Beyond The Island

by Mackenzie, Brenda

  ‘Thanks, these are quite sturdy. I’d love to go down.’

  Tingles zipped up Joanne’s arm as Fabio held onto it while they descended the steep, stony path. She took deep even breaths and savoured the salty air which pummelled them. Nestled down below, she saw a small, perfect crescent of golden sand which fringed the sea. Arrived at the bottom, Fabio allowed her no rest.

  ‘Right, race you to the end!’ His eager face seemed years younger and she responded to a challenge.

  ‘Bet I get there first!’ She cast her sandals off, startled to find the sand scorching hot under her bare feet and not waiting for him to start, picked up her heels and sprinted for all she was worth.

  ‘Cheat!’ He shouted behind her.

  She could almost feel his breath on her back and still within metres from where the sand ended against a wall of rock, Joanne gave a final spurt and reaching the boundary, collapsed exhausted onto the sand. ‘I won!’ she croaked.

  Fabio flung himself down beside her. ‘You should’ve made concessions for this old guy,’ he panted. ‘I’ll have a heart attack – must be mad!’

  ‘Your idea! Anyway, I did win.’

  Without knowing how, they collapsed together and she fell into his spread eagled arms. She was conscious of heat rising from the sand beneath them and Fabio’s body, his heart pounding like an overworked engine while his hair, loosened from its pony tail tickled her neck.

  ‘Joanne, Joanne,’ he murmured against her ears. ‘I’ve been longing all day for this.’

  He placed a gentle kiss on her mouth and her eager response fired sparks to lose them both in a rapturous deeper longing. She opened her eyes so that Fabio’s tanned face set against the deep azure blue of the sky imprinted on her mind...

  A sharp cry for help shattered the silence and broke their embrace. They pulled apart and with a sense of urgency scrambled to their feet. Joanne stared out to sea and tried to locate the sound. Fabio was beside her and pointing.

  ‘See there? On those rocks - seems to be in trouble.’ Fabio stripped off his slacks and top and before Joanne could gather her wits, he was in the water and covering the distance between shore and the outcrop of rocks with a strong crawl.

  ‘Be careful,’ she shouted, but her voice was whipped away in the wind. She must take action - the rug on the car seat. Keys to open the car! She fumbled in Fabio’s trouser pocket and with the keys in her hand, she was scarcely conscious of her burning feet as she garnered her strength and raced back to the path.

  Ignoring her discarded sandals at the bottom of the path, she hauled her body back up to the top. Panting for breath she ran to the car, opened it and snatched up the blanket. Her feet slid down the steep path and easier to run on the sand. Desperate to see what was happening, she hurtled back along the beach in time to see Fabio swimming on his back using lifesaving skills with someone held firmly in his grip. He reached the shore and Joanne sloshed into the sea to help as Fabio pulled himself up onto dry sand holding a young lad.

  When Fabio laid the boy down, Joanne swiftly tucked the blanket about his lifeless body, and noted the pallor of his face.

  ‘Thanks, Joanne,’ Fabio gasped. He turned the boy onto his stomach and began to count using steady bouts of pressure to try to pump out water. Joanne let out her breath as at last, water gushed from the boy’s mouth and colour seeped back into his face.

  Fabio stood up and eased his shoulders, his voice unsteady. ‘Fishing, slipped into a crevice – got stuck, twisted his knee; nasty gash on his shin.’

  ‘Thank God you got there in time.’ She halted and looked down at the limp form of the youth and the need for action fired her thoughts. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘My phone in my trouser pocket. Ring 113 please... he’ll need an ambulance. We’re at Spiaggia dei Maronti. Please bring the phone back here when you’ve rung them.’ Fabio was in command of the situation. ‘They’ll probably need to contact us.’

  Within minutes, Joanne retrieved Fabio’s phone from his pocket and made the call.

  ‘Si, Si!’ she urged, ‘Emergenza!’ She raced back along the beach and pressed the phone in Fabio’s hand. ‘I called them and said where to find us,’ she said breathlessly. She turned away. ‘You’ll catch a chill. I’ll get your clothes.’ All too conscious of his powerful torso above the wet boxer pants Joanne flew away again, carefully collected up his clothes, ran back and handed them to him.

  Fabio swung his arms about his chest and then ran on the spot to get warm, sending up sprays of wet sand. She moved away beach and when she looked back after a few minutes, he’d eased on his clothes.

  Joanne watched as Fabio crouched down and held the youth’s wrist. ‘Feeling better?’ he smiled encouragement as the young fellow’s head moved in a nod.

  She heaved a sigh of relief, filled with admiration for Fabio as they awaited the ambulance. Before long, the wail of sirens echoed and the ambulance arrived up on the road. Two medics came down the path to the beach with a canvas stretcher and quickly examined the youth. She heard rapid Italian as they expressed their regard for Fabio’s presence of mind. Then with professional care they lifted the lad onto the stretcher and began to carry him up the steep track.

  She found Fabio subdued and it struck her quite suddenly that his swim out to those rocks might perhaps have fetched memories of his mother’s drowning.

  ‘I’ll call the hospital later,’ Fabio remarked, not looking at Joanne. ‘Find out how he fares.’

  They stood side by side as if suddenly uncertain of one another while the ambulance disappeared in a cloud of dust, sirens wailing.

  Was Fabio’s mood regret for their ardent embrace?

  They made their way up the track to the car without a word and drove slowly back to the hotel. Fabio remained silent as if wrapped in his own thoughts. Joanne emotions played frantically about her mind, filled with alarm that Fabio might wish to put a stop to a deeper relationship. For her, how natural it had felt in Fabio’s arms.

  Her fingers pressed into her palms as she prayed it was the scare of the young boy’s accident that changed Fabio’s mood.

  Reaction had been so quick and she felt sad for him, aware he must harbour deep feelings for the loss of his mother drowning.

  The events of the afternoon were unsettling. Everything slid about her head as she wondered if Fabio had taken other young women to that secluded beach. As the car engine roared along she stared once more at the strong, long fingered hands on the steering wheel; the same which had gently cupped her face. Water dripped off the ends of his pony tail and he twitched his broad shoulders as it ran down his warm neck. A horrid cautious little voice whispered inside her head, this isn’t real – it’s just a holiday fling. Don’t act out one of those romantic stories in women’s magazines.

  Fabio brought the car to a halt a short distance away from the hotel and switched off the engine. She braced herself fearing a brush off.

  ‘Sorry our outing had to end that way,’ Fabio murmured and his mouth formed a rueful expression. ‘I had a wonderful time...I do hope the opportunity comes again soon.’

  She felt a dart of hope. Did he refer to that moment in time when they’d briefly lost themselves? Or was it merely a polite remark. She made up her mind not to doubt him and relaxed her mouth with a smile, ‘Apart from the plight of that poor lad I loved the outing too,’ she assured him. ‘Lucky for him you were there.’ She faced him. ‘You were amazing, Fabio,’ she couldn’t prevent the catch in her voice as she opened the door and stepped out. Instinctively, she stood and looked back at him.

  Colour had deepened his tanned cheeks. ‘Well,’ he said dismissively with a shrug of his wide shoulders, ‘when you’re brought up on the Island surrounded by sea, its second nature.’ And then about to restart the engine, he looked up at her. ‘I’m pleased to know where you stand with Renzo, shouldn’t want to cause trouble. I’m really sorry you’re going to leave Ischia so soon Joanne.’ He gripped the steering wheel and seemed to be either deep in tho
ught or about to add something else. Her body felt rigid waiting for him to speak. So when he spoke she failed at first to grasp his meaning.

  ‘Renzo changed you know, after he left the Island; he associated with undesirables. It was all connected with his business affairs - don’t worry Joanne,’ he said quickly. ‘I’m sure he’s fine with you.’ And as if he’d said too much he gave a cheery farewell and called out ‘Ciao’.

  As she heard the engine roar into life there was no chance to further his disclosure and uncertainty wedged in her stomach. There was no doubt that loyalty lay with his cousin. Those words repeated themselves as she sought endearment in this farewell. Joanne stood, her head clouded, her heart beating fast and watched as Fabio reversed the little car ready to change direction. He turned and waved to her again before slipping the car into gear and heading for home. She raised her arm in farewell and waited until the pulse of the engine was swallowed by other traffic, then dreadfully unsettled with disappointment made her way back to her room.

  Chapter 11

  Soaking in a deep foamy bath, Joanne tried to banish her worries. She could scarcely believe how her day with Fabio had turned out. Her emotions churned. She told herself not to take seriously their behaviour on the beach. The combination of a good lunch, the wine and total sense of freedom had influenced them; a typical holiday flirtation. Nevertheless, she asked herself, what if she were not due to leave Ischia at the end of her holiday? She told herself firmly not allow such fantasies.

  But what had Fabio started to tell her about Renzo? She was puzzled and concerned that the opportunity to question him had been missed. Another memory flitted in of the time when Paolo, the old gardener has seemed about to say something about Renzo. Oh dear, if only she could relax. Inevitably, the warm water slowly brought a calming effect and her eyes closed. She lay back and rested her head on the end of the bath, unprepared for the sensuous feelings which swept in of being held in Fabio’s arms. As she released her breath it blew over the chilled bubbles on the water’s surface and fetched back the conviction that his action had just been spontaneous, prompted by a relaxed mood and the lazy heat of the sun. Yet, Joanne clung to the thought - there’d really been sincerity in Fabio’s voice as he’d murmured, “I’ve been longing for this.” A pulse throbbed deep down as she confirmed his sentiments reflected her own.

  Joanne jerked upright, displacing the bath water which sloshed onto the floor as her musing was swept away and replaced by Fabio’s comment. He’d mentioned Renzo’s attitude with his workers. Yes! Fabio said Renzo kept a tight rein on staff and demanded detailed reports. It suddenly brought relevance to the conversation she’d overheard between those local women on the bus.

  She leapt out of the bath, snatched up a large towel and applied it briskly in an attempt to rub away a nasty thought. What if that officious guide at the Winery had reported her comments? Renzo would know she’d been there and wonder why she hadn’t first asked him about the worker’s he employed. She forced herself to think things through clearly but her head buzzed as she clutched the towel against herself. He might already have been aware of her visit to the Winery for some days! Joanne gripped the cold hard edge of the bath as if it would help bring answers and strove to recall if Renzo’s might have suspected that she had. Did it really matter? Why be concerned?

  But a niggling sense of something not quite right remained. Joanne sank down on the bath stool and determined to find answers. She’d send Angelina a text and ask if she could visit the next day. Surprised, she found a text waiting from Angelina on her phone. She must be telepathic.

  “Are you free tomorrow? Do come out for lunch with me. I could collect you at 11.30am. Angelina xx”

  Joanne replied straight away and looked forward to confiding her doubts to Angelina. Before she had time to dwell on it something else slipped into her mind. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? A picture darted in of that young man Tom Saunders who’d been visiting the Winery – the person who’d pressed his card on her. He had been friendly.

  Her mind twitched. Environmental Research. What if that meant he had discovered something about the Winery? Could it possibly throw light upon Renzo’s motives? How that might be, she had no idea.

  She’d not paid much attention but hadn’t he mentioned he thought something odd was going on? Tom might not be able to help but it was worth a try.

  Where had she put his card? A few moments passed as she rifled through drawers and scanned every surface, fraught with annoyance. Where had she put it? Then she remembered how they’d boarded the bus, having to take the last seats and been separated and she’d shoved his card into a small pocket in her satchel. Snatching up her satchel she fumbled inside.

  Her fingers closed over the card and she remembered he’d said to get in touch any time. What if he’d already left the Island?

  Doubts chased inside her head. What could he tell her? Suddenly a quote flew in. ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained’.

  The maxim fetched a picture of Fabio and his fondness for such quotes and she decided to contact Tom Saunders – merely a friendly gesture. She’d make it a courtesy call to enquire how he’d enjoyed his trip. After all, he had given his card; she hadn’t asked for it.

  Feeling more positive by taking some action she determined not to waste an opportunity to find out if he knew more about the operation of the Winery. She picked up her phone, dialled his mobile number and with a sense of relief, heard his voice.

  A clear voice replied, ‘Tom here. Who is this?’

  ‘You may not remember – Joanne Holt. We met at the Winery...’

  ‘Hi Joanne, great to hear from you. How are you doing?’

  Her spirits rose; he seemed pleased to hear from her. After a brief resume about their separate activities she said,

  ‘Look, I know it’s a bit much to ask but I really would like us to meet. I’m wondering if you’d be able to help; there are a few odd things about the Island that’d like your opinion about.

  ‘Sure, I’d love to meet up. You can count on me whatever it is; sounds intriguing – right up my street. You can depend upon my discretion by the way.

  ‘Great. Would the day after tomorrow be convenient Tom?’

  ‘Just a sec. Yes, fine. Look forward to seeing you Joanne. Now where to meet - by the sound of it perhaps somewhere off the main drag, okay? I know just the place if you don’t mind me suggesting. It’s called Cafe Bertoldo in the poor district behind the harbour. What d’you think?’

  ‘Good idea, fine with me.’ The chance of an ally raised her hopes of finding answers. She wrote down direction to Cafe Bertoldo and suggested, ‘How about mid -day?’

  ‘Yes, fine. Look forward to seeing you, Joanne.’

  ‘Me too. Ciao Tom.’ With a sense of purpose Joanne felt positive. In need of exercise, changed into jeans and a long sleeved sweat shirt she was soon leaving the hotel and striding down the road towards the harbour.

  ***

  Joanne wandered along the narrow promenade around the harbour wall while studying the moored boats. It was fun to guess the owners of various craft by their size and the sophisticated technology displayed on board. A number were similar in size to ‘Bountiful’ but boasted more equipment than Renzo’s classic yacht. They sported satellite aerials and she glimpsed more advanced controls in the cockpit, whereas Renzo preferred to sail in the old traditional way. This pleased her and was something she could relate to.

  Further out to sea, Joanne spotted Renzo’s yacht ‘Bountiful’ swaying in deeper water on its mooring and understood the pride and care he lavished upon her. She recalled Renzo remarked that Marco maintained the yacht during his absence and she still found it odd that he never crewed the yacht in his spare time.

  Her steps continued to the western edge of the harbour in front of Castel dell’Ova where a small shingle strip tucked against the retaining wall formed a useful dry place to work on boats. In no hurry to return to the hotel, Joanne stopped to watch the activity. She gave
a start of surprise. It seemed coincidental that she’d just been thinking of Marco and there he was. He was kneeling on a tarpaulin beside a large fishing vessel which rested on huge wooden sleepers. A metal chain secured the boat to a metal winch set into a concrete block.

  On a whim Joanne decided to pass the time of day with him. As she made her way down the steep stone steps onto the shingle, her trainers crunched noisily and he glanced up as she stood a little way off.

  Intent on his task, Marco appeared to pay her no attention.

  ‘Buonasera’ Joanne greeted him quietly, ‘You are Marco, aren’t you?’

  ‘Si, Signorina?’ He looked up, paintbrush in hand, his face creased with a puzzled expression.

  ‘Joanne,’ she ventured. ‘I’ve been crewing for Signor Renzo. He told me you take care of his yacht?’

  She was unprepared for his gruff response. ‘So what? What’s that to you may I ask?’

  ‘Nothing at all,’ she said sharply, taken aback by his rudeness. ‘I was out walking and recognised you. Sorry if I’ve interrupted your work.’ She turned quickly ready to go.

  ‘Wait. I mean will you please wait a moment? I don’t mean to be rude. Just let me finish off this bit, will you?’

  Unwilling, instinct told her to wait and spotting a wooden crate, she sat down. Anyway, her feet could do with a rest but she would treat him coolly. His next remark caught her off guard.

  ‘I was about to pack up here for the night. If you can spare a moment, I’ll walk back along with you,’ he muttered. ‘That’s if you are ready to go back?’

  Why the sudden change of tone? Had he something to say to her? She didn’t respond and felt a twitch of unease as she waited for him to rinse the paint brush in a tin and shake it vigorously before placing it on newspaper beside pots of paint under the boat. He stood and as he stretched, she couldn’t avoid seeing the muscles which rippled his bare tattooed arms.