Fault Line - Retail (20 page)

‘
Scippatori
.’

‘What?’

‘The local name for purse-snatchers on motorbikes. Luisa warned me about them. But she said they were a hazard in Naples, not here.’

‘Looks like they’ve arrived on Capri.’

Vivien let out a deep sigh. I thought it was to cope with the pain from her knee, but when she opened her eyes again she immediately stood up, supporting herself against the wall.

‘You’d better take it easy.’

‘We weren’t a natural target, Jonathan,’ she said, grasping my arm for emphasis. ‘Too young to have enough money for it to be worth their while. All they’ll have got from my bag is cosmetics and a measly few thousand lire. Plus Luisa’s recipe, of course. Don’t you see?
That’s
what they were after. The sample of her handwriting.’

‘You mean …’

‘Strake put them up to it.’

‘He can’t have.’

‘Can’t he? If he did, he won’t be waiting for us on the jetty in Marina Grande, will he? He’ll clear off once they’ve delivered the bag to him. So, let’s go and see if he’s there or not.’

We hurried on down to the port, going as fast as Vivien’s jarred knee would allow. The jetty was busy with the arrivals and departures of ferries. It was impossible to tell from a distance if
Strake
was waiting there. But the conviction that he wasn’t grew within me as we descended. Vivien was right. The
scippatori
hadn’t been opportunistic thieves. They’d been put up to it. They’d stolen to order. Strake had got what he wanted without supplying anything in return.

As I’d feared, he was nowhere to be seen. We made our way along to the far end and stood there, looking back glumly the way we’d come. There was no sign of him. He’d taken us for fools and that’s what I for one felt: an utter fool.

‘He was never going to trade with us, was he?’ Vivien asked, her voice sounding hollow and despairing.

‘No.’ I shook my head and clutched her hand, as much to draw comfort as to give it. ‘He wasn’t.’

‘Do you think he had anything to trade?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Either way, we’ve been conned into doing his dirty work for him.’

‘I know.’

‘What does he want the handwriting sample for?’

‘Nothing good. That’s for sure.’

‘What are we going to do, Jonathan?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose … we should start by reporting the theft to the police.’

‘What’s the point? They won’t catch the thieves. And they certainly won’t catch Strake.’

‘Check the hotels, then? If we could find out where he’s staying …’

‘Who’s to say he’s staying on the island at all? He could just be waiting for us to give up and go away before getting on a boat to the mainland.’

‘It’s still worth a try.’

She turned and looked at me. ‘All right. We’ll try. But we’re not going to find him. You know that, don’t you?’

I suppose I did know it. And a trawl of the hotels and
pensione
of Marina Grande, Capri and Anacapri eventually snuffed out the
slightest
doubt. Gordon Strake wasn’t registered anywhere. Searching for him was pointless. He was artful enough to ensure the search would be in vain.

We sat at a shaded table outside one of the cafés in the centre of Anacapri at the end of our afternoon-long hunt, hunched anxiously over a couple of Peronis. A fretful silence grew heavy between us. Then I said, ‘I’m worried about what Strake plans to do, Vivien.’ It was true. I
was
worried. Our humiliation was one thing. Far worse might be in store for Luisa.

‘Whatever he plans to do,’ said Vivien bleakly, ‘we can’t stop him.’

‘He’s going to use the handwriting sample to prove something. Something … discreditable. This has to be about blackmail, doesn’t it?’

‘Maybe. I don’t know. Like I say, we can’t stop him.’

‘But we can warn Luisa. Or Francis.’

She stared at me, aghast. Warning them clearly hadn’t crossed her mind. ‘For God’s sake, Jonathan. We’d have to explain how we know about Strake. And how he obtained the sample. That’d be as good as saying we’re his accomplices.’

‘The only way to prove we aren’t is to tell them now, before Strake makes his move.’

She went on staring at me, baffled, I sensed, by my naivety. ‘We can’t do that. They’d be horrified. They’d accuse us of betraying them.’

‘And haven’t we betrayed them?’

‘Not intentionally. Strake tricked us.’

‘Yes. That’s right. He put one over on us. Which you said he wasn’t going to be able to do under any circumstances.’ Vivien’s stare hardened and I instantly regretted my words. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—’

‘Yes, you did. You meant it. So you think I’m to blame for this mess, do you?’

‘No. Of course not.’

‘It wouldn’t have been any different if you’d gone to meet him without me. He’d have found some way to outwit you too.’

‘I’m sure he would.’ But part of me wasn’t sure. Part of me
did
blame her.

She stood up abruptly, wincing as her knee twinged. Intimacy, I suddenly realized, was a tender thing, slow and hard to gain, quick and easy to lose. ‘I’ll get a taxi back to the villa,’ she said, anger tightening her voice. ‘I’ll see you there later.’

I rose and moved round the table towards her. She backed away, forbidding me to touch her. ‘Vivien?’

‘I need to think about what’s happened, Jonathan. I need some space. OK? Just … leave it for now, will you?’

She turned and hurried away, down the broad steps from the café to the piazza, where there were taxis to be had. I sat slowly down, feeling utterly miserable, torn between a wish to please Vivien in any way I could and a sick certainty that I’d regret it if I failed to alert Francis to whatever it was we’d set in motion.

A minute later, I’d decided I mustn’t let Vivien go without trying to persuade her to see things as I did. We surely only needed to talk it through to find a way forward – together. I left a note to cover the bill and ran down to the piazza.

But Vivien was gone.

SEVENTEEN

WHEN I GOT
back to the Villa Orchis an hour or so later, I found Vivien sitting on the balcony outside our rooms. She looked pensive and drawn, but she jumped up, smiling, as soon as she saw me. The kiss she gave me and the hug that followed suggested all might be well and I soon realized that to her mind it easily could.

‘We mustn’t fall out over this, Jonathan,’ she said, enveloping me in the drowning gaze of her wide blue eyes. ‘Strake’s made idiots of us, I know, and it’s sickening, but I don’t want to lose you because of it.’

‘Same here.’

‘It’s to your credit that you want to warn Francis and Luisa that Strake’s up to something, but ask yourself what good it would do. He has the handwriting sample and we don’t know where he is. There’s nothing they could do except worry, assuming they have cause to.’

‘So, you think we should leave them in the dark?’

‘Well, it’s what we intended to do, isn’t it? It’s what we would have done if Strake had honoured our deal.’

‘Only because he promised to tell us what Francis was trying to stop Oliver discovering. But we no longer have any reason to believe Strake was working for Francis. In fact, I’m sure he wasn’t. He’s been stringing us along, using us to get what he wants.’

‘I know. But what’s done is done. We have to think of ourselves.’

There it was: a ruthless side to her character I didn’t want to believe existed. ‘Vivien …’

‘Listen. We’ll go out all day tomorrow. We’ll take a trip to the mainland. We’ve talked about visiting Pompeii. Well, let’s go. When we get back, I’ll tell Luisa the recipe she gave me has vanished from my room. I won’t make a big thing of it, but it’ll put us in the clear if Strake lets them know he has it. You see? That way, we can’t be implicated. You do see, don’t you?’

Oh, I saw. I saw very clearly.

‘I’ll never hear the end of this if Mother or Greville find out what we’ve done, Jonathan. They’ll insist I see that wretched psychiatrist again. They’ll probably ask Girton to keep a closer eye on me. What they won’t do is understand. Only you can do that, my love.’

And so, inevitably, I assured her I did.

But later, in a sleepless stretch of the night, my understanding changed to guilt. Strake’s only consistent trait was to lie. By his own admission, he’d lied to me about Oliver hiring him. It followed that he’d lied to me again about Francis. Either he’d been working for someone else or for himself all along. The probability was that we’d given him the means to profit from some piece of dirt he’d dug up about Luisa. And now, if Vivien had her way, we were going to pretend we hadn’t.

But I’d grown fond of our hosts. I’d accepted their hospitality and returned it by aiding and abetting a burglar who was surely about to become a blackmailer – or worse. It was too much to bear. To my surprise and dismay, I realized my conscience simply wouldn’t let me do it.

It wasn’t until we were standing on the jetty at Marina Grande the following morning that I finally nerved myself to tell Vivien what I’d decided to do. Passengers were already boarding the ferry for the short run to Sorrento, from where we could take the Circumvesuviana train to Pompeii. It would have been easier and maybe, I couldn’t help reflecting, wiser, to hold Vivien’s hand
and
follow them on, to enjoy the crossing, to revel in her company. But I wasn’t going to take that course.

‘I’m not going,’ I blurted out.

‘What?’ Vivien frowned at me, as if she’d thought she’d misheard. She probably hoped she had.

‘I have to warn Francis about Strake.’ I steeled myself to meet her gaze. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to.’

‘We talked this through yesterday.’ She seemed genuinely bemused. ‘I don’t understand. You know what’s at stake.’

‘I’ll tell Francis I bamboozled you into getting me a sample of Luisa’s handwriting but that you had – still have – no idea what I wanted it for. You’ll be in the clear, Vivien. I’ll take the blame.’

‘He won’t believe you.’

‘I’ll make sure he does. I can be very convincing.’

‘You certainly convinced me you agreed it was best to say nothing.’ She was angry with me, as I’d known she would be. I dearly wanted her not to be. But I couldn’t do what it would take to appease her: I just couldn’t. ‘It didn’t seem as if you had any regrets last night. You remember last night, don’t you, Jonathan?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘I didn’t get the feeling then that anything was preying on your mind, except me.’

‘I’m sorry, Vivien. I’m going to have to do this. You go to Pompeii. I’ll handle Francis. I’ll take the flack. It’ll be all right.’

‘No, it won’t. He’ll see through your story. He’ll know I was party to the deal with Strake. It’ll all come out. It’s bound to.’

‘It doesn’t have to. Trust me.’ But she wasn’t going to trust me. I knew that.

The ferry sounded its hooter. It was about to leave. The last remaining passengers were hurrying up the gangway. ‘Are you coming with me?’ There was finality as well as urgency in Vivien’s question.

‘No.’

‘Don’t, then.’ She turned and ran on to the gangway just as the crew were preparing to pull it in. She was the last to board. The engine rumbled. The water churned. The gangway was slid on to the deck and the aft rail closed. The ferry started to head out
into
the harbour. Vivien glanced back at me, her eyes red, her face crumpled. I felt suddenly desolate, overwhelmed by an awareness of everything I was putting at risk. Then she turned and vanished into the cabin. And I was alone.

There was another ferry to Sorrento in an hour. I must have spent half of that time pacing the jetty at Marina Grande, wondering if I should go after Vivien. I might catch her at the station in Sorrento, or find her somewhere amongst the ruins at Pompeii. Then we could be reconciled. Then we could be happy again.

How would I feel later, though, when we returned to Capri and the Villa Orchis? The knowledge that we’d betrayed Francis and Luisa would gnaw at me as the loss of Vivien gnawed at me now. But if I could persuade Francis that Vivien wasn’t to blame and then make her believe I’d persuaded him … I had to try. I had to see if I could make it work.

I found Francis in the garden, quietly pruning roses, a common mid-morning pursuit of his. The Alfa Romeo was nowhere to be seen, suggesting Paolo had driven Luisa off somewhere, leaving Francis on his own. He was understandably surprised to see me, especially since Vivien wasn’t with me. ‘I thought you were gone for the day, my boy.’

‘I persuaded Vivien to go without me. I need to talk to you, Francis. Alone.’

He frowned. ‘This sounds serious.’

‘It is.’

He weighed me up for a moment, then said, ‘We’d better go indoors.’

He abandoned his gloves and secateurs and led the way across the lawn to his study, where he waved me towards an armchair. But I stayed where I was. Sitting down for what I had to say just didn’t seem right.

‘Well?’ He smiled benignly. ‘You and Vivien are, er, taking appropriate precautions, I assume. If it’s advice on where to buy some johnnies, I—’

‘It’s nothing like that.’

‘Ah. Sorry. Jumping to conclusions. Bad habit.’

‘It’s about you and Luisa.’

‘Really?’ His smile faded. ‘Are you sure … whatever’s on your mind … is really any of your business?’ Perhaps he thought I was going to tell him what he clearly already knew about Luisa’s relationship with Paolo.

‘What I have to say involves … Gordon Strake.’

‘
Strake?
’

‘I’m afraid so. Someone really did try to break into the villa recently. It was Strake.’

‘What nonsense is this? How can he have?’

‘If you’ll hear me out, I’ll explain.’

Francis beetled his brow at me ominously, then grunted in reluctant agreement. ‘Very well. Let’s have it.’

There was no way round it now. I’d cut off my own retreat. Francis had to be told. And so I told him. The account I gave wasn’t the whole truth, of course. I claimed Strake had promised me the identity and motives of the person who’d hired him to follow Oliver, omitting to mention that Strake had accused Francis of being that person. I also claimed Vivien had had no idea why I wanted the sample of Luisa’s handwriting and that a pickpocket at the Bar Due Mare rather than
scippatori
on the road to Marina Grande had stolen it from me. But I left him in no doubt that Strake was planning some sort of move against him through Luisa and that I’d been duped into supplying him with the material he needed.