at Exeter University.’
The man gave her a half-bow. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you. My name is Griffiths. I’m the steward here.’ Sam noticed that he didn’t introduce her to the black-haired woman. Sam turned her attention to her, but didn’t press her for her name. With those enormous dark glasses, it was pretty clear she wanted to keep her identity secret. Sam wondered if the hair might even be a wig, although it looked very convincing. She apologised once more.
‘I’m very sorry to burst in on you like this. You’ve been so very kind. I wonder if I could just use your phone to call somebody to send a boat to pick me up.’ As she spoke, she found herself wondering just how that was going to be possible. Maybe if she phoned Becky…
The woman smiled. ‘You’re very welcome. And don’t worry about a boat. We’ll get you back to dry land. Anyway, your visit gave me a bit of excitement for a change.’ There could have been a note of regret in her voice. ‘So, what are you studying?’
‘Archaeology. I’m doing a PhD.’
‘Oh, you lucky girl. I loved history at school and I was all set to go to university to do a history degree, but then…’ Her voice tailed off and there was an awkward pause before she continued. ‘But then I got sidetracked. But I’ve always kept an interest in it.’
Altogether, Sam stayed with them for over half an hour and she did most of the talking. By the end, she still knew next to nothing about the black-haired woman, apart from the fact that she was remarkably hospitable and generous. Also, if she owned the abbey and the island, she was patently mega rich. Even if she were just renting it, she would need very, very deep pockets to pay for a place like this. Finally, as the grandfather clock struck five, Sam realised she had better get back, before Becky started to get worried. She brushed the crumbs of cake off her lap and stood up. The dog made short work of vacuuming them up and she smiled at him, reaching down to stroke his ears. ‘I think I’d better get off now, if you don’t mind. I’m sure you’ve got far better things to do than listen to me wittering on about Vikings.’
‘Far from it. I can never get enough of history. To be honest, Samantha, I rather envy you.’ Again there was the rather plaintive edge to the other woman’s voice. She and Mr Griffiths accompanied Samantha to the glass lift, the young dog nudging her playfully as he trotted beside her. As the doors opened, Julie appeared with a plastic bag.
‘I’ve put your wet clothes in here, Miss. Is that all right?’
Sam suddenly remembered what she was wearing. ‘Of course, thank you. But, how do I get these clothes back to you?’ The black-haired woman smiled and laid her hand on Sam’s arm.
‘Keep them, Samantha. I’ve got more clothes than I know what to do with. I’m just glad you’re all right and we managed to warm you up again.’
Sam babbled that she couldn’t possibly accept, but her protestations were just waved away.
‘Keep them, Samantha. And thank you for brightening up my day. Goodbye and take care.’ The Labrador and his mistress turned back into the glass lift as Sam and the steward entered the lower one. Sam watched her as the doors closed. In spite of her smiles, in spite of her obvious wealth, the woman looked and sounded just plain lonely.
Outside, the mist was as thick as ever, but nevertheless transport was waiting for her. The kayak was already in the back of the boat, which was a gorgeous-looking wooden motor launch, highly varnished and furnished with red leather seats. It looked as if it had just come off the Grand Canal in Venice. An immaculately-attired boatman was waiting to help her aboard.
‘Goodbye, Miss Squires.’ Mr Griffiths’ tone was cordial as he held out his hand to her. Sam wasn’t sure whether this was so she could shake it, or to help her into the boat, but she took it in both of hers, reached up and kissed him on the cheek anyway.
‘Thank you, Mr Griffiths. You saved my life.’
He flushed slightly and gave her a shy smile. Suddenly he looked ten years younger. ‘Glad to have been of service. Now, have a safe trip back.’
The trip back took barely fifteen minutes. The boatman kept apologising for having to go so slowly because of the sea mist. Sam just looked back at him in awe.
‘I’m amazed you’re able to navigate at all in this fog. I can’t see a thing. Have you got radar or something?’
He gave her a gentle smile and tapped the side of his head with a tanned finger. ‘I’ve got all the radar I need up here. I was born in Tregossick and I’ve been messing about in boats in the bay all my life.’ His Cornish accent was strong, but not impenetrable. ‘I’ll share one of my secrets with you, in case you decide to go kayaking again.’ He caught her eye and grinned. ‘Use your ears. Listen.’ He cocked his head to one side and pointed straight ahead. ‘If you concentrate hard, you can hear the waves breaking against the jetty. Two or three minutes and we’ll be there.’
Sam did her best, but it was another full minute before she, too, heard the waves. A short while later, the stone wall of the jetty loomed up in front of them, but the boatman had already turned the wheel and the launch came to rest against the steps with hardly a bump. He looped a rope around a bollard and held out his hand to her. ‘Home again. You’re probably not sorry to get off the water after what happened this afternoon.’
Samantha took his hand and smiled at him, before climbing out. ‘I’ve been very, very stupid and very, very lucky. This could all have ended much worse.’
The boatman handed the kayak up to her and smiled back.
‘All’s well that ends well, Miss. Now, you take care.’
‘Ciao, Beppe. You all right?’ Bianchi stood up and closed the window before returning to his desk. The noise of the traffic coming down the Via del Tritone subsided to tolerable proportions.
‘OK, I suppose.’ Beppe lowered himself into a chair. It creaked in protest, but managed to take his not inconsiderable bulk. He leant back and mopped his brow. The temperature here in Rome in mid-July was in the high thirties.
Bianchi studied the fat man for a few moments. He looked awful. The bags under his eyes were bulbous enough to cast shadows down his cheeks. His stomach flowed out over his belt like lava down the side of Mount Etna. His sulphurous breath further reinforced the impression as he ran his tongue over his tar-stained teeth before looking up at Bianchi and asking hopefully, ‘So, have you got something for me?’
‘Yes. I’ve got a really good target for you.’ In response to the expression of heightened interest on Beppe’s face, Bianchi explained. ‘It could take the whole of August. This one’s a very, very elusive customer. We’ve had a tip-off and we’re pretty sure we’re the only ones in the know, at least for now. And, if we’re lucky, she might even have a few celebrity friends around her. Hopefully, you’ll be able to kill quite a few birds with one stone.’
‘And the target?’ Beppe definitely looked animated now. ‘A big name, you say?’
‘Oh, yes. Very big. In fact, they don’t get much bigger.’ Bianchi saw the spark in the fat man’s eyes. ‘Does the name Ann Cartwright mean anything to you?’
‘Wow!’ It took a lot
