I tell them about my travel adventures and about finding the house newly renovated and fully functional, with live-in staff. As I absorb the beginnings of a glorious sunset across the Tuscan landscape, the moody chiaroscuro of a Rembrandt masterpiece, my attention is drawn to the sound of running water, and my gaze travels to the back ofSignoraBellacci’s annexe, where a man is showering naked in the open air. He is lean but muscled and well-proportioned. One side of his body is covered in tattoos from his shoulder down to his foot. Is he the man with the hoodie I saw in the bar at Pensione Galli? He has his back to me as he tilts his face into the flow of water, scrubbing foam from his long black hair. When he turns around to face my way, I am transfixed when I glimpse dark chest hair and a trail of suds descending to a generous cock in a mound of black pubic hair. I assume this must be the son Mrs Bellacci mentioned. When he freezes, I wonder if he has seen me, and I step back into the shadow of the bedroom, embarrassed at my voyeurism. I realise I’ve faltered a moment on the phone, but I continue immediately. I don’t want to describe the sight to Josh and Nishan, otherwise, I will never get them off the phone.
“I have a feeling Albert planned to use this place for holidays once he retired. Like I told you, I never had an inkling that he was buying a place abroad, let alone renovating. And despite what Josh may tell you, I do pay attention.”
“Seems to me your man was adept at keeping secrets,” says Nishan.
Once again, Nishan nails what I am thinking. But what bugs me most of all is why. It was not because he couldn’t trust me, because we’d once had that discussion. Nothing he ever told me would go any further. He knew that, even with me being friendly with Alice. I only confided in Josh and Nishan about his secret message because he was no longer alive and I needed impartial help. Moreover, I knew they would tell nobody else. The onlything I can think of is that Albert did so to protect me. But from what or whom? His family?
“Have you had any luck finding out about Luriabio?” asks Nishan.
“Not really. I only arrived late this afternoon, but I’m having dinner with a local doctor. He knew Albert. Maybe I can see if the name rings a bell.”
“Before you do that, you may be pleased to hear,” says Nishan, “that my lovely boyfriend has been doing some research of his own. Over to you, Josh.”
“I only Googled, but I had a shit-ton of hits on this Russian geezer called Alexander Luria, who is credited as the father of modern neuropsychology. Yeah, I had no idea what neuropsychology is either, so listen to this.Neuropsychologists are trained to assess and treat people who experience difficulties with memory, concentration, planning, language, reasoning and other aspects of learning and understanding.” Josh is clearly reading from somewhere. “It’s the first bit about people with memory difficulties that caught my attention because of your condition. This is a total shot in the dark, but does Albert have any books there?”
“A whole library full of them. The room is stuffed wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling with all manner of books.”
“Maybe Albert meant you to find a biography on this bloke. Again, just a thought. Ignore the idea if you think it’s bullshit.”
“No, no. That’s brilliant, Josh. I’ll check tomorrow. You think a book would have gotten him killed?”
“Maybe the two things are unrelated,” says Josh. “But it’s in his message. Find Luriabio, and maybe you’ll find your answer.”
I hear a deep male voice downstairs speaking Italian, one I recognise as Dr Romano’s. I realise I need to hurry and get dressed.
“You guys are brilliant,” I say, ripping off the towel. “I wish you were here.”
“Listen, sunshine,” comes Josh’s voice. “Once this bloody malarky is over and done with, we are coming out there to claim our payment for services rendered. With a very long holiday.Capiche?”
I laugh aloud. “And you’ll be more than welcome. But I’ve got to go now. The doctor has just arrived. I’ll catch up with you again tomorrow and brief you then. Take care, guys.”
Chapter Seven
Dr Romano
Dr Romano is already seated outside at the table as I step off the bottom stair and head towards the open patio doors. I notice he has changed into a navy two-piece lightweight suit and a light-blue shirt. The cooler air clearly agrees with him, and he appears stylish and suave this evening. When he sees me approaching, he stands and raises a hand in greeting, a formality I am sure Albert found endearing.
“Good evening, Mr Redbrick. You clean up well.”
I smile. Albert had used the same expression on the rare occasion we went somewhere formal and I’d made noises about having to shave and wear a jacket.
“Thank you. And—uh—buona sera, Dr Romano.”
Dr Romano smiles and nods at my attempt to speak words in his mother tongue.
“Please take a seat.La signoraBellacci has made us the perfect aperitif, a pitcher of Negroni. Can I pour you a glass?”
I notice two jugs on the table, one filled with still water, the other with an amber liquid, ice cubes and thin orange slices.
“Why not? I don’t think I’ve had Negroni before.”
Actually, I had heard from Alice that the drink had become fashionable in London bars in recent years, but I had never sampled the concoction.
“Dry gin, Campari, sweet vermouth. And I believela signorauses a combination of Prosecco and soda water. Something she picked up from her time in Milano. I hope you find it light and refreshing.”
The taste is unusual, with an odd but not unpleasant aftertaste and a coolness in the warmth of the early evening. If their intention is to relax their new guest, then the ploy is working perfectly.
“Mr Redbrick—”