Читать книгу What Happens In Cornwall... - T Williams A - Страница 15

Chapter 5

‘England, Giancarlo, that’s where we’re going.’

‘But, I thought they said New England.’ His tone was that of a petulant teenager. His pouting expression supported the illusion, although he would be twenty-four that October. ‘I like the States. I want to live in the States. I don’t want to go to England. It’s cold and wet and the people are arrogant and horrible.’

Beppe grunted sympathetically. ‘I know, I know. That’s what I told them, but what can you do? The boss says go to England, so we go to England.’

‘But I don’t want to.’ Giancarlo hammered his fist down on the tabletop. It landed with a heavy thud that drew the attention of the other customers around them. In so doing, his knuckles caught the teaspoon lying beside his cup and sent it spinning across the terrace. The thwack as it caught the elbow of the matronly Dutch lady on the end table drew even more attention, as did her squeal of protest. Beppe screwed up his face in silent rage.

‘Giancarlo, would you please stop behaving like a little child. We’ve had our orders and that’s that.’ He waved apologetically at the Dutch lady who was huffing and puffing indignantly. ‘Now, I want you to book the tickets and rent us a car. Can you do that? There are flights from Fiumicino to a place called Bristol. That should only be a few hours’ drive from the island. Book us on a flight before the end of the month. I want to be settled in there when the target gets there, if she isn’t already there.’

Giancarlo sipped his espresso and nodded. ‘Yes, I can do that, if I must.’ He was still fuming. ‘I’m still going to speak to my dad about this.’

‘You do that, sunshine. You won’t get far, I can tell you.’ Beppe drained his glass of wine and beckoned to the waitress. She came over, but Beppe saw that her attention was on the boy, not him. His eyes followed hers across the table towards Giancarlo. ‘You want another coffee? No? OK,’ He looked up. ‘Just another glass of red.’

Giancarlo watched the waitress walk away, an expression of aesthetic appreciation on his face. He turned back to Beppe. ‘So what’s so special about this island? Rock Island?’

Beppe went on to tell him about the target. Giancarlo’s eyes widened as he heard the name of Ann Cartwright. ‘Now there’s one exceptionally beautiful woman.’

‘She’s English, Giancarlo. I thought you just said they were all horrible.’

‘The exception that proves the rule. Maybe she’s got Italian blood in her.’ Giancarlo grinned across at him. ‘Or maybe she needs a bit of Italian in her. Now I could think of…’

His musings were interrupted as the waitress returned with the glass of red wine for Beppe. As she set it down Beppe noticed that her attention was still quite clearly directed at Giancarlo. He picked the drink up and swallowed half, then set it down and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. ‘You smoke?’

Giancarlo shook his head. ‘No, and you shouldn’t either. They’re bad for your health.’

‘So’s spending the summer in England, but what can you do?’ He lit the cigarette, breathed in deeply and took a closer look at his companion-to-be for the next month. The boy was tall and slim, quite good-looking in a juvenile way. His clothes were expensive, but with his old man’s money, he could afford to dress in style. From the way he was studying the waitress’s bottom, he clearly wasn’t gay. ‘You got a girlfriend at the moment?’

‘Yes, have you?’

‘No, my wife might object.’ In fact, Beppe thought to himself, she would probably die of surprise. He reached down, undid the top button of his trousers then took another pull at the red wine. The boy was grinning as he leant forward in conspiratorial fashion.

‘To tell the truth, I’ve got a couple of girls on the go at the moment.’ Beppe looked at him with new respect. Giancarlo returned his attention to the waitress until she disappeared back inside the café. He was thinking about the forthcoming trip to England. This made him a bit more reflective. ‘I wonder what English girls are like. I’ve never met any. You’ve been there often enough. You must know.’

‘As far as I remember, you pour drink into them, turn on the charm and they’re anybody’s.’

Giancarlo studied the older man pityingly. ‘You really do have a very cynical attitude towards the opposite sex, you know.’

‘And you think their attitude towards me is any better?’

Giancarlo wasn’t listening. He was watching the waitress. Without taking his eyes off her, he returned to their conversation.

‘So, you ever have an English girlfriend?’

The waitress had realised by this time that Giancarlo’s eyes had zeroed in on her. To Beppe’s surprise, she didn’t seem to mind. She flashed the boy a smile that signalled interest and availability. Beppe was impressed. He glanced across at Giancarlo.

‘You ever have a waitress?’

‘Not until today.’