Chapter 2

I rolled onto my back, the book I was reading now hovering four inches away from my face in the air. Scrunching up my nose, reveling in the gruesome blood work of the author I was only acutely aware of the door opening and shutting.

'Good morning Helen' I called, the movement in the other room pausing until footsteps paced closer.

'Hey sweetie pie' she said, leaning on the door frame to my room.

'Did you have fun shopping in the market?' I asked, placing the book on my stomach and looking at my friend.

'Yes I did. Bought you that ring you've been after for ages' she said, chucking the said object at me. I missed catching it completely and it landed onto the soft white linen. A new silver ring. I had lost mine off a yacht in Spain, dragging my hands through the water the depths of the sea took it from me. I rolled it around in my palm for a while, feeling the silver warm up gently. Then I slipped it on the third finger of my right hand, showing Helen.

'Thanks. I've missed it' I hopped off the bed, walking over to hug her. She laughed, patting my head – because of my size, I'm tiny – and squeezing me.

'You're welcome kiddo. I thought you were going down to the beach?' she asked, and we broke apart. I gestured aimlessly at the book on the bed.

'I'm not going to lie, I got distracted by the book' I said and Helen smirked, all knowing. I rolled my eyes at the woman.

'Let's go down to the beach then and soak up some sun. We hardly ever get this weather in England' she really did have a point. Swimming pools were the best option in England as the beaches were nothing compared to anything in Europe.

'Sure. Let's go. We'll get into our costumes and head down. We are practically on the beach' I said, turning to my suitcase which I was still living out of. A habit it would take me some time to relieve myself of.

'Fine by me I'll be back in a bit' Helen replied, going into her own room and closing the door. Trifling passed all my other clothes to the swimsuit at the bottom of the case.

Traipsing down the stairs at the back of the villa, out onto the deep oak wood paneling that was passing for a walkway. Gosh. The water. The sea looked fantastic in its soft blue glory, stretching out. Helen had on a green one piece which showed off her legs and hips, accentuating her breasts. I stuck to a classic black one piece with shorts and a deep neckline.

In synchronicity we put on our sunglasses, then looked at each other and bursting into laughter. Running across the sand, down so we were fairly close to the water we both admired the view. Helen put down the towels in her organised fashion and we settled. When you could have this, why would you want anywhere else? Where you could have white washed stone buildings and creaky floorboards; large rooms with high ceilings. I was in love. In love with a city. How very Oscar Wilde.

'Well done. You chose well my girl' Helen nodded, and I sighed, feeling content.

'I did, didn't I? It's almost hard to think that loads of the mafia families were born in Vigata'

'What, because of the lovely scenery?' Helen joked and I nudged her in the arm.

'Yes. Though I guess it's very poetic'

'I think Emma would enjoy it down here. We could ask James along too I suppose' Helen recommended and I chuckled at the impending absurdity of that situation.

'You're the one ringing her, my dear. He's never been to Italy'

I flopped back down on my towel, hands on my stomach. Helen began putting some sun cream on her arms. I never bothered, seeing as my skin didn't tan much. I constantly looked like a resident of Iceland or, well, England.

'Michelle. Isn't that the police officer from the restaurant yesterday?' Helen asked casually. Being flat on my back, with sunglasses on, I couldn't see as to who she was referring to.

'I wouldn't know. I can't bloody see' I murmured, but sat up on my elbows to have a peek.

He wasn't hard to miss, as he was the only person, aside from us, to be out on the beach - specifically the sea. Treading up onto the main sand was the older police officer. Salvatore Montalbano, Commissioner, in light blue swimming trunks and nothing else, completely soaked from his energising swim.

Gosh.

Santa Maria.

Who said police officers could not be attractive? Relatively bronzed complexion, although nowhere near his younger colleague, with a strong chest and arms. Just as I had envisioned from the restaurant.

'Commissario!' Helen shouted suddenly, a good Italian accent running through the word. Not knowing whether to do the same or not I kept quiet.

Salvatore paused and twisted to see the pair of us. He flashed a warm smile, waving.

'Signoras, dal ristorante. Buongiorno! Ah godetevi la spiaggia e hanno una bella giornata' he said, and we both smiled back. It was sort of evident he was confused as to how we knew his job title. Clearly he hadn't thought that I would listen in. It was an old fashioned town, Vigata, perhaps the women weren't like that here. Oh, what am I talking about? It's cultural not dated. Ladies, from the restaurant. Good morning! Enjoy the beach and have a nice day.

'Grazie Commissario. Buona giornata da soli' I cringed at my near awful dialect, but at least I had tried. Being able to translate mentally was one skill, speaking it to a Vigata resident was another entirely. Thanks Commissario. Have a good day yourself.

As luck would have it, his smile grew a little and he nodded. 'Lei parla bene l'italiano'. He carried on walking to where I assumed his house was. He lived not far from the beach, like us! His villa was located six doors down from the one we had rented.

'He thought I could speak Italian well'

This is what I loved, small towns that were behind the times and kept the community feel. Everyone knew everyone else. We were tourists, but we were friendly ones, we didn't intrude, we wanted to relax.

That's precisely what we did, we let the sun comfort us on a deserted beach. It was absolute madness that we had this beach to ourselves, however we didn't complain.

Later in the evening it was my turn to cook, so with help from my recipe book, I created a pasta dish. Granted, I'm no brilliant chef, but I know what flavours work. So I decided, sitting at the table on the balcony that this was perfect. I'm no romantic, but this is how holidays or in my case breaks, should go. Package holidays were for people with little imagination and culture.

'You know, you should read Shantaram, I've almost finished. We're in the wrong flaming country but hey ho' I said, tipping my glass at Helen who glanced at me midway through a spoonful of creamy pasta. She nodded.

'I will. I read like the wind so yep, sure. Hand it over when you're done. Do you want to drive around tomorrow?' she asked, and I remembered that I had filled up the car.

'Sounds like a plan to me. Hopefully the lovely weather stays ever so present' I grinned. As the sun slowly went down, we lazed around and sat outside talking on the balcony.

Before going to bed that night, Helen checked on the Impala, not that vandalism seemed like a huge crime here. A 1967, black coated, Chevrolet Impala. My dream car was all mine. Getting a job in the government meant I could afford one, so I bought it and made a promise never to sell it on. She – the car – fit right in amongst the cobbled stones and the old crumbling buildings and vibrant plant life. Special. Different. How you should live your life, learn how to escape. In arriving we had noticed the old cars, people traveling by bicycle or walking. I could say this till no one listened anymore but it was a whole 'nother world out here. No one got in each others way, it wasn't hectic or rushed. It was calm and people didn't mind what other people got up to, to a certain extent of course.

I sat on the bonnet, sipping the last of my glass of wine and listening to the waves of the sea. My mobile rang from my jeans pocket so I answered.

'Buonasera' Good evening

Silence. I scowled, checking the identification. Nothing. A private number.

'Ciao? Chi è questo?' Hello? Who is this?

Panic started to rise. Anger beginning to boil. I tried to reason with myself that it was probably a bad line or something.

'Ciao? Se questo è James Robertson sto tornando a casa e farti male' I snapped. Hello? If this is James Robertson I'm coming back home and hurting you. Still no luck, be that as it may I could tell there was someone else on the line. I switched to English in case the person calling couldn't understand a word of what I was saying and got confused. Perhaps it was my bank. It wouldn't surprise me, I just put out a payment for a high priced villa in Vigata. I would be quite concerned. 'For the love of... Seriously. Hello, who's calling?'

After that, I gave up. Ending the call I ran hands over my face and hopped off the bonnet of the car. Going back upstairs, passing Helen's room, the woman tilted her head at me.

'What was that about?' she asked.

'Ah nothing, probably the wrong number. I need some sleep. Buonanotte'

Waking up to the light streaming past the the curtains and the smell of bacon, I was temporarily confused as to where I was. I could be back in student accommodation at university. Of course I wasn't, and I realised that fact and got up. After breakfast, humming 'La Mer' by Julio Iglesias, Helen and I got in the car and drove out to the town.

The wheels bumped surprisingly smoothly against the cobbled streets behind our villa.

'Who was on the phone last night?' Helen asked from the passenger seat.

'I have no idea, Helen'

'Sure?'

'Yes. Positive. Your call, left or right?' I asked her, slowing the car to a stop as we came to a crossroads.

'Sinistra' Helen replied easily and my eyebrows shot up whilst turning left as she said so.

'Check you learning Italian' I winked, Helen smugly nodded.

'Uhuh. Ho dovuto. Non riuscivo a venire a stare con te se non l'ho fatto' Helen frowned, not sure whether that was the right phrasing. I nodded eagerly. I had to. I couldn't come and stay with you if I didn't.

'Brilliant. How much do you know so far?' I asked, feeling the smooth gravel slip under the Impala. We were now heading down the hill, passing residential houses.

'Not enough, but it's coming along'

We stopped at the corner just at the end of the street beside a small shop. Shutting off the engine, I leant back into the leather seats. The shop had pot plants outside, the doors red and an assistant happily smoking. The rustic exterior was weathered and worn. We did need a few things, milk for example as the two of us drink copious amounts of tea. Perhaps we could do with running an errand, or make sure we pass this way later on.

'You know, I'm going to get a drink from over there' Helen nodded at the shop, pulling at the handle of the car door and about to get out when there was a crash and a very loud shout.

Almost on instinct, we both immediately looked towards the noise. Which, after a few seconds, we realised had come from the shop which we were just watching.

The red doors were thrown open and a man was propelled backwards onto the road. Scrambling back, until another man appeared looking livid. This new addition to the commotion elevated the interest of Helen and I. Whatever their story was, it should be stopped. The man shouted at the one on the ground, gesturing manically. He lunged, grabbing the other man by the shirt collar and shaking him fiercely. The assumed victim of the attack was trying to get the man off him, throwing punches to anything he could reach. Crime of passion perhaps? But out in the open?

'Smettere!' Stop!

'Smettere! Polizia. Smettere!' Stop! Police. Stop!

Two new voices shouted. We looked around wildly for the new help, seeing two men run across the road to the problem. A flash of movement, the fighters being prized apart, the two men telling them off in fast Italian. Police officers rushing to the scene, just like it is in the films, and how it isn't in real life. Specifically London. It was great to watch.

I recognised one of the police officers. Fazio. Ispettore Fazio. He was kindly helping up the man from the floor, brushing him down and asking what had happened. That's all I could gather from the Italian. As he let the man talk, Fazio looked around. Maybe for witnesses. His eyes rested on the Impala. Head cocking to one side, before he said something to his colleague and walked over.

'Have we just become witnesses to an assault and battery?' Helen asked me, still gazing at the scene. My focus fixated on the man now right beside the car. 'Buongiorno, ehm, Ispettore'

'Buongiorno. Lei era qui poco fa. Potrebbe dirmi quello che hai visto?' Good morning. You were here a few moments ago. Could you tell me what you saw?

In trying not to gape like a teenage girl, I nodded and flashed a grin.

'Sì. Beh, niente era in corso finché l'uomo a destra è caduto attraverso le porte. Sembrava che ha iniziato l'argomento. L'altro non ha lasciato su di lui' I replied, tapping my hands on the wheel. Yes. Well, nothing was going on until the man on the right fell through the doors. It looked like he started the argument. The other man didn't let up on him.

That sounded very wet, and pathetic. I was a member of Her Majesty's Service and here I was in Italy, blushing over a small town police officer.

'Grazie'

'Vuoi andare in giro normalmente rottura combattimenti?' I asked. Do you usually walk around breaking up fights?

'No. Si tratta di pura fortuna. Ispettore Fazio' he held out a hand to me, and I took it with a nod. Helen leaned over to shake his hand too. No. This is pure luck. Inspector Fazio. Introducing himself like a a gentleman.

'Il mio nome è Michelle, questo è Helen' My name is Michelle, this is Helen.

'Piacere di conoscerti. Speriamo che non si vede molto di più la criminalità a Vigàta' Fazio replied, sounding apologetic. Good to meet you. Hopefully you don't see so much more crime in Vigata.

I wanted to tell him that, that was a little playground tiff compared to the fights in London. Although, I'm sure that he didn't want to upset us as we were outsiders looking into the world of Vigata.

Helen chuckled – she must have translated the sentence..

'E 'perfettamente bene ... Penso che ti vogliono' I said, looking past the handsome Sicilian – Italian, to the other police officer who was seemed frustrated. It's perfectly fine... I think you're wanted. I nodded past Fazio, who swiveled at the shout of his name not a few moments later.

'Lo so. Io sarò con voi in un momento' Fazio said loudly to his partner who shrugged helplessly. My guess was that his partner was a lower rank than him. Turning back to Helen and I, Fazio said 'Grazie per le vostre signore di aiuto e mi piace la tua auto' and smirked, 'Addios'. He went back to his colleague as we both said goodbye. I gaped at Helen. Thank you for your help ladies, and I like your car.

'Adios...He liked my car' I said, pleased with myself.

'Dear god. She's beautiful, you know she is'

'Yes. Just means the people of Vigata have taste' I said proudly, digging for my wallet in my jeans. Helen rolled her eyes at me, then gently smacking my head.

'It means you've got the hots for Ispettore Fazio' she smirked.

Doing the only thing I thought necessary, I poked my tongue out at her and grabbed the keys from the ignition. I did not have the hots for the Inspector. 'Come on. You said you wanted to go to the shop' I reasoned.

Evidence of the fight was non existent. Vigata's streets had forgotten it already. It would be in the gossip though, it was that sort of town.

'E 'una scena del crimine ora' I laughed at Helen's speech. It's a scene of crime now.

'You've been watching too many Italian crime dramas. Assault and battery is hardly a big thing is it?' I asked, locking the car and ambling with her across the road to the shop. The doors – on closer inspection – were dirtier than I had been led to believe. 'Proves something anyway' I muttered as we entered the dimly lit but pleasant interior of the shop. The assistant looked up, wary of new people obviously.

'What's that?' Helen asked distractedly, eying the jars of Italian soup.

'That crime really does go on in Vigata' I said, forgetting about the phone call, my job back home. Everything.