2006 - Wildcat Moon (40 page)

White-capped waves hurried towards the beach and rattled the pebbles impatiently. The metal curtains over the doors clinked playfully and the wind ruffled the fur of baleful-eyed cats who scurried for cover.

It made the habits of the monks billow as they toiled in the fields and snatched at the veils of the nuns as they crossed the courtyard in the convent. The coloured flags that hung above the Ristorante Skilly danced wildly and the shutters on the windows clattered noisily at night.

Alfredo brought the tables inside and the old men took up their seats closer to the stove along with the three-legged dog who had taken up permanent residence.

In a few days’ time Archie, Martha and Lissia were leaving for England. They were going back to Bag End and he would be sent back to school and all the misery that meant The teasing and hair pulling, stone throwing and kicking. His mammy was very quiet and he’d heard her tell Lena that she was worried about how they would manage for money, especially as now she had Lissia to look after and she needed watching all the time.

A letter came from Cissie Abelson that made him want to laugh and cry. She told him how a man had come for Gwennie and she had gone off with him because he was her son and she’d gone all the way to America. She’d drawn a picture of Skilly Beach with a giant silver moon in the sky and in the window of the Boathouse two figures, one black, one white, were hugging.

Archie felt the tears fill his eyes. So Gwennie had had a son. Bo’s son. And he’d bet that Dom Bradly, the man who’d frightened the life out of him that night in the woods, was her son! He was so pleased for Gwennie. And how pleased Thomas Greswode would have been to know this news!

Cissie told him that she was going to go to Nanskelly School and do loads of painting and other nice things. He was happy for her but it meant that he’d have to walk to the school in Rhoskilly on his own each day. He’d be even lonelier than before.

He looked down at the other pictures that she’d drawn. She was a good drawer all right. There was a picture of Heep’s parrot perched on the grandfather chair near the fire in the bar of the Pilchard. A speech bubble came out of his beak. In it was written,
Eat shit and die!
Archie smiled, then his eyes moved down to the PS written at the bottom of the letter. Nan had written something that made Archie sit up with a jolt.

PS Gwennie said to tell you to look in the collecting box for your mystery!

Archie clenched his fists. What a fool he’d been! He closed his eyes and tried to picture the inside of the wobbly chapel. He could recall the stone receptacle for holy water and next to it, set into the wall, was a metal-fronted collection box with a rusted-up keyhole and some Latin words on the front.

Tell him to look in the collecting box! Of course. He still had the bunch of keys that Benjamin had left him.

Youll find a bunch of keys in the porch of my house, on the third hook along from the door; take them and keep them safe. After I’m gone they’ll belong to you. And anything they open, Arch, will be yours.

One key had opened the door of the wobbly chapel and one must be meant to open the collecting box!

When he got back he’d get in there and Open it up. It was the only thing he had to look forward to in the Skallies.

Folding up Cissie’s letter, he put it in his pocket and went out for a walk around Santa Caterina.

There was a buzz about the village, a frisson of whispered excitement in the air. The old men on the harbour spoke conspiratorially as they mended their fishing nets and blew smoke like question marks into the air. In the piazza the dog with the scarf around its neck ran round and round in ever diminishing circles.

A group of chattering monks trailed up the steep hill towards the convent, their heads bowed, sandals slapping against the cobbles, crucifixes jingling gaily.

In the Silver Bird Cafe the candle beneath the photograph of Rosa Gasparini glowed brightly and the tiny man with the enormous moustache sang to himself as he worked. Old women swept the cobbles in front of their houses and threw buckets of water to damp the dust. The streets and alleyways were fragrant with the perfume of freshly watered flowers.

Archie stopped and listened. In the garden of the Casa delle Stelle the cockerel crowed triumphantly and the sound of nuns singing drifted down from the convent.

It was that damned song again.

An old woman called down to him from where she sat knitting on a balcony. “He is coming soon,” she hissed. “On a boat from Naples.”

“Who is?” Archie asked.

“They have asked Signer Rabiotti to bring the car down to the harbour because he is so frail. They say he is coming back here to Santa Caterina to die.”

“Who is?” Archie asked impatiently.

But she shook her head and began to croon softly to herself.

Archie wandered home to find Lissia skipping outside the Ristorante Skilly.

She grabbed hold of his arm and kissed him on both cheeks.

“Why are you so happy?”

“Because my friend
II Camaleonte
is coming to Santa Caterina.”

Archie stared at her and shook his head in disbelief.

“And because,” she whispered, “I am going to have a kitten all of my own.”

“You can’t Lissia, because we’re going home soon.”

“This is Lissia’s home now.” she said. “I’d like to be a mammy cat and have little kittens.”

“You can’t have kittens, Lissia, because you’re a woman and women have babies.”

“I know where you get babies from,” she said.

“So do I. You get them from under cabbage bushes or sometimes rhubarb,” he said, though he didn’t believe it any more.

Lissia giggled, “I had one once but it came out of my tummy.”

“You know what Mammy has told you about telling lies—you’ll get blisters on your tongue!”

The candles were lit in the shrines and a soft wind blew in off the sea. A full moon rose over Santa Caterina and bathed the convent in a silvery light.

As if on cue the villagers filed out silently from their houses and lined the harbour and the narrow streets.

Archie stood outside the Ristorante Skilly with Alfredo and Lena and watched as the boat made its way slowly towards the harbour and moored. They were bringing
Il Camaleonte
home to die.

A group of men came slowly up the steps half carrying an old man dressed in a white suit that was several sizes too large. He wore a large Panama hat that was too big for his head. The men helped him carefully into a black car, the engine spluttered to life and the car pulled away, moving slowly through the narrow streets.

Archie watched and saw that as the car drew alongside the waiting people they looked up, made the sign of the cross and then lowered their heads again.

Luca, from the Silver Bird Cafe had made his way through the crowd and stood next to Archie, his hand on the boy’s shoulder. As the car approached, Archie saw that Luca’s eyes had filled with tears and the hand that rested on Archie’s shoulder was trembling.

Archie looked up and saw
Il Camaleonte
slumped in the back of the car between two stiff-backed nuns. For a moment he caught a glimpse of the sunken old eyes and his body felt weak. The old man raised his left hand feebly and waved to the silent people.

Archie swallowed hard. He’d never thought for a moment that he would find out what had happened to Thomas Greswode. He’d never dreamed that he would see him in the flesh, however briefly.

The little boy who Archie had thought was buried beneath the floor of the wobbly chapel had grown up to be one of the bravest men ever. And yet he’d chosen for people not to know who he really was. He’d wanted to work in secret.

Archie copied Luca and made the sign of the cross, shaking his head in wonder. Alfredo had been right. Santa Caterina did have its fair share of heroes for a little place.

Then as the car began to climb the steep hill the bells of the convent rang out joyfully to welcome home
Il Camaleonte
.

Miriam Blomstein had watched the headlights of the car as it made its way up through the winding streets and in through the gates of the convent In a short while she would meet
Il Camaleonte
again. She remembered their first meeting in London, how a quirk of fate had brought them together.

She had been sitting in a misty-windowed cafe just off the Edgware Road trying to eke out a cold cup of tea. It was past midnight when the man had sat down opposite her and said quite simply, “You are looking to escape, Madame?”

She’d been about to jump up and make a run for it but he’d put his hand firmly on her arm and looked into her eyes with such tenderness that she’d known immediately that she could trust him.

He had passed her the following morning’s newspaper, an early copy of
The Times
with her photograph on the front and the headline:
WANTED. JEWEL THIEF
. Then he had turned to another page and shown her the advertisement ’Wanted. Governess to teach ten-year-old girl…’

He had ordered fresh tea and a plate of toast and as she’d eaten hungrily she had listened in disbelief as he had carefully unveiled his plan to her. If she wanted the opportunity to escape the police, who he said were, as they spoke, searching her flat a few streets away, all she had to do was agree to help him. She was to visit a theatrical outfitter, buy a selection of wigs and spectacles, built-up shoes and several outfits. Then when her appearance was sufficiently changed, she must contact a Miss Vera Truscott and apply for the post of governess at Killivray House. In the meantime he would see that she had somewhere safe to stay in London.

The following day, he met her at a discreet distance from the agency and supplied her with forged papers in the name of Clementine Fernaud. She was to take a train from Paddington to Reading and stay overnight in an hotel Then she was to await further instructions. She was to be well paid for a job that could be difficult and dangerous and then she was guaranteed safe passage abroad.

Il Camaleonte
sat hunched in a chair wrapped in a woollen rug but still he shivered. Sister Isabella put a match to the fire and the kindling crackled and sparks were drawn up inside the enormous chimney. Then she sat down opposite him.

“Sizzle,” he said, “it’s so good to see you again. It’s been too many years.”

His voice was barely audible, his breathing spasmodic. She watched him with eyes brimming with tears, leant across and took his hand in her own. His flesh was papery now and the pulse in his wrist feeble.

“I haven’t long left now, Sizzle.”

“Hush, Thomas, with some rest you may get well.”

“Sizzle, you know the truth as well as I db. That’s wishful thinking. I am tired now, it is my time. I’ve spent many months preparing for the end, so many loose ends to tie up. But everything is taken care of…I have left money for the nuns here at Santa Caterina so that you can carry on your good work. My other properties have been left to other worthy causes…”

His body was suddenly racked by a coughing fit and Sister Isabella hastily fetched him a glass of water, holding it to his pale lips.

“Loosen my shirt, Sizzle, I feel as though I am choking.”

She undid his tie and opened his collar and saw the small star-shaped birthmark, the same one that Rosa Gasparini had.

“You are thinking of her? Aren’t you?”

“I am. I often think of your mother.”

“And my father too?”

“Him too.”

“How I miss them both, Sizzle. If I believed in the afterlife I would think that in a short time I will see them both again.”

“But you don’t believe?”

He shook his head.

“Everything has turned out well with our visitors?”

“
Si
, the mother and child have already gone off to Ischia. There were no problems and they are staying with the Gabbatini family. In a few weeks they will be taken to France. Where will they go next?”

“It’s best that I don’t say. No one will be looking for her now that they think she took her own life. Sister Angelica tells me she looks very fetching with the hair dyed black and permed.”

“Oh, quite a transformation!”

“Is Miriam here?” he asked.

Sister Isabella nodded. “Shall I bring her to you?”

Il Camaleonte
looked up as Miriam Blomstein came into the room. She was a striking woman, with dark, lively eyes and a beguiling smile.

“Well done, Miriam, you were wonderful! Now you must drink some wine and tell me all that has happened since we met last in London.”

She stooped and kissed him on both cheeks, sat down opposite him and poured herself a glass of wine.

“While I was at the hotel in Reading I got your instructions and I must say I was relieved not to be playing the role of governess! I’m not really the type at all! Anyhow, on the following day the woman was waiting for me at the railway station. As instructed I helped her to get into her disguise.”

“How was Margot?”

“Extremely anxious but once she was dressed up in the wig and spectacles the transformation was unbelievable! Of course it helped that she was a good actress so she took to the part incredibly well. She even had the French accent down to a fine tee. It must have been good because even her own daughter didn’t recognize her!”

“Go on.”

“Well, then we swapped train tickets and papers. I took the train she was meant to take. And Margot went back to Killivray as Clementine Fernaud.”

“And how was your time with the nuns?”

“Well, luckily they’d never seen Margot Greswode before so they didn’t know they were being tricked. I just had to remain there and act a little deranged until someone made contact.”

“And did that come easily to you?” he said, with a hint of a smile.

Miriam laughed and took a drink of wine. “Of course it nearly all went awry when Jonathan Greswode came back early to Killivray. Margot rang me in an absolute state because he said he was coming to visit St Mary’s to arrange for me to be transferred to an asylum. If he’d turned up and seen me then that would have stopped our pretty plans!”