That Summer in Ischia

by Penny Feeny

  ‘Right,’ said Max, bending forward, elbows on the table. ‘So what I want to know is why you’ve been stringing me along here. You turn up at the villa, all smiles and eyelashes. You get us on side without a hint of what you already know. Why so devious?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to be devious. I was nervous. And confused.’

  ‘I still don’t get it. You said you were looking for information. But it was me who was the lost babe in the wood, right? The kid who couldn’t speak for a week. And if I could get over something like that I sure as hell can’t see why anybody else has to drag it all up again.’

  She fixed her gaze on the beer frothing gently down the side of his bottle. ‘Maybe you didn’t know this – but my mother ended up in prison because of what you did.’

  ‘Because of what I did?’

  ‘Yes, basically. Hiding in that car boot.’

  ‘Goddamit! What are you looking for, Allie? Revenge?’

  ‘Don’t be so sodding ridiculous!’

  ‘Quit yelling, will you?’

  ‘I’m not yelling.’

  ‘Sister, you are.’

  This brought her up short. It was a figure of speech, she knew, delivered in this instance with a biting sarcasm. Her hand tensed around her glass of tea. She didn’t notice the heat of it, the steam rising, but she saw that his eyes were striped with amber, like a tiger.

  ‘Brother,’ she said with equal sarcasm, ‘I wasn’t out to get anybody. I didn’t intend to gatecrash your house party, I just sort of trapped myself there, but actually you were the one who came after me.’

  ‘Like I had a choice!’

  ‘Will you listen to me, please?’ He looked sulky and flapped his hands as if in defeat. Allie would not be deflected. ‘I didn’t really expect to learn anything from my trip to Ischia, but I was amazingly lucky. Being able to stay with you and then Cristina. And when Enrico took me for a ride around the farm everything fell into place. I was able to work it out.’

  His toe tapped a rhythm on the pavement. ‘Work what out?’

  ‘What happened to you, of course.’ She paused but when no encouragement came, she rushed on. ‘I think Cristina took her father’s car down to the beach that day without permission. I bet she didn’t get many afternoons off.’

  ‘That’s true, I guess. They were different times.’

  ‘And everything might have been okay, if you hadn’t found your hiding-place.’

  ‘What’s this? Pass-the-blame game again?’

  ‘I’m not saying it’s your fault. Mum should have gone to look for you sooner. She always leaves everything to the last minute. Anyway, the official story – am I right? – is that you finally manage to escape from the car boot because it has a faulty catch. But that’s just bollocks, isn’t it?’

  Now he pushed his beer aside and folded his arms, giving her his full attention. ‘Is it?’

  ‘You know what? I think that eventually Cristina hears you screaming, but you’ve been trapped for so long you’re a gibbering wreck. She’s scared to return you because of the state you’re in and because her father will find out she took the car. Wasn’t he a bit of a bastard, a control freak?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Max acknowledged. ‘He was a bully. Even Rosaria was frightened of his temper.’

  Triumphant, Allie steamed on. ‘So she decides to hide you somewhere until she can calm you down and get you acting normally again.’

  ‘Hide me? Where?’

  ‘There’s a hut in the woods. Enrico took me to see it. It’s falling down now, but it could have been a nice little Wendy house for you.’

  ‘And how long did I spend in this cute little Wendy house?’

  ‘A day and a half, I reckon.’

  ‘And she doesn’t stop to think about a family going off their heads with worry?’

  ‘No, because she panics. She’s only a teenager, Max. She has a tyrannical father and she’s stepped way out of line. Perhaps she’s even got a grudge against your pain-in-the-ass mother? Maybe she had a row with her. Or mine for that matter. The point is, she knows you’re safe, as will everyone else soon enough. I’ve been running all kinds of possibilities through my head, but this is the one that makes the most sense to me. Can’t you remember anything?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, it would be like camping out, wouldn’t it? She’d have to smuggle you food and stuff. Some kids would find that exciting. Unless, of course, she kept you sedated. Did you see her first aid box? I bet she has chloroform in there.’

  ‘Whoa, Allie, you’re going way off-beam.’

  Reluctantly she reined herself in. ‘Sorry. But there must have been some kind of plan hatched. Else why did everyone think you’d been abducted?’

  ‘Because of the ransom note, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But it was a hoax.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘Because they got a confession.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘It was just a sick stunt. One of the original suspects actually, some guy caught for stealing motorbikes. It took a while, but they got it out of him eventually.’

  ‘That sounds dodgy. Could he have known Cristina? Or where you were hiding?’

  ‘Jesus, Allie, I wasn’t even four and you expect me to have the memory of an elephant! But it takes a while to live down an adventure like that. People point at you in the street and you just wish to hell it would go away. So, in answer to your question: no, I don’t believe they had any connection.’

  ‘But when the note turned up it was quite specific, wasn’t it? About what you were wearing and stuff?’

  ‘Half the paese had been out looking for me. It wasn’t a secret.’

  ‘I still think . . .’

  ‘What, that Cristina wrote it? No way!’

  ‘Okay, she didn’t.’ She stirred the long-handled spoon in her tea, creating a spinning whirlpool. ‘But how about this? She wouldn’t have gone to the beach by herself, would she? She’d have gone with a friend or a boyfriend – maybe he was the one who drove the car. Now suppose he was greedy or just plain skint. If he was dirt poor or had debts to pay off, he might think the money was worth the risk. He could have written the note without even telling her until afterwards. Which may also be the reason Cristina took you back when she did: she was scared of getting into even deeper trouble. She must have realized you’d tell them about hiding in the car at some point and she’d have to face her father. But think how much worse it would be if she was found guilty of – what d’you call it – extortion? Instead of which, she was treated as a bit of a heroine, wasn’t she? Did she get a reward?’

  His expression was quizzical. ‘I think my mother took her to buy a dress. And they gave some cash to the local church. They were always giving cash to the church, to save themselves the trouble of turning up to Mass.’

  ‘It’s amazing she got away with it. You’ve seen the barn where they keep the cars, it’s right near the house. If you’d sprung the lock of the boot from the inside, why on earth would you run off into the woods instead of knocking at the farm? Even for a three-year-old, even if it was pitch-black and you were being chased by a wild boar, that would be crazy. I wonder why no one thought of it.’

  ‘They were probably too busy celebrating the happy outcome. There were some horrific crimes back then and kidnapping was a real threat. Or maybe somebody did suss Cristina, but didn’t see any reason to take it further.’

  Allie recalled Enzo, the ex-policeman with his upright bearing and treacly eyes. What was it he had said yesterday? In a manner of speaking she has brought us together. And for this we are grateful. But then he’d clammed up. ‘When you brought my stuff to the agriturismo, you talked about Enzo and Cristina’s wedding party. You said they’d been courting for ages.’

  ‘Well, that’s not uncommon here. She was very young when they met.’

  ‘Through finding you?’

  ‘Yeah, they used to joke about it. Called me Cupid. Well, Enzo d
id. I don’t know if Cristina thought he was a bit old for her at first.’

  ‘Was he a catch, d’you think?’

  He mulled this over. ‘I guess. I mean, he had a steady job with a good pension and the family approved. Poor Rosaria was always held up as a bit of a warning.’

  ‘What was wrong with Rosaria?’

  ‘Oh, she married the wrong guy. He died without leaving her a cent, which was how come she worked for us.’ His eyes brightened. ‘She was a fantastic cook.’

  ‘So Enzo’s welcome, but the boyfriend before him could have been a bit of a chancer?’

  ‘If he existed in the first place.’

  ‘Oh come on! There had to be somebody else involved. She couldn’t have managed everything by herself. Have you any idea what might have happened to him?’

  ‘Well, most young men, if they’re from the lower classes and can’t afford to buy themselves out of it, get hauled off for military service. Maybe he left Ischia and never came back.’

  ‘Do you think he was even questioned? They never arrested anybody, did they?’

  ‘They rounded up a bunch of suspects initially, but the case would have collapsed once I started talking and they learned the whole thing was an accident. They couldn’t charge anyone.’

  ‘Except my mother –’

  ‘Who was jailed for something she didn’t do?’

  ‘Um, no, not exactly.’

  She toyed with the string of her tea bag; he stroked the neck of the beer bottle with his thumb. The sun moved behind the awning and cast them into shade; a couple of streets away car horns blared.

  After a while, Max said, ‘If I’d been missing for any longer, it would have been a different story. My mother and aunt can create the biggest drama you’ve ever seen, but on that occasion the only evidence the police had was a cack-handed note –’

  ‘So they pick some random guy to do a deal? He confesses, they close the file and the enquiry just fizzles out?’

  She wondered if she was pushing things too far, but finally he was looking at her with a kind of respect. ‘Wow, Allie. You don’t give up, do you? You’re a ferret, like my aunt.’

  ‘I’m not a ferret.’

  ‘Maresa, she gets an idea in her head, she doesn’t let it go.’ Then he said: ‘But even if you are right about there being some kind of cover-up – and I’m not trying to make excuses for anybody – the problem is, it happened so long ago I don’t see how you can get any closer than this.’

  Allie prodded the slice of lemon at the bottom of her glass. It might be an unproven theory but she was pleased with it. She felt a quiet sense of satisfaction. And they’d come through the experience, after all: Max, Helena, herself (though this was not, she reflected, the moment to mention her mother’s pregnancy). If an act cannot be undone you have to move on.

  He rocked back in his chair. ‘Shoot! And there was I thinking we’d have dinner and take in a movie.’

  ‘Sorry.’ She smiled. ‘If I got a bit carried away. But we can still have a meal, can’t we? You’re not mad at me?’

  ‘Well, I think you’re nuts, but where’s the harm in a bit of unpredictability?’ At the precise moment he finished speaking something shot from the sky and landed on his shoulder like a squirt of stracciatella ice cream. He leapt to his feet and the beer bottle rolled to the ground where it smashed. ‘What the fuck!’

  ‘Bird lime,’ said Allie, suppressing a giggle. ‘Is it a terrible omen?’

  ‘It’s a goddam nuisance,’ he said, sitting down again and pulling a raft of paper napkins from the dispenser.

  ‘Here, I’ll do it.’ She stood over him, dabbing at the stain. She could feel the ripple of pectoral muscle beneath her touch, inhale the muskiness of his skin. Part of her would have liked the hand hanging over the arm of his chair to tickle the inside of her leg. Instead she reached to clasp it, interlacing her fingers with his. ‘Still friends?’ she said.

  He returned the squeeze. ‘Sure.’

  24

  They’d had a good night (Allie had been careful not to drink too much; there were no awkward lunges when Max showed her gallantly to her bedroom door), but it took her a long time to get to sleep. Band practices had often lasted through the small hours and she’d grown used to collapsing at dawn and being stirred into wakefulness by the chatter of children trotting home from school. She’d never found mornings easy. She surfaced to the sound of conversation – which confused her until she realized Max must have switched on the television. A large plasma screen occupied a corner of the open-plan living area. She hadn’t yet come across an Italian TV programme where the participants spoke at less than excitable full volume. She’d have to get up; she couldn’t loll around in bed until he banged on her door to inform her he was going to work. She pulled on her jeans and hobbled barefoot into the living room.

  The television was silent, although a radio murmured on a shelf. Max was standing at the counter in his shirtsleeves tossing back a cup of espresso. The long windows, which gave on to the balcony and an interior courtyard, stood open. The air was fragrant with coffee and freshly watered vegetation, not yet contaminated by the fumes of petrol or decaying garbage. Max put down his cup. ‘Good morning,’ he said with exaggerated politeness.

  She disguised a yawn. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Sleep well?’

  ‘Yeah, great thanks. You’re looking perky.’ She tried to massage the creases from her face. ‘Not groggy like me. I should try a bit harder.’

  ‘No rush. Take your time. I thought we could meet for lunch if –’

  He broke off and she sensed a movement on the balcony, followed by an eruption of Italian.

  ‘Aspetta un attimo,’ Max called back.

  Allie’s feet felt unaccountably cold, rooted to their square of Carrara marble.

  A man strode through the sliding doors with a faint air of exasperation. Like Max he was lanky and loose-limbed. His grey hair was cut as sharply as his trousers, black-framed glasses rested on a prominent nose. He peered over the top of them at Allie.

  ‘Oh,’ said Max, ‘this is my dad, Fabrizio. He wasn’t supposed to be back for a couple of days but, whaddya know, he sneaked in last night while we were out.’ His manner was flippant but there was circumspection in it too, as if he needed to be wary in his father’s presence.

  ‘Piacere,’ said Fabrizio, inclining his head.

  ‘And this is Allie,’ continued Max as she accepted the hand extended to her. ‘She’s from England.’

  ‘Allie?’ said Fabrizio. He’d let her hand fall and was staring at her left arm. Most people didn’t stare, some didn’t even notice. Curious children might probe and question why the one didn’t quite match the other and she was always upfront with them. The brutal honesty of children was preferable to the cautious oversensitivity of adults. At this moment, however, she would have welcomed a bit of sensitivity. She felt as exposed as she’d done at the Baldinis’ swimming pool. Her arm had frozen by her side as if it were paralysed; she couldn’t move it if she wanted to.

  ‘Allegra,’ Max was saying. ‘We met just recently and I suggested she stopover while she was passing through town. Turns out she was born here.’

  ‘Veramente?’

  ‘Veramente.’

  She didn’t follow the rest of the exchange, which had resumed in Italian. She was awaiting a response from Max. Oh my God! or You’ve got to be kidding! When neither came she guessed that his father was berating him for picking up strange girls and letting them stay over. As if she couldn’t be trusted not to walk out with a four-foot plasma screen under her good arm. But she must have got that wrong too because, although Max’s response had been deferential, they were soon joking and synchronizing watches.

  ‘I have to run,’ Max told her. ‘My dad will fix you a coffee or show you how to use the machine or whatever. Call me later. You’ve got the card I gave you yesterday?’

  She nodded, unable to speak; afraid her voice would float away from her, as high and false as if
she’d swallowed a dose of helium.

  ‘Okay, cool.’ He gave her shoulder a brotherly pat on his way to the door, too busy slotting his laptop into his briefcase and checking for phone messages to puzzle at her rigid stance.

  She was alone with Fabrizio Verducci. A man, that’s all he was. A middle-aged man with piercing eyes and an assertive manner. As Max’s father he held a degree of interest; as her own, he amounted to nothing. It wasn’t as if a father figure had been absent from her life: Ian had played a significant part in her upbringing. She wasn’t deprived. She had come to see how much she might appreciate a brother, to recognize the shiver of excitement whenever she thought of Max, but this man – well, he shouldn’t even have been here. It was unlucky timing for both of them.

  Fabrizio moved towards the sink. ‘Sit down,’ he said in English. ‘I will make the coffee. The machine can be temperamental and I have one hour.’

  An hour, she thought, balancing on the edge of a chair so stylized it resembled a one-legged flamingo. The furniture had an insistent quality, demanding admiration for its clean-cut masculinity, for its classy components of leather, smoked glass and brushed steel. There was an expensive array of audiovisual equipment along one wall and a stack of architecture magazines on a low table. The only touch of colour in the room, the only concession to nature, was a dish of vibrant lemons and limes.

  Fabrizio increased the volume on the radio and waited for the steam to build up pressure, to force the coffee drip by drip into the cup below. Then he pushed it across the counter to her. She could have done with something to eat, but this wasn’t an apartment where cooking took place. The cupboards were unlikely to contain cornflakes and, anyway, there wasn’t any milk. She stirred in two spoonfuls of sugar.

  ‘You have known my son for long time?’

  ‘Well, no, not really.’ His expression was expectant, so she added, ‘A week.’

  His eyebrows flew up. ‘Quick work!’