Читать книгу What Happens In Cornwall... - T A Williams - Страница 18

Chapter 8

‘Shit! I’ve done it again.’

‘For God’s sake, boy, the gear lever’s on the other side. Use your left hand. If you keep bashing your right hand against the door, you’ll damage it. And slow down, will you?’

‘Stupid damn country. Can’t even drive on the right side of the ro…’

‘Go left, go left! It’s a roundabout. Left!’ Beppe’s scream of terror was deafening. He dug his fingernails into the top of the dashboard as his whole life and an irate Ford Transit passed before his eyes. Miraculously, Giancarlo managed to swerve back into the right direction, and total annihilation was avoided. Beppe sat back, ran his fingers through his hair and reflected upon the fact that the final image to flash before him had not been of his wife or any of his children. It had been of Schnitzel, his old dachshund. Not for the first time he thanked his lucky stars that he did not have a psychoanalyst. What a shrink would have made of that did not bear thinking about.

‘Just stay on the left side of the fucking road, will you?’

‘If you think you can do it better, you’re welcome to drive.’ Giancarlo’s voice was tremulous. He had frightened himself that time. ‘It’s crazy. And they’re in the bloody EU as well. They should be forced to change over.’

Beppe made no reply. He reached into his shoulder bag and pulled out one of the bottles he had bought at the airport. He tipped a large measure of grappa down his throat and felt life begin to return to normal. He replaced the bottle and took out a map.

‘Once we get onto the motorway, we head west. We go past Plymouth, over the bridge into Cornwall and then Tregossick should be signposted a few kilometres beyond.’

‘Tregossick? I thought we were going to an island.’

‘The island’s private property. That’s where our targets are. We’re staying on the mainland in a little town called Tregossick. It’s the nearest I could find to Rock Island.’ He glanced down at the printout of the hotel reservation. ‘Island View Guest House. Why can’t they call it a hotel? That’s the same in any language.’

‘Guest house?’ Giancarlo didn’t like the sound of that. ‘What does it say about the place? How many rooms has it got?’

‘How the hell do I know? It’s all written in English. It’s a hotel, isn’t it? It’ll be fine. You’ll see.’

Island View Guest House was not a hotel. As they pulled into the narrow gravelled drive, Beppe and Giancarlo realised that at once. It was set halfway up the hill above the village and it was a bungalow. And it didn’t look like a very big one either.

‘What the hell have you brought us to?’ Giancarlo looked and sounded horrified. Beppe was equally perturbed, but managed to keep the concern out of his voice. He was just glad to have got here after getting lost more than once in the narrow lanes. Their main problem had been their inability to locate a town called Kernow that was signposted all over the place.

‘At least they weren’t wrong about the view.’ In the dying rays of the sun, Rock Island stood out clearly against the red horizon. It looked lovely, but imposing. ‘That isn’t going to be easy to get to.’ Beppe murmured to himself, but then he shelved that particular problem until the next day and concentrated on their current predicament. ‘Well, let’s go and see what sort of establishment we’re booked into.’

‘I can tell you now. It’s an armpit of a place.’ Giancarlo climbed out of the driving seat and stretched his legs. Beside him, the little car swayed as Beppe heaved himself out. Giancarlo was still grumbling. ‘I’m not taking my bag out of the boot until I see what this place is like. If it’s as bad as it looks, I’m not staying.’

‘And just where might you think of going?’ Beppe had been harbouring similar misgivings, but he was a realist. ‘Midsummer on the coast; do you think there are going to be lots of empty rooms in smart hotels just around the corner? Just keep a civil tongue in your head and try to be polite. Even if it’s awful, we may have to stay here for tonight and hunt around for something better tomorrow. OK? Polite, got it?’

Still protesting, Giancarlo led the way across to the porch. Huge, vicious-looking cactus plants either side of the door would no doubt pose a serious challenge in the dark. The plastic front door showed signs of age and the damage caused by the salt-laden air. Once shiny white, the finish was now matt, with a greenish tinge at the edges. A wire container stood on the doorstep, half full of empty milk bottles. A wooden contraption, not dissimilar to a clock face, indicated that five pints would be required the next morning.

Giancarlo located the doorbell and rang it. A sudden cacophony of barking from within told them that it worked. The barking became rapidly louder until there was a heavy thump against the inside of the door. The whole thing, frame and all, shook violently. Both men took a surreptitious step backwards.

‘What the fuck’s that?’

Well, it’s not Schnitzel the dachshund, that’s for sure, Beppe thought to himself as he watched the door continue to vibrate ominously.

A few seconds later they heard footsteps. There was a sharp command from within and the barking ceased. The door opened inwards a few inches and two faces peered out through the crack, one above and one below the security chain. The lower of the two was a hostile, hairy beast showing a lot of teeth. The one further up had noticeably less hair and fewer teeth. Nevertheless, it looked scarcely less hostile.

‘Yes?’

Beppe gave Giancarlo a nudge.

‘Good evening, Madam. We are just arrived from Italy. We have a reservation for two rooms.’

There was a pause for thought from the inside of the door. Then, abruptly, it slammed shut. There was a sinister rattling of chains before it reopened to reveal an elderly lady of generous proportions and a huge mongrel dog. Although the dog’s greying fur testified to its considerable age, its hackles were standing on end and its teeth were bared. His female companion looked more welcoming now, if you could ignore the teeth on the dog.

‘You must be Mr Peruzzi and Mr Scogna… Scognamill..?’

Beppe put her out of her misery. ‘Scognamiglio.’ He extended his hand. The dog’s growl deepened with menace, but Beppe gritted his teeth and waited for one of the two to grasp it. Fortunately for him, it was the woman who got to it first.

‘I’m Mrs Pendennis. Welcome to Island View. Doris, be quiet!’ The dog sat back on its haunches and stopped growling. The menace in its eyes, however, remained ever-present. ‘I expect you’d like to see your rooms. Do come in, now, won’t you?’

She stepped aside, firmly grasping the dog’s collar as the two men squeezed past her into the hall. Beppe’s stomach only just made it. ‘Straight on down the corridor. The rooms are through the glass door. You’ve got rooms one and two. The others are empty tonight.’

They followed her instructions and found themselves in an unexpectedly large extension that jutted out of the back of the bungalow. There was a lounge with a television and five bedrooms. Beppe opened one of the doors with trepidation, but was relieved to find a solid-looking bed and a modern en suite bathroom. It all looked very clean. He went back out to check on how Giancarlo was doing.

‘My room’s fine. How’s yours?’ The boy had to admit, grudgingly, that his room was not as bad as he had feared. Beppe took that as a seal of approval. ‘Good. Now, you’re the linguist. Ask her where we can get a meal tonight.’

‘Excuse me, Madam. Is there a restaurant near here?’ Mrs Pendennis had abandoned the dog elsewhere in the house and had followed them in. A sullen growling and occasional barking could still be heard in the distance. The old lady sat down at the table in the lounge and indicated that they should join her.

‘There’s the Smugglers Arms down in the village. That’s only a few minutes’ drive. If you want more choice, you have to go to one of the bigger towns, like Polwenton. You’ll find details of what’s available in the area in the brochures in the rack.’ Sure enough, a well-stocked selection of local information was on display on the sideboard. ‘Now, will you be wanting the full English breakfast tomorrow?’

Giancarlo rarely had more than a cappuccino for breakfast and he had no idea what Beppe might want, but he said yes anyway. The lady gave him an approving look. ‘Very good. So many folk go for the low fat option these days. It’s good to find people with an appetite.’ She looked across at Beppe, clearly approving of his expansive waistline. ‘Now, what time would you like your breakfast?’

‘What did she say?’ Beppe had been studying a series of photographs on the wall. They were of Rock Island in the thick of a terrible storm. The waves were crashing halfway up the cliff face and spray almost obscured the old abbey from sight. Once again he found himself thinking about the difficulty they were likely to face getting over to the island.

‘What time for breakfast?’

‘I don’t know. Say, eight o’clock.’ Giancarlo relayed the message and Mrs Pendennis nodded. ‘Did she say we can eat somewhere round here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fine.’ He hesitated and then, as the old lady was still sitting there, he added. ‘You could ask her if there is somewhere round here where we can rent a boat.’

‘A boat?’ Giancarlo followed Beppe’s eyes to the photographs. ‘Of course, the island.’ He translated the question.

Mrs Pendennis knew the answer immediately. He relayed it back to Beppe. ‘She says there’s a place down by the harbour. They’ve got everything from canoes and jet skis to deep sea fishing boats.’

‘Excellent.’ Beppe glanced at his watch. ‘Nine o’clock Italian time. That means it’s eight o’clock here. Either way, it’s time for dinner. Let’s head for the restaurant.’ A sudden thought struck him. ‘How do we get back in without being eaten by that bloody dog?’

Mrs Pendennis had already anticipated the question. ‘Here you are.’ She laid two sets of keys on the table. ‘One for each room and a key to the back doors.’ She pointed to the French windows. ‘You can come and go quite independently through here. That way you won’t bother poor old Doris. She doesn’t like being disturbed when she’s sleeping.’

Giancarlo translated her instructions. Beppe heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Thanks be to God for that. I hate big dogs. The idea of letting myself in the front door and being confronted by that evil old beast would have put me off my food.’

‘Nothing puts you off your food, Beppe.’ Giancarlo knew him so well already.