The Ligurian Affair E-Book

alastair macleod

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

Little would seem to escape the attention of the inhabitants of the fishing village of Porto Venere. Yet here, with links to international events, unfolded a plot that brought personal tragedy to the narrow streets and harbour of the small Ligurian town. It also revealed the courage of ordinary Italians.

Leseprobe

Alastair Macleod

The Ligurian Affair

To Naemi, and the people of Porto Venere. Disclaimer; All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

The Ligurian Affair

Location: Porto Venere: a small fishing village on the Ligurian coast of North West Italy

Characters:

Capitano Troncarelli: local boat owner

Naemi Mussini: marine biologist

Gherardo Alfano : naval diver

Zinni Terzano: bakery delivery lad

Sinfonetta Cattaneo: local beauty, and model

Italo Squinzy: retired shipping magnate

Zafira Squinzy: his daughter

Riccardo Polpi : officer in the Italian navy

Guilia Castelli : ex-girlfriend of Riccardo Polpi

Hammed: Arab playboy

Hussein: Arab friend of Hammed.

The overnight storm had raged above Porto Venere; first torrential rain, then flashes of lightning, with rolls of thunder sounding above.

Capitano Troncarelli was not a superstitious man but the storm had seemed, when he looked back, a portent of the events that would unfold.

Today he would take out the marine biologist, Naemi Mussini; out of the Baia Di Porto Venere into the Ligurian Sea, for her to dive on the Cala de Montenero just before Riomaggiore.

The sea here was rich and yielded clams, sardines, anchovies, polpi, orate, squid, and cuttle fish. Further out you could get tuna and swordfish. But there was continous monitoring, for the large mussel farms depended on clear water.

Next to his boat in the marina were luxury yachts, moored in the shelter of the harbour wall.

Naemi emerged from one of these. She was wearing sunglasses pushed back on her head, and wore a black skin tight wet suit. Air bottles, mask and flippers hung from her left hand. She knew he admired her figure and moved accordingly.

“Bongiuorno Capitano, come stai.”

“Bene, grazie,” said Troncarelli, taking the proferred bottles inboard over the gunwale.

“Calm now I think.” She said.

Naemi was a water girl thought Troncarelli. She moved like the water she entered – smooth, caressing, sometimes if angry, wild and furious. And she had her depths.

“Married to the sea,” other captains had said. Indeed she seemed to have no partner.

There was talk of a distant liason with fellow scientist from La Spezia but that was two years ago.

The sea immediately off Porto Venere, between it and the island of Palmaria, was a glacial green; the limestone rock on the sea bed reflected back the the bright sunlight, up to the surface.

Beyond the Mouth of Venus the sea darkened as it fell away into the depths.

This was not Troncarelli’s boat, but it could be soon. He had been paying off Italo Squinzi for it these last 5 years.

One more payment. Squinzi had asked a high price, what with the interest and he didn’t even need the money, thought Troncarelli.

Squinzi was an ex-shipping magnate, retired from La Spezia to Porto Venere. He had a daughter whom he hoped Troncarelli would marry one day.

But, thought Troncarelli, if Squinzy was the octopus wiggling his way into Troncarelli’s life, then his daughter Zafira was the squid; fast, able to change her colours in a flash.

He checked over the fuel and the battery indicators and stowed the flags and floats on deck.

Naemi pulled out the charts and began explaining to him where she wanted to go.

“Over the clam beds,” she said, pointing to a zone off the steep cliffs,

in the Cala De Montenero, “here towards Riomaggiore.”

Above those cliffs rose steep slopes, covered in dense maquis vegetation; dwarf pine, juniper, rosemary, and other aromatic shrubs, the area only penetrated by coastal paths along the tops. There small lizards and geckos darted searching for ants and other insects and hawks patrolled searching for scorpions.

They were waiting for Gherardo Alfano, another diver. For safety, two divers were required .

An experienced naval diver, Alfano did jobs like this with the approval of his bosses to keep up his skill.

Zinni Terzano, the baker boy, eventually appeared on a motorini with rolls, cheese and wine for their lunch.

“What kept you Zinni? That girl tire you out last night?” Chaffed Alfano the diver as he took the basket. Zinni smiled but said nothing, his eyes taking in the tight suited figure of Naemi.

“When will you take me with you?” he pleaded to Troncarelli.

“When you deliver the pastries on time.”

The town was like a coloured wall above the marina. Six storey apartments with small green shutters fell to where restaurants and shops spilled out onto the flat promenade of the Calata Doria, which ran along the length of the sea front from the Piazza Bastreri to the Church on the Rock, Chiese San Pietro.

From one of these appartment windows Squinzi watched his boat readying for sea.

Soon he would be boatless. His first life had been in La Spezia in shipping. A desk job. Returning here had been his wife’s idea. She thought that it would steady their wayward daughter.

Zafira was attractive in a brassy sort of way, fond of clubs and fashion. Porto Venere was not big enough for her. Frequent trips to her old friends only underscored for her the limitations of this little port town. Her mother knew that what might anchor her would be a husband and children.

Troncarelli was her mum's choice, not Zafira’s.

Troncarelli got Zinni, who still hung about, to cast off the lines and the Mare Verde moved out of the marina into the channel.

There was still a swell coming through the Mouth of Venus, as the narrowed channel exit was called, and he kept on a bit of power until he turned her to the right in the direction of Riomagiore.