Claire Gulliver #03 - Intrigue in Italics Read online

  Claire thought about that for only a moment before shaking her head. “I can’t. I can’t just let you go without knowing you’re safe.”

  “Claire, don’t be silly. You need to make sure you’re safe. Besides, what can you do?” Her gentle smile took the sting out of those words.

  She shook her head stubbornly. “I don’t know but I’ll do my best. You know... the two heads bit. And two pairs of eyes watching. And don’t forget if I hadn’t found you yesterday, you would have been just one more casualty in Florence.”

  “Claire, they’ve identified me. They know where I am. They know I have red hair. They’re looking for me and apparently they don’t care who gets in the way.”

  Claire stared at Kristen a moment. “That’s it! Kristen, they think you have red hair! They don’t know. We have an advantage right now.” Claire brightened at the thought.

  She carefully studied her friend. Kristen’s spiked brown hair was growing on her. Actually with Kristen’s fine bone structure the style somehow made her look more feminine rather than butch. She certainly didn’t resemble the red-haired woman Claire had followed yesterday. For that matter, she looked entirely different than the blonde, freckled face student who had worked in San Francisco. She wasn’t even sure she would have recognized Kristen in Florence if she saw her like this.

  “Where should we go?”

  Kristen shrugged. “Don’t know. Let’s get on a bus and see where we end up.”

  Claire nodded, glad Kristen had accepted that she was going with her. “Let’s go.”

  The creaky bus lurched along the hilly roads, stopping frequently to accommodate passengers. Claire was fascinated by the people getting on and off — family groups with assorted members, people going to and coming from shopping burdened with assorted bundles and bags, school kids with heavy backpacks, even on Saturday, and business people with newspapers and briefcases. This was obviously a well traveled route for the natives.

  The bus’s destination was Pisa, and when they arrived, they wandered around long enough to see the famous Leaning Tower, which really did lean at an impossible angle. Not far from the Tower they got on another bus. They took this bus only as far as the train station where Kristen approached a window for tickets.

  “Where are we going?”

  Kristen indicated a train resting on one of the tracks. “Genoa. There’s our train. We’re in third class.” She pointed at the car in front of them. “Choose a seat.”

  The railroad car looked similar to the BART trains she had ridden in San Francisco. She sat down on the molded plastic seat and held her backpack on her lap. When the train started moving the gentle sway of the car rocked Claire to sleep in spite of her anxiety, or perhaps because of it.

  “Claire, Claire, wake up. We’re getting off here.”

  Claire, groggy with interrupted sleep, struggled out of her seat and lurched after Kristen, surprised to find they had arrived at Genoa so soon. But when she really opened her eyes on the station platform she saw the signs reading La Spezia and was really confused.

  She grabbed Kristen’s arm. “I thought we were going to Genoa.”

  Kristen kept moving purposely forward, saying over her shoulder, “I changed my mind. I was looking at your tour book and realized we could get to the Cinque Terre from here. Why not? It’s off the beaten track. It should be jammed with day-trippers coming to walk the cliff trails, and it’s so tiny we’ll see anyone who doesn’t belong. It sounds like a good place to hole up until I make contact again. What do you think?”

  Claire’s brain was starting to function again, and she could see the sense in Kristen’s logic. And of course she had heard of the Cinque Terre. It was a quite well known off-the-beaten-track destination. She followed Kristen past several tracks to a little old fashion type train setting there as if it was waiting for them.

  This train clacked and clicked along a track that wound through tunnels and then hung over fabulous seascapes. They rattled through several villages, but when they emerged out of one tunnel to stop on a small platform before entering the next tunnel, Kristen got up and nodded to Claire to follow her. They stood on the platform until after the train disappeared into the far tunnel, then looked around them. The train platform dissected the little village. The road went under the platform. Up the hill colorful buildings were stacked tightly until they reached a highway at the top of the village. At least that’s what Claire’s guidebook said. The road going down twined through the village with structures on top of structures, crowded closely, most with laundry hanging out of windows flapping in the sun, until it ended abruptly in the piazza at the water’s edge. There they could see fishing boats, bottoms up, resting for their next venture into the sea, umbrellas and tables clustered around some restaurants and some local boys noisily playing soccer amongst it all. Their shouts and cries carried up the hill and were easily heard on the platform now that the train had gone.

  Vernazza was a postcard perfect village, really just a cluster of colorful buildings perched on the cliffs over the sea. It looked more like a movie set than a real place but the villagers were moving about in pursuit of their business and the tourists were evident.

  “The book recommends a couple of the pensions up the hill, if you want to try there first?”

  Claire nodded. Kristen had been pouring over the book so she was the expert here. They made their way down the stairs and then under the platform. From here they could see the road curling steeply up to the left while on the right a series of steps led high up the hill, threading behind homes and climbing further yet.

  “My god, how do you suppose they carry their groceries up there?” Claire commented.

  “That’s probably why they shop everyday. Then they only have a few things. Or maybe there is another way up there, some road or alley coming down from the highway across the crest of the hills.”

  “Wouldn’t it be heaven to live in a place like this? Do you suppose they forget to notice how beautiful it is?” Claire exclaimed.

  Kristen shook her head, concentrating on a handwritten sign in Italian posted on the side of a building. She looked up to her right at the little zigzagging path snaking up the hill. “This sign is advertising a room and bath in a private home up there.” She pointed up. “What do say we check it out instead of one of the pensions?”

  Claire nodded, then followed Kristen up the steep path, turning in behind some of the buildings until they arrived at a building set high on the hill, the tiny front yard enclosed from the path by a short hedge which protected the recessed doorway.

  The landlady, a middle-aged woman wrapped in an all encompassing apron was friendly, apparently pleased at the thought of rent money. She stood back gesturing them to come in.

  “Claire, come on. Let’s look at the room.”

  Claire crowded in the foyer behind Kristen. The large kitchen stretched across the right hand side of the house and a wizened old lady, clad completely in black sat at the table, hands clenched around the cup before her. Her eyes were bright and shrewd as she examined Claire and Kristen. Nothing would escape her scrutiny, Claire thought. But they must have passed her inspection as they moved to the stairway, because she returned Claire’s smile with a nod.

  The room was tucked in the top of the building, up four flights of stairs. The landlady bustled cheerfully to the window, showing no signs of heavy breathing from climbing the stairs, and opened it wide to let in the sun and the breeze. The white stucco room was large and airy. The huge bed covered with a down comforter looked like a comfy nest. Claire had to restrain herself, she wanted to fling herself on that bed and forget everything that had happened in the last two days.

  The bathroom was tiny, hardly bigger than a closet, but clean. The toilet shared the shower space and, unlike the hotel in Florence, had a shower curtain to protect the rest of the bathroom from the spray.

  Claire nodded her agreement to the question in Kristen’s eyes and went to the window to look out over the village whil
e Kristen paid for the room and handed over their passports.

  “I’m going to wash out my dirty laundry, then close my eyes a minute before going out again. Okay?”

  Kristen nodded. She had already sunk down on the bed, claiming the side by the door as her own.

  “I need to make contact as soon as possible...” and she was asleep.

  Claire quietly did her wash, hung it out the window as everyone else in the village seemed to do and then lay down herself. The quiet and fresh air worked their magic and she, too, fell into a sound sleep.

  * * *

  Every meal at the Villa had been wonderful but tonight was special. First the appetizers, Group B had provided a selection of roasted cozze (mussels) in garlic and cream, bruschetta, toasted rounds of bread heaped with fresh mozzarella and topped with chopped tomatoes and basil in olive oil flavored with garlic and the final selection was zucchini flowers stuffed with sausage.

  “Taste the wine,” Ruth urged Millie. “I picked this one.”

  Millie rolled it around on her tongue. It was a Pinot Grigio. The flavor blended with the appetizers. As a matter of fact everything was so tasty she had to restrain herself so she’d have room for the main course. And of course, she knew what was coming for dessert. Thank god, Chef Martin had announced they would forgo the pasta course tonight to ensure everyone could adequately enjoy the contributions from each of the groups.

  “Save room for the main course,” Steven admonished from across the table.

  “So, Steven, what’s on the menu?” Randy leaned around Zoe who was sitting between him and Steven.

  “You’ll see. But it’s good. Trust me on that. Right, Zoe?”

  Zoe nodded, looking pleased, but didn’t elaborate.

  “Coniglio Arrosto Morto, rabbit cooked in wine and stock,” Antonio, sitting on the other side of Randy, announced with a flourish. “And...” he nodded to Sam down the table further.

  Sam slowly rose to his feet and said in a surprisingly loud voice, “Bracioline Affocate, Drowned Veal Escalopes, and...” he gestured to Helga at the other end of the long table.

  “Pesce Spada Con Patate,” she said perfectly then, struggling with the English words, “Baked swordfish with Potatoes.”

  The rest of them applauded her efforts. Then Antonio finished it off. “And these are served with Passato Di Fagioli, Bean Puree, Beitole Con Pinoli, Swiss chard with Pine nuts and Pomodori Fritti, Fried Green Tomatoes. We hope you enjoy.”

  The wait staff came out of the kitchen with the laden plates, and more bottles of wine were produced. Millie could see this meal was going to go on forever.

  “Save room for dessert,” she warned Ruth, “You’ll be sorry if you don’t.”

  Ruth nodded; she was really enjoying this Retreat.

  Millie tasted everything very carefully, trying to detect every spice in each dish. After dinner they would all get copies of the recipes used for all the dishes, but only after having the detailed discussion and critique of the meal. She had already discovered that many Tuscan dishes were deceptively simple, relying on freshness and quality to produce wonderful flavors.

  “These are very good, especially the veal. But our group can beat this,” George said from the other side of Ruth.

  Ruth drew back, taking exception to his statement. “Well George, you haven’t tried Group B’s main course yet. I think you’ll be hard pressed to surpass us. Those appetizers were only an indication of the talent we have in our group.”

  “Huh oh, I think I may have thrown down the gauntlet. Millie, what do you think?”

  “I think Group C is undoubtedly the best here. I’m sure by the time we leave, Ruth will agree with me, reluctantly perhaps, but she will be truthful. Won’t you, Ruth?”

  Ruth shook her head. “You wish.” She took another bite of the veal. “This is really good. And the rabbit! I never cook rabbit and now I wonder why. I think I like it better than chicken. What do you think?”

  “Don’t eat too much or you’ll be sorry,” she warned her friend again.

  “Nag, nag, nag...” Ruth laughed. “Don’t worry; I’ll have plenty of room for your dessert.”

  George winked at Millie and turned to LiAnn on his other side.

  Finally it was time for dessert. Millie was excited as she expected the other members of the group were. They had decided to have three of their five sets of deserts placed on the table for people to admire. And the Villa staff would plate the other two. As they were serving three deserts to everyone, the small servings of each would mean two sets would be more than enough.

  Millie looked critically at the plate set in front of her. The serving staff did a good job of making each dessert attractive with the others on the plate. They poured a light, sweet Moscato d’Oro wine which complimented the desserts perfectly. She watched with satisfaction as the diners tasted the desserts.

  “Oh, this custard is wonderful.”

  “It’s Chef Martin’s ricotta, but it’s different. Taste it.”

  “How did you get the layers in the custard? I love this,” Ruth asked her. But Millie shook her head, refusing to answer.

  Millie eyed the custard. It was inverted just before serving so the caramelized sugar, which had liquefied in baking, puddled around the rich chocolate custard resting on the hazel nut crust. She tentatively tried a bite. She sighed with pleasure finding it tasted as good as it looked.

  When everyone was positive they could eat no more the tables were cleared and coffee was served while Chef Martin led a lively discussion of the dishes served. Everyone had an opinion, a comment or a suggestion, some more than others. LiAnn was very outspoken in her comments, but Millie had to agree she made some very good points. Frederick and Helga both contributed even withstanding the language barrier. Steven, too, had a lot to say. Of course in his business you’d expect he would. But they all agreed they had produced a fine meal. Chef Martin congratulated them and led them in a round of applause.

  “Now remember, tomorrow is pasta day. Chef Geno will be joining us with some of his best offerings. And tonight there will be jazz music in the main salon.”

  The group dispersed, many adjourning to the Main Salon.

  “Did you get a message?” Ruth asked when Millie joined her at the table off to the side of the room.

  Millie nodded. “I didn’t talk to her, just another message. But at least I know she’s safe.

  “She went to Sienna. Says it’s lovely and the Duomo has the most exquisite marble floor. She said she would call again but didn’t expect to reach me.”

  Millie was relieved. Just then the cocktail waitress came by, so Ruth ordered another Gin and Tonic while Millie ordered a mineral water with lime.

  The Main Salon was situated between the lobby and the bar. It was fairly full as not only the members of the cooking retreat were here but other guests staying at the Villa and even some people who had come for dinner were staying for the music. For a while they just sat there enjoying the music and watching the people. But when the jazz combo took a break Ruth announced she was joining some of their classmates to continue their poker game.

  “Got to pay for the trip, you know.” She winked at Millie as she left.

  “Just be quiet when you do come to bed, I need my beauty sleep,” Millie retorted, content to sit for a while longer and finish her mineral water.

  “Can I buy you another of those?” Chef Martin asked as he pulled out a chair. “What is it?”

  “Mineral water and no, thanks, this will do me.”

  He made a face. “You’re drinking mineral water in the middle of wine country?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve had my share of wine. I’m not used to having a different wine with every course and, by the time we finished dinner, I was feeling it.”

  He chuckled. “So was everyone.” He looked up and smiled as the waiter put down his drink, then turned back to Millie. “Looks like you’re one of the few left. Are you a jazz buff?”

  She nodded. “Kind o
f. Not an expert, I just enjoy it when I get the chance. And I won’t be here for long. It’s already past my bedtime, but I just can’t get up the energy to move.”

  He laughed, and then he looked at her carefully. “I just can’t believe you had the strength to knock me over yesterday. I truly appreciate it. I think that only you and I know how close I came to having a terrible accident.” His voice was low and steady, conveying his appreciation.

  Millie felt the heat as the blood rose to her cheeks. “Really, Chef Martin, it was nothing. Wait, I don’t mean that it was nothing, just that anyone would have done the same thing if they had been where I was and had seen what I saw.”

  He looked at her solemnly and then shook his head. “No, no I believe you are mistaken. There were many people there and no one saw it but you. And, even if they saw what was happening, not everyone would have had the courage or the foresight to act as quickly or as effectively as you did. I am truly very grateful to you.” He smiled and she felt her toes curl. “And when we are not in class, please call me Jean.”

  She nodded happily. Then changing the conversation to a more pleasant subject she inquired about his pending trip to the Culinary Olympics.

  CHAPTER 8

  Millie and Ruth shared a breakfast table with George and Jacques. They were all a little subdued this morning.

  “Too much rich food and wine,” Millie suggested.

  “Not for me. It was that poker game, which didn’t end until the wee hours,” Ruth retorted.

  Jacques nodded in agreement, but truthfully he was the only one who looked bright-eyed this morning.

  Millie considered him, thinking sourly that youth will win out. “Did you win?” She asked Ruth, knowing how much she loved to win at cards.

  “Not much. No, my friend, there is the winner.” She nodded her head at Jacques. “That sweet innocent face, his shy grin, and we all fall for his bluffs. Well, no more! You’ll see at the next game, my friend. We’re all on to you now.”