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.
‘You’re not looking your normal sunny self this morning, Virginia.’ Samantha dropped her bag on her desk and came across to her head of department. She wasn’t feeling very sunny either, after a weekend of rows and raised voices with Neil. As usual, the archaeology lab smelt of decay. Virginia also looked pretty rotten this morning. ‘Something wrong?’
Virginia Greenway handed her a sheet of paper. At first, Sam couldn’t make head or tail of it. The letterhead belonged to a firm of solicitors in Zurich, Switzerland. As she started to read down through, Virginia supplied a précis.
‘No way we’re going to be allowed onto Rock Island.’
Samantha scanned the letter, noting the reference to our clients, whose identity we are not at liberty to reveal. The last words of the final paragraph were unequivocal: We are therefore unable to grant access to the Abbey of Saint Bernard or any part of Rock Island. Unsurprised, she sighed and looked up.
‘Bugger.’
‘Bugger, indeed.’ Virginia was glowering. She reached out and took the letter back from Sam and threw it onto her desk. ‘Bloody Swiss. Who do they think they are?’
Samantha decided to leave her alone to vent her spleen and returned to her own desk. As she did so, the door opened and Becky came in. Seeing the look on Virginia’s face, she flicked a glance across to Sam. ‘Trubble at t’mill?’
Sam gave a brief explanation. Becky looked disappointed. ‘What a shame! I was checking it out the other day. It really does look like the most amazing place. It must be heaving with millionaires. And, coincidentally, here’s me on the lookout for a millionaire.’
‘Still no sign of Chris Martin or any other rock star?’
Becky shook her head despondently. ‘Not many of those around the university. And what about you? Any improvement on the home front?’
Samantha shook her head sadly. ‘The opposite, I’m afraid.’ Rather than get drawn into a post mortem of her awful weekend, she decided that mugs of tea were in order, so she headed for the electric kettle. She caught Virginia’s eye and raised a mug in the air, receiving a distracted nod in response. She made the tea and distributed the mugs, returning to sit down beside Becky again. She glanced across at her. ‘So, if there aren’t any rock stars, any other men on the horizon?’
At that moment, the door opened and Ryan came in.
‘Hi, Ryan, how was your holiday?’ Once again, Samantha reflected that he would make an ideal boyfriend for Becky, but for some reason, she never seemed to respond to his advances. He was a tall boy, a few years younger than Sam, closer to Becky’s age. He had red hair and the sort of pale skin with freckles that seems to