burden.” Her voice was raw.
He turned away and shook his head. “I can't.”
Defeat swept over her. “All right. But don't forget: I'm here if you need me.”
Slowly, she returned to the hotel with all summer gladness gone from her heart. Ernesto was in trouble, but he wouldn't confide in her. She had no idea what to do or how to help him. The only thing left for her at the moment was to hope that Stefano would find more informati
on and would manage to dig out up parts that Ernesto was trying to hide so desperately. The prospect didn't appeal to her at all. Not that she didn't trust Stefano to do a good job, but she hated to sit on the sidelines, a passive watcher of the proceedings, seeing Ernesto suffer. Drat it all. She was glad it was time for lunch already. The food would help to steady her, and things wouldn't look so bleak anymore once she'd eaten and rested. Surely she would find a solution. She just needed a bit more time.
While Carlina spent the morning trying to talk to Ernesto, Garini was sitting in the dustiest police station he'd ever seen in his life. The office was small and stuffy. All four walls were filled with cabinets that had been crammed full with files until some of the doors couldn't close anymore. On top of the cabinets, more files were stacked in piles threatening to spill to the floor. There wasn't a single free space anywhere, and the one attempt at decoration – a small cactus perched precariously on top of one of the files – was coated so thickly in dust that it was impossible to tell what color it had ever had.
The morning had started off badly because Pucci's superior had overslept – no doubt a result of the previous' night's activities - and didn't appear until an hour later. But now, Signor Lampone was sitting bolt upright in a rickety chair right in front of Stefano. When he heard the man's name, he had to smother a smile. He didn't envy the man. It must be difficult to go through life – and as a detective at that – with a name that translated as Mister Raspberry. At least Signor Lampone didn't have the slightest resemblance to a raspberry – instead of being round and red and jolly, he was tall and desiccated and nervous. His thick, white hair stood up on end all by itself. The only thing that might have a connection to raspberries was the color of his eyes – they were of a curious light brown color, like home-made raspberry jam that had been exposed to too much to light.
“I'm sorry to interrupt your vacation,” Lampone jumped up, took a hasty turn around his desk and went back to his seat, where he sat down again with an expression as if he expected it to explode beneath him at any given moment. He had a quick, tumbling way of talking, like a brook that hurled itself down a steep slope. “But Commissario Pucci has called in sick, and seeing that you were halfway involved already, it made a lot of sense.”
temptation in florence 05 - seaside in death Page 8
