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CHAPTER 15
Perhaps Chantal's luck had changed. Perhaps God had finally realised that even she needed some respite from all the crap.
She finally felt like she was living again, rather than just surviving.
Another line crossed.
Unbeknown to Chantal, Alfredo poked his head into the pantry.
"Hey! I see you've already put everything away."
His voice jarred her out of her thoughts.
"Nearly everything," she confessed after a moment's hesitation, pointing to a shopping bag still on the floor.
Around an hour earlier, Alfredo had given her a brief overview of how things worked at the B&B before showing her the pantry and issuing a few vague instructions. She'd done her best and tried to remember what he'd suggested. She smiled. It looked as though she'd succeeded.
"You're very quick and very thorough..." Alfredo stroked his chin, debating whether to say what was on the tip of his tongue.
Chantal looked up at him, inviting him to go on.
He smiled thinly and continued.
"If I'd have known, I'd have hired you years ago."
She tried to suppress the smile that was forming at the edges of her mouth. She wasn't used to compliments. None of her previous bosses had given her any, not even Signor Ferruccio from Lilly's Snack Bar, and he'd been the nicest of them all.
She looked down, shifting her gaze away from Alfredo. Unable to suppress the smile any longer, she turned towards the open cupboard door and pretended to check what she'd already put away.
"That's very kind of you," she said, doing her utmost to keep her excitement in check, "but isn't it a bit early to be showering me with praise? I've only done one job for you!"
Alfredo coughed twice to clear his throat.
"Look, Chantal..."
He coughed again to buy himself the time he needed to rearrange what he wanted to say.
"I've been doing this for quite a few years now. Running a B&B..."
He paused for a moment to watch the graceful movements of Chantal's shapely body.
His voice came out hoarse, but to Chantal it was like birdsong.
"...and I've seen a lot of girls over that time, believe me. Loads of them accept that they have to do the work, but not many really want to be doing it. And even fewer actually manage to do it well..."
He took a couple of steps towards her.
"You do it very well, Chantal. I don't need months of observing you to know that. I suspected as much in the chat room, and now I know for sure."
This time, Chantal had no choice but to turn and meet the gaze of her new employer. She didn't feel it was necessary to hide her smile any longer.
"I'm pleased you think so highly of me."
His response was immediate.
"I'm pleased to have found a girl like you."
She smiled again.
"Have there really been that many girls who have worked here?"
Alfredo looked up at the ceiling and his head began to nod as if he were counting every single girl as their image passed in front of his eyes.
Then, suddenly, he looked directly at her again.
Heaven or hell?
"There's been so many I've lost count."
Chantal decided he was being genuine. She felt like the time had come to ask him the question she had wanted to put to him as soon as he'd offered her the job. But not just yet.
"So, what became of them? Did you fire them all?" she added jokingly, accompanying her question with yet another smile.
Alfredo seemed a bit put out.
Chantal sensed he'd had problems with some of the girls. Too many sick days, trouble with the unions, hands in the till. That kind of thing.
"To tell you the truth," Alfredo ventured, "it was them who chose to leave." He licked his lips. "Well, most of them anyway. I'm not a horrible boss, if that's what you're thinking."
"It's not," she said instinctively.
He moved closer to her and carried on.
"In all these years, I've only ever fired one girl." He stopped, losing himself for an instant. "Yes, only one."
"And why was that? If you don't mind me asking."
Alfredo's expression softened.
"It's funny looking back on it now. But it sure as hell wasn't at the time. She lost me four guests in one fell swoop..." he shook his head as though he were still in denial. "...and didn't even stop to think about the bad impression it would leave on the other people staying here."
He took a second to gather his thoughts, and Chantal gestured at him to carry on.
"Lavinia. That was her name." Alfredo appeared to be trying to dredge up memories from however many years ago this all took place. "She was very hard-working, in the sense that she would do whatever I asked. She did a good job and she did it quickly too. What more could I have asked for?"
Chantal realised it was a rhetorical question.
"She didn't smoke or drink - a really good girl, basically. Apart from her one vice..." Alfredo stared angrily into Chantal's vulnerable, pale-blue eyes.
It was just hell in his look now, no doubt about it.
"...married men."
Alfredo began to spit out his words.
"That girl loved nothing more than fucking other women's husbands. She really screwed me over." He seemed to snap out of his fury, the calmness returning to his words. "You certainly couldn't accuse her of not being conscientious. I mean, she certainly took care of business on her day off."
"Business?" Chantal asked, not really wanting to know the sordid details.
Alfredo looked a little embarrassed. He rubbed his forehead nervously before continuing.
"That's right, business. The business of anything and everything that a woman and two men can possibly get up to in a bedroom. Unfortunately for her, the wife of one of the guys sprained her ankle while the wives were out hill-walking, forcing them to come back early. Anyway, I'll give you the condensed version. At that time, as well as the tourists, I had two couples staying here. They were friends, around forty years old. Lavinia thought it would be a great idea to get the two guys into bed. You can imagine what happened the wives caught them at it. All hell broke loose. Obviously, the couples didn't hang around, but they'd created such a scene that the tourists also decided to leave. I mean, what was I supposed to do?"
He shrugged and held out his arms, reliving the sense of helplessness he'd felt on that day in the distant past.
"I gave her a second chance, but when she pulled the same stunt again I had no choice but to fire her. She's the only girl I've ever sacked...so far."
Chantal felt panicked as she could feel his eyes boring into her. She needed to say something to release the pressure.
"And the others? What happened to them?"
She felt stupid, realising she'd already asked that question.
"I told you, didn't I?" Alfredo continued to stare at her, but Chantal could have sworn his mind was elsewhere. "They left."
She decided now was the time.
"Alfredo, can I ask you something?"
He seemed to snap out of his trance.
"Sure."
She took a deep breath. Now or never.
"There must be loads of girls around here. Why did you hire someone who lives three hundred miles away?"
Alfredo looked surprised.
"You see, Chantal, our lives are governed by fate. It was fate that I met you in the chat room, and fate that you didn't have a job."
Chantal nodded tentatively.
"The girls round here don't exactly have a strong work ethic, and anyway..."
Alfredo decided he needed to let Chantal know about all the rumours, otherwise some busybody would only try and scare her with some ridiculous story the first time she went into town.
"And anyway what?" Chantal encouraged him to continue.
Alfredo sighed loudly.
"Chantal, you need to know that people round here don't like me or my business. They spread a whole load of lies about me."
"What kind of lies?" she blurted out in panic.
"That I'm some kind of monster." He stared right at her, aware that she was unable to find any words. "Look at me. Do I seem like a monster to you?"
Chantal shook her head and thought back to the old lady she'd encountered at the roadside. She was about to mention her to Alfredo - perhaps she already had? - but something inside was warning her against it. She decided to let him carry on.
"See? I don't seem like a monster because I'm not one." Alfredo again spread his arms out wide in a gesture that suggested he was reluctantly resigned to the situation. "Do I really seem like the kind of man who would kidnap, torture and kill a girl like you?"
Chantal felt her stomach tighten. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, she wondered whatever had possessed her to leave her quiet little home for this godforsaken B&B in the arse end of nowhere.
She froze as Alfredo drew closer. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked straight into her big, blue eyes.
"I don't seem like that kind of man because I'm not one. They're making it up. There are no monsters here."
Alfredo shook his head disconsolately and Chantal could see he was fighting back tears.
His voice began to crack.
"Why do they keep making up all those stories about me and the house? Over the last few years, they've turned me into an outcast, like I'm some kind of leper."
Once again, the old lady's face popped into Chantal's head. But she pushed the image to the back of her mind and calmed herself, managing to restore her heart rate to something approaching normal. The tightness in her stomach began to fade and she felt sympathy for the broken man in front of her as he looked for a shoulder to cry on.
"You don't have to..." she started to say, but he quickly backed away and interrupted.
"Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. You shouldn't have to see me like this."
Alfredo hurriedly dried his eyes, turned around and walked out the door.
CHAPTER 16
It was an illness. Eugenio Boroni was sure of it.
Not scratching his ear or running his tongue over the cavity;
the other thing. The other thing was an illness.
He'd heard people talking about it and had looked it up on various websites. They all said it was a kind of psychiatric illness. One that pushes against the sides of your brain whenever it feels like it. The victim is powerless to resist, forced to do whatever the thing says.
When Eugenio felt it pushing, he would fidget, get nervous, shake like a leaf. He started to scratch his ear lobe frenetically. Such was the force he was using, his ear began to bleed. The scabs left behind only made him want to scratch even more. His mother had figured as much and told him off. The family doctor had prescribed an anti-inflammatory and told his mother to stick plasters on his ears. After Eugenio had left the room, the doctor had spoken to his mother one-to-one. He'd told her the boy was nervous, perhaps even a little anxious and scared. Given his age, these problems were fairly normal but shouldn't be ignored. They should get better with the passing of time, but if they don't, it would be wise to consult a psychologist. The doctor had said the ear scratching was a nervous tic caused by the typical worries of a particularly fragile and sensitive pre-teenage boy.
Eugenio knew now that the doctor couldn't have been more wrong. He wasn't anxious or scared. That tic was just a consequence of this stupid illness.
It was something he'd always had, and the thing had pushed him to the margins of society.
At first, people listen to you, maybe even smile. But then they realise something's not quite right with you. Their mood changes.
