The Lamplighters (8 page)

He felt his heartbeat quicken as he crept up the incline, stealing closer to the source of the movement. Here, the rock face folded in on itself forming a deep fissure as large as the prow of the
Sentry Maiden
, and just as black as her hull. Had his eyes tricked him, mistaking the great dark shape for that of an intruder? He took a few steps nearer the maw-like mouth in the wall, phasing out the distant crashing of waves and listening intently for a sound that might betray the interloper. But he was the interloper here. Anders felt it just as surely as the nervous breath that hissed from his lips, just as acutely as the chill that kissed the back of his neck. It was a mistake to come down here all alone, following ghosts and shadows. It was a mistake to be out of radio contact, facing a dark impenetrable black crevice with the tide at his back desperate to sweep him off his feet and beneath.

Anders, the interloper, clutched the flashlight like a weapon and turned. His terror-filled eyes gaped wide as a child’s, imagining dark things and their violent greetings.

He saw only the sky, midnight blue, and the vague froth of white waves and laughed in relief. Nothing there except his paranoia. Time to declare the area secure and move to higher ground where he could no longer do such a good job of scaring himself silly.

He was about to begin his ascent when he felt great hands bear down on him, then lift him from his feet. The world tilted, spiraled. His fingers lost the flashlight, clawing desperately for his belt, his radio. Everything turned to white noise as Anders felt his face slam into the wall of rocks. He tried to cry out as this huge
something
broke his mouth over the jagged stones and put out his eyes.

And when pain finally found his voice, the sea swallowed his cries.

Dawn and the fresh perspective of a new day left Marla a little embarrassed about the night before. Jessie had spared her the humiliation of morning small talk by leaving the summerhouse before Marla had awoken. Not only that, but she’d left a fresh pot of coffee on the simmer and a breakfast of eggs and ham in the kitchen for her.

Marla ate a little, memories of throwing up still swirling in her gut. But the food and coffee put the color back into her cheeks and gave the acidity in her stomach something to chew on. She gazed out the window, sipping from a glass of cool water. Sunlight flickered through the trees where last night she’d seen those eyes looking at her. She chuckled to herself as she washed her cup and plate.
Damned mojitos
.

She made her way over to the main house, looking for Jessie so she could say her goodbyes and go do her chores. As she called Jessie’s name, birds and insects seemed to chirrup back at her jokingly. The house was empty, as was the pool. Maybe Jessie had gone for a stroll—Marla made a mental note to do the very same after her work was done.

The power shower was a novelty that was never going to wear off for Marla. The steaming blast of hot water and suds almost had her hangover begging for mercy. Feeling considerably brighter, Marla threw on some clothes and walked across to the house. There, she scrubbed and cleaned the bathrooms, watered the plants and tidied up the patio outside the kitchen. Her exertions felt good and it had been too long since she’d indulged in the simple labor of household duties. Any kind of cleaning at her bed-sit had felt like a betrayal to what was left of her self-worth, especially with the rent that witch the landlady had been charging. This was different though—an honest day’s work.

Afternoon had set in by the time she felt she’d done enough to deserve a swim and Marla donned her bikini and slid into the pool. The water was warm and welcoming on her skin and she spent a blissful hour swimming, splashing and floating in its depths. Relaxing on a sun lounger for a while, Marla realized there was only one thing missing from her perfect day—a book. She cursed herself for not packing one. Reading by the pool in the glorious sunshine would be the icing on the cake she decided and, pulling her clothes on, headed inside the house to find something to read.

“This is fucking crazy,” she said out loud to herself as she ducked under the bed to continue her search.

No books, magazines, in fact
nothing
to read in the entire house. Even the cleaning products had no labels—if they had, she’d make do with reading one of those at this point. Frustrated by her fruitless search Marla scanned the children’s bedrooms once again, fantasizing that a well-thumbed copy of
Doctor Seuss
or
The Little Prince
would peek out from an open drawer. No such luck—finding nothing, Marla conceded defeat and walked heavily back downstairs. Filling a plastic bottle with water from the kitchen faucet, she stepped outside into the afternoon sun.

Walking through the garden and onto the path leading away from the house, Marla suddenly felt a chill on the nape of her neck, like a shadow had kissed her. She turned and looked back at the house, scanning the treeline beyond. There was nothing there, no phantom stranger. She shrugged off the chill, which had now spread throughout her body and walked on down the path. As she blinked the sunlight made a red void behind her eyelids, and the memory of those dark empty eyes returned to her.

Chapter Thirteen

Marla was panting by the time she reached the top of the hill. Her walk had taken her to higher ground, and air fresher than any she had ever breathed before. The trees had thinned out long ago, leaving her atop a gorgeous expanse of scrubland at the edge of the island. Pausing for breath, she saw a white building about a quarter of a mile away, its windows looking out to sea. She took a drink of already tepid water from the plastic bottle and began plodding down the sandy track towards the building.

As she drew closer to it, she saw that the building was a mansion house, constructed in the same luxurious style as the one she’d been assigned to take care of. Nearing the gate, she squinted up at the glimmering glass and white stucco through narrowed eyes. This house was much larger than “hers”—whoever the hell owned this place, they were a damn sight wealthier than she’d ever be, that was for sure.

Marla paused at the gate, feeling all of a sudden like an intruder on someone else’s property.
By definition that’s exactly what I am
, she was she thought—
an intruder
. Avoiding the gate, she opted instead to follow the perimeter white picket fence round back and take a peek at the garden. Verdant grass and simple hardy planting made the space look more like a bowling green than a garden. The lawn had been extremely well-tended, and was currently being nourished by the gentle rhythmic drizzle from dozens of sprinklers. Marla kicked off her shoes instinctively. Her hot feet demanded this pleasure of her, and carried the rest of her body forward before her brain could resist. The wet grass beneath her feet was actual heaven, and she padded across the grass with a saintly look on her face, laughing as the sprinklers suddenly spurted a cool cloud of summer rain on her face. Lost in the droplets, she spun and laughed and danced between the jets.

“Who the hell are you?”

The voice was male, hard and just a little Latin-sounding. Marla stood still and opened her eyes, suddenly feeling like a complete idiot.
Dancing in the sprinklers. In someone else’s garden. Idiot.

“I’m Marla,” she replied. “The new girl.”

“Ah, the new girl. I should have known. I’m Pietro.”

Marla reached out and shook the hand that he’d offered. His grip was firm but his skin was very soft, almost feminine. Only premium cleaning products could soften a guy’s skin like this—that, and never working an honest day in a lifetime.
This guy has to be a Lamplighter,
thought Marla, trying and failing to remember what Jessie had said about Pietro. She looked up from his hand to his face. Dark hazel eyes peered back at her from within the frame of his olive skinned face.

“Let me fix you a drink,” he said as he turned and headed for the house.

Here we go again
, she thought as she followed him.

Still giddy from her dance, Marla’s eyes wandered. Whoever this guy was, his ass was as pretty as his face.

The drink turned out to be a smoothie. An evil voice in the back of Marla’s head seemed to be crying out for an alcoholic hair of the dog. It would certainly help take the edge off her embarrassment at being found dancing in the garden. Marla managed to ignore the evil voice, instead watching Pietro intently as he chopped bananas and juicy berries and transferred them to a blender. Marla watched as he added a little cream and a handful of ice and hit the button. The blades whizzed loudly and made little purple and yellow waves on the inside of the clear plastic jug. Pietro then poured the concoction over some more ice into a tall glass, added a straw from the cupboard and placed it triumphantly on the work surface.

Flavors exploded on Marla’s parched tongue and she felt her shoulders relax instantly. She beamed at Pietro with the straw still between her teeth. 

“You like?”

“I like,” she replied. “Better than chocolate. You’ve mixed those before.”

“I was a bartender back home for a while. Then I opened a little smoothie bar, but the local gangsters didn’t like me doing business on their patch.”

“Where’s home?”

“Sicily. Palermo. You’ve been there?”

Marla winced as she remembered her ex, Carlo, and his attempts to lure her away on a dirty weekend to Rome. She’d tried to convince him to spend the money on taking her out to a good restaurant in London for once. He’d gone to Rome without her.

“No. I’ve never been to Italy.”

“A shame. Palermo is beautiful, full of art and history. And you can swim in the sea there. I used to, almost every day.”

“You sound homesick. How long have you been out here?”

“A little over nine months. Can’t swim in the sea here. It pisses me off.”

“But you have the pool, right?”

“Not the same, not even close. The sea is alive, a pool is just dead. Dead water.”

“I’ve never, erm, thought of it like that myself.”

Pietro scowled, gulped down what was left of the smoothie straight from the jug, and began methodically scrubbing it clean at the sink.

Marla decided to break the cool silence that had crept into the kitchen. “Still, it’s a bloody lovely island, you have to admit.”

He laughed. “Bloody lovely? Whatever you say
bella ragazza
.”

“You’re making fun of me now.”

“I just don’t see the point in being in a paradise if you can’t even swim in the fucking sea, that’s all. Then it’s like a prison. You and I can be here, in a stranger’s kitchen. I can make you a smoothie. But the instant I ask you to the beach for a swim, for a party, Fowler and his
fascistas
will be there with the handcuffs ready.”

“Sounds kind of kinky.”

Pietro snorted. She could see real anger bubbling beneath his indignation now. He was tightly wound, this one. Maybe the island life was not for him.

“Now you are the one making fun.”

She enjoyed the way he spoke, though.
Bloddy lovvly.
He had a softer voice than Carlo’s had been, but the strange clumsiness of his English was very similar. Hell, was she really going to compare the poor guy to her ex-boyfriend all afternoon? Marla chuckled as she realized that was exactly what she’d be doing.

“No need to be so grumpy, I wasn’t poking fun, honestly.”

She beamed at him. Pietro tried his best to maintain his scowl. Eventually, the corners of his mouth cracked into a smile and they laughed out loud together. 

Spontaneous laughter between two strangers can be a dangerous thing
, thought Marla. In this case, it had led to Pietro inviting Marla to join him on the veranda. There, he had bewitched her with those hazel eyes of his and within minutes her Birkenstocks had been cast aside wantonly. And here she was, lying like a tart as he gave her the most incredible foot massage she’d ever experienced. In fact, it was the
only
foot massage she’d ever experienced. She giggled as his fingers skated the sensitive arch of her right foot, tickling her. Her giggle became an uncontrollable moan of pleasure as he applied pressure just beneath the ball of her foot. As his fingers and thumbs worked their magic, she relaxed into the springy cradle of the sun lounger.

Pietro had filled Marla in on the last few months of his life, The Consortium’s job offer giving him the catalyst he needed to throw caution to the wind and do something different for a while. The monotony of tending bar night after night, followed by the bitter failure of his own business venture had made coming to island impossible to resist. Marla detected a weariness similar to Jessie’s when he spoke after that however. Pietro was clearly bored as hell out here with hardly anyone to speak to, surrounded by an ocean he was forbidden from swimming in. His mood was too heavy and her small talk wasn’t enough to lift it. Their faltering conversation had switched to her reasons for coming to the island, and about her aspirations, her dreams. She’d avoided going into too much detail, but as she spoke, Marla had realized just how much she needed to be on this island right now.

The afternoon sun flared across the azure sky and she closed her eyes tightly for a moment, imagining herself on some endless vacation on this sun-trap island with her personal masseuse-stroke-lover literally on hand to pleasure her whenever she so desired.

“You have very good hands for a barman.”

The sigh that crept from her lips like dry ice made Pietro smile with pride at a job well done. His hands went to work on Marla’s left foot.

“I took classes. There are two things most people want in this world. One is a well-mixed drink. The other, a fucking good massage.”

Marla laughed dirtily, her own sound embarrassing her a little. Her calf muscles stiffened, their movement giving Pietro a clear signal to stop what he was doing. His fingertips felt and delivered the message and he gently ended the massage with two spiraling motions of his thumbs. Sitting erect, Marla raised her hands up to the sky yawning and stretching like a cat. The sun was dipping now, in a couple of hours it would be bedding down behind the treeline.