Beyond The Island

by Mackenzie, Brenda

  This time there was no doubt that Paolo’s attitude had changed and his words confirmed it. ‘Renzo Balzarin’s a big person here on the Island.’ He ran his hand over his rough chin and his face lengthened as he added, ‘It’s good that you are friends with Fabio.’

  A little shaken by his words and change of mood Joanne quickly changed the subject. ‘How did you like being a prisoner of war in Somerset? Did they lock you up and feed you mashed turnips?’

  Paolo stroked his whiskers and his mood restored, he explained, ‘Most days I mucked out the pigs. Ah, but they fattened up and made lovely pork chops!’

  Fabio returned with a basket and winked at her as he removed a carafe of red wine, three glasses and placed them on the table. ‘Now Paolo, I hope you’ve not been telling Joanne all my bad ways?’

  The old man gave Fabio a gentle punch and she watched, amused as Paolo sniffed at the wine and then satisfied it was all right poured them each a generous measure. She was thankful, for the wine eased the thoughts which tumbled at the back of her mind. The carafe was almost empty when she saw Paolo’s chin begin to nod on his chest. Fabio had taken the chance to do a few jobs about the place. He clearly loves to help the old man, Joanne realized, and her pulse quickened as she watched the ease in which Fabio’s body moved as he loaded logs into a barrow and wheeled them inside the cottage. Getting a little unsteadily to her feet she picked up the empty carafe and glasses and placed them in the basket, unable to avoid the chinking sound. She jumped as the old man opened his eyes.

  ‘Call me Paolo,’ he said, raising his face and giving her a wink. He sighed. ‘Ah, Signorina Joanne,you make me feel a young man in his prime again.’

  Her face warmed. ‘And you, Paolo, make a young woman feel special.’

  Spotting Fabio as he reappeared the old fellow called out, ‘Take this pretty lady before I steal her away. Show her my new babies.’

  Joanne giggled. Whatever these babies were it was hard to believe they were the result of any female liaison with Paolo.

  Fabio grinned. She tried not to look at the muscles visibly pressed against his damp shirt, but an obstinate flicker flared up inside her as he drew near and she quelled the urge to touch his arm.

  ‘Coming?’ He led the way beyond the domestic garden to a low, tin roofed shed. ‘Hold your nose, there’s a bit of a smell.’ Fabio stooped under a low beam and reached for her.

  At the touch of his fingers on her bare arm she felt electricity dart to her heart. She found her breath tight as she followed and found herself in pitch darkness and blinked to clear her sight. Her lungs filled with rank smell of animals and warm straw. Gradually she made out Fabio a little further along the shed, leaning over a small pen.

  ‘Come and see, Joanne!’ Fabio looked down at something inside the pen.

  She caught his eagerness and a flash of the young boy he must have been stirred her emotions as the sound of chirping and quacking reached her. ‘Oh! Aren’t they gorgeous,’ Joanne exclaimed and gazed at minute yellow chicks and ducklings all pushing, shoving and tumbling over one another in a fight for supremacy.

  ‘Makes one feel good, eh?’

  As Fabio straightened his back in that shadowy place the smile he gave Joanne was gentle and as if it was the most natural thing, his arm slid around her waist. ‘Joanne,’ Fabio uttered a groan. ‘Don’t leave Ischia too soon.’ He released her and placing a finger under her chin, urging. ‘Say you feel the same.’

  Joanne nodded, too overcome with joy to speak. There was a hollow sense of loss from where his arm had encircled her.

  Fabio took her hand and drew her towards the door. ‘There’ll be another time, I’m sure. But you need to be back at the hotel so we’d better bid good-bye to Paolo.’

  ***

  Unable to talk, Joanne sat beside Fabio in the Morgan car and looked at her watch. Heart racing she thought, good, still only 5.15pm.

  Fabio noted her glance. ‘Have we time to go back to my place for a few minutes? I can’t last out much longer without a wash and change of clothes.’

  She wondered if his words hid another intention and if she was ready for whatever that was. ‘Yes, that’s fine,’ she said, surprised how calm she sounded.

  They arrived soon after and she was instantly captivated by Fabio’s home. Converted years before from several old donkey stables, the place retained its rustic character in keeping with the delightful interior that he’d created. The words ‘shabby chic’ came to mind, lauded in those glossy magazines designed to attract the chattering classes, except this décor seemed to have evolved from the surrounding landscape..

  ‘I shan’t be long.’

  When Fabio disappeared to shower Joanne’s heartbeats failed to slow. She wandered about his home admiring the heavy chestnut beams; traditional rugs thrown casually over deep sofas, the simple pots of wild flowers. Fabio’s own vibrant paintings hung on the rough stone walls took her breath away. They sang with the glittering sea, the vine covered hills, medieval villages and what appeared to be the local people he’d befriended.

  Overwhelmed by his talent to capture the essence of Ischia, she sat down on a cushioned chair and slowly relaxed. Something told her that Renzo’s apartment in Rome would resemble nothing like this. A picture came into her head of Renzo living in a cold modernist place furnished with state of the art furniture and objects; nothing with any sentimental feeling at all.

  Here, she felt safe. Now why had that idea popped into her head?

  Her thoughts suddenly ravelled like unpicked knitting, unsettled by the surprise of Renzo’s odd behaviour at Fontana. The two cousins were so different. She always felt wary around Renzo whereas with Fabio she could be herself.

  ‘These paintings are just superb,’ Joanne breathed as Fabio reappeared. Her heart beat fast again at the sight of him wearing a loose long sleeved white shirt over blue jeans. He was barefoot and completely fitted in with the ambience of his home. As he drew near she found her eyes had difficulty focussing until Fabio’s query forced her to look up at him.

  ‘A glass of white wine, Joanne?’

  His shirt cuffs were unbuttoned and she caught a glimpse of his strong brown wrists. ‘I’m drinking far too much,’ she faltered.

  Fabio grinned. ‘But you must try this; it’s from the Balzarin vineyards.’ He reached for a decanter, poured wine into two glasses and passed one to her. Perched on the edge of a table he leaned forward to clink his glass with hers. Joanne could feel the warmth of his gaze. The chilled wine chased around her body, setting her pulse off with heavy dull thuds, disturbed by the strong aura of masculinity which emanated from him. Yet all this failed to subdue the tiny voice that whispered in her head don’t risk disappointment. Be cautious; go now before you fall too deeply for this man. You’ll soon leave Ischia and this will be a brief holiday dream.’

  Joanne drank the wine too swiftly, put down her glass and struggled to her feet, ready to gather up her satchel.

  ‘Do stay for a while, please Joanne. I’ll get you back to the hotel in plenty of time.

  How could she not? Joanne shook her head and offered, ‘I was concerned about preventing you getting on with your work.’

  ‘Not at all; thank you for the thought but I can work at any time of day or night.’

  She felt beyond care for the consequence and telling herself she must leave things to chance, sat down. And then to fill the silence that hung between them asked slowly, ‘What actually is Renzo’s business, Fabio? It’s so vague.’ Alarmed, she saw a hard vein pump in Fabio’s neck.

  ‘Blast him!’ he muttered with a frown.

  ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,’ she murmured, startled by his response.

  Fabio’s hand was reaching for hers. ‘No, forgive me. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.’ He slid off the table and brought forward a chair. ‘You haven’t said anything out of turn, it’s just...’ He took a sip of wine and rubbed a hand over his chin. ‘It’s not easy to explain but I shall try to enlighten you
.’ Staring down into his wine glass Fabio said slowly, ‘Renzo has many ‘irons in the fire’; another descriptive English phrase I believe.’ But this time he wasn’t smiling and seemed hesitant.

  Despite her anxiety, she hoped that Fabio might reveal some clue about what lay behind Renzo’s motives in inviting her in particular, a stranger, to crew. It would relieve her mind to discover more about Renzo before she faced him again. She touched Fabio’s arm. ‘Please don’t think it’s just nosiness. I’ve been worried what makes Renzo tick and why he’s so generous – you see, not just sailing but before when he took me to dine at smart restaurants in Rome. I’m not a fool and it doesn’t add up.’ She pursed her mouth. ‘I find it hard to refuse crewing for him. I keep thinking perhaps I was foolish to take up his offer...’

  ‘Okay.,’ Fabio declared as though he’d made up his mind. He spoke briskly. ‘It is something like this, but I’m in the dark as to why he selected you, by the way. However, Renzo has spent his working life away on the mainland. He’s involved with building construction – big projects I believe; I don’t know any details Joanne. I do know that here on the Island there is a section of the Balzarin estate he’s recently had cleared and its common knowledge there’s going to be a complex of quality holiday apartments built.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘This has meant a number of locals had to be re-housed, some of them after generations of working the same land.’ Fabio shook his head. ‘There’s a lot of ill feeling towards the Balzarin’s,’ He paused, ‘although Renzo is the only one who still bears that name.’

  Joanne frowned, disturbed by this revelation yet mystified how any of this resolved her own queries. ‘It sounds cruel. Those local people must have been devastated.’

  Fabio nodded and continued, ‘In Renzo’s favour, he gave them large amounts of money in compensation, more than they could hope to earn from their land. In fact, after the initial upheaval I do find most people are more than happy with their modern accommodation.’ And then, as if aware of Joanne’s puzzlement he added, ‘I’m trying to give you a background into Renzo’s activities which may or may not help to resolve your question.’

  ‘I see.’ She still couldn’t imagine how all this might affect her. Her mind flew off at a tangent as a memory clicked in her mind of the conversation she’d overheard on that bus between two of the local women. They’d said something she hadn’t understood about the Balzarin’s. She forced herself to concentrate on what Fabio was saying,

  ‘However, a few locals who’ve lived on the Island for generations harbour deep resentment.’ Fabio’s forehead creased in thought and he seemed to be talking to himself as he continued with a break, ‘Renzo deals with the finances of the Winery. There’s an experienced Victualler from Calabria who has been brought in to replace Angelina’s husband. I understand this man is very efficient and manages the Winery with a firm hand.’ He shook his head and looked at Joanne, his face perplexed. ‘It’s all so at odds with the way things once were when our fathers were here. They treated their workers like an extended family.’ He shrugged and sighed deeply. ‘I admit I’m surprised at the way Renzo intends things to be run. You see, in the past he was so different; always concerned for the workers’ families. He’d visit them in their homes and make sure they lacked for nothing.’

  ‘It’s generous of you to explain things.’ Joanne’s thoughts warmed to Fabio for his caring nature but she began to see the awkward position he occupied. He had no power to change the state of things and when he spoke again this was confirmed.

  ‘I tried to object but Renzo being the eldest inherited the Winery and estates. I keep away and so am out of touch about the day to day running.’ His face brightened. ‘You know, it’s quite a relief to speak freely with you Joanne. I can’t say these things to Angelina. In her eyes, Renzo’s still the same cousin we had fun with in our childhood.’

  Joanne smiled but added nothing about Angelina. She suspected his sister would be perceptive and aware how Renzo had changed but chose to bury her doubts. ‘Thank you. I appreciate you sharing all this with me and you’ve shed a little light on Renzo’s work here, but...’

  Fabio seemed about to say more but instead held up the flask of wine and indicated her glass while speaking. ‘On the other hand I am fortunate, able to lead a carefree life to pursue my painting. Does that help to explain anything, Joanne? Will you join me in another glass?’

  Joanne held out her glass for a refill. And without stopping in case she changed her mind persisted with her original concern. ‘I sometimes find Renzo odd, like two different people; it’s a bit bewildering. As I said, I don’t know why he invited me to sail and treat me to expensive restaurant meals.’ She put down her glass. ‘I feel I’m in an awkward situation.’

  There was a hint of Fabio’s after shave as he reached out and in an instant she found herself hugged close against his pounding heart. Time seemed suspended before they slowly broke apart. At first his words seemed a long way off until her head cleared. Joanne smoothed down her shirt and heard him say,

  ‘Joanne, dear Joanne I can at least vouch for your safety. Renzo thrives on hard work and his only relaxation is sailing his yacht. Forgive me, I was carried away talking about Renzo’s attitude toward the Islanders and should have set your mind at rest. You see, I’m certain he must be pleased to have found a delightful young woman to crew for him - especially one who doesn’t attempt to tie him down. This must be a first for him and I expect his generosity is a way of showing gratitude.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he find a young man to crew then? There must be many keen sailors on the Island.’

  Fabio frowned before he suggested, ‘In my view that’s probably because they’d resist taking instructions from him. And they would certainly not provide him with such delightful company.’

  Some of the weight lifted from Joanne’s mind. What he explained had helped to make just a little sense. Yet, was Fabio withholding something from her? They finished their wine and Joanne picked up her satchel, anxious to get back to the hotel ahead of Renzo.

  ‘You have become a special friend, Joanne.’

  His remark was unexpected and she found herself drawn to him like a moth to light and instinctively brushed his cheek with a kiss. ‘You are a special friend to me, too.’

  Disturbed that her holiday would not last forever and Fabio would disappear from her life, Joanne sat in silence beside him in his car. She couldn’t deny the sense of being wrapped in a glow of happiness as they hurtled along the quiet roads, a breeze teasing her hair so it flew about her face. ‘I hope you won’t mind,’ she ventured, raising her voice, ‘but something bothers me; I don’t want to say the wrong thing. Is Angelina a widow or... she’s never mentioned her husband and...?’

  ‘I don’t mind you asking,’ Fabio interjected, ‘but it carries a lot of unhappiness and is not easy to answer.’

  Another puzzle then? Joanne drew a deep breath and strained to hear his words over the loud engine noise.

  ‘Angelina is a widow. She met her husband, Lucio Pardi, a skilled viticulturist twelve years ago when he came to manage our family vineyards and very soon they adored one another. They were married the following year.’ He paused, ‘and they were so totally happy; but four years ago, Angelina’s husband was killed in a terrible accident.’

  ‘Oh, that’s awful! Poor Angelina. Forgive me opening up tragic ...’

  ‘Don’t worry Joanne.’ Fabio removed a hand from the steering wheel and briefly touched her arm. ‘The accident is common knowledge amongst locals here in Ischia. Better you know from me than through gossip.’

  ‘There’s gossip? You don’t mean...?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Lucio was crushed by a large load of empty wine bottles which fell from a truck.’ His mouth tightened, ‘Should never have happened. Lucio was extremely safety aware; insisted workers were equipped with safety gear. It appears a faulty tail gate was the cause but the police suspected foul play – it has never been proven.’

  ‘It migh
tn’t have been an accident then?’

  Fabio shook his head. ‘That’s the dilemma. Angelina believes it was an accident but the truth is we don’t know. She said her husband had behaved strangely for some time; quite out of character and irritable with the children whom he adored. She put it down to overwork and pleaded with him to take a break but he wouldn’t listen.’

  Joanne thought for a moment. ‘What about enemies?’ The question sprang from her lips. ‘There’s a lot about Mafia crimes in the press.’

  She knew she hadn’t imagined it when Fabio flinched but he quickly recovered and went on to explain,

  ‘No enemies, not so far as anyone could tell. Angelina was positive no one held a grudge. Lucio was a great person; a kind and respected boss and devoted to Angelina and their children.’ Fabio nodded. ‘Well-liked by everyone.’

  ‘It’s a terrible dilemma. I can’t bear to think of Angelina losing her precious husband.’

  Fabio’s eyes softened with compassion but Joanne caught tension in his set expression. .

  ‘My sister devotes much time to visiting the old people on the Island. She runs a social club for them attached to the church. I think she feels it’s what her husband would have wished.’ He blinked and then shook his head as his features smoothed again.

  ‘Thank you for telling me. I’d hate to make a thoughtless remark.’

  They’d arrived near the hotel and Fabio pulled to the side of the road. A large coach blocked their way and began to spill out foreign tourists.

  ‘I’ll get out here, thank you,’ Joanne said, opening the car door. ‘You’ve really made things clear. That was lovely meeting Paolo, I enjoyed it so much.’ She turned back, ‘and thank you for the car lifts!’ She couldn’t hear what he said in reply. With the car engine running, he’d said something she couldn’t quite catch. Whatever was it? It sounded like, ‘call me any time you’re afraid of Renzo,’ No, he must have said, ‘call me any time you aren’t sailing with Renzo,’ The roar of the engine drowned his words and with a cheery wave he drove off.