Page 66 of Someone in the Water
A gust of wind swirls around Lola’s shoulders as the word ‘kill’ hangs in the air. ‘I guess that’s what I meant,’ she mumbles.
‘Well, Corsica is famous for its vendettas,’ Patrick goes on. ‘And they can last through multiple generations. For centuries, Corsicans considered it their duty to avenge any wrongdoing. There’s even a specific type of knife for it – it’s called avendetta corse.’
‘I hope you don’t have one of those,’ Lola says, pretending she’s joking. They’ve reached the boulders, and she plants her feet carefully. Last night everyone was talking about a deadly Corsican folklore, and now it’s vendettas. So much for Corsica’s French nickname,L’Île de Beauté.
Patrick smiles but doesn’t answer her question. ‘Do you need a hand?’
Lola shakes her head and moves on to the next boulder. It’s smooth but sturdy, and she silently swears at herself for hesitating. It’s not like Izzy’s death had anything to do with Corsican vendettas after all.
But it could be linked to another element of Corsican culture, she thinks as she speeds up. If Salvo was involved with the mafia like his brother, maybe Izzy saw something she shouldn’t have and got killed for it. And at least if Salvo’s the bad guy, it means they’re not in any danger now.
‘Will there be any other family members at Salvo’s memorial on Thursday?’ she asks, digging for clues.
‘No, I don’t think so. He’s got four nephews, my dad’s cousins. But they live in Marseille, and they were only here last week for the funeral.’
‘Four brothers, wow.’
‘Yeah. I was told that their dad was desperate for a daughter so kept trying. But it wasn’t to be.’
‘That’s your grandfather’s brother, right? Did you know him well?’
‘No, I never met him. He died when I was little.’
Lola wishes she could see Patrick’s face, but he’s ahead of her and she can only see his back, the almond tan of his neck against the white T-shirt. ‘That’s sad,’ she says. ‘How did he die?’
Patrick doesn’t speak for a few moments and Lola worries that she’s blown it. But then he coughs and starts talking. ‘He was shot. The thing is, my uncle was involved with some bad people. Mafia. So yeah, he died when I was five, but I doubt I’d have met him even if he hadn’t. My grandpa hated everything to do with the mafia, so he always kept us well away from Uncle Jean.’
‘Oh, right.’ Lola doesn’t know whether to feel pleased that Patrick has no criminal influences, or disappointed that she might have to cross Salvo off her list of suspects.
‘Anyway, it’s not far now,’ Patrick continues. ‘Once we get over these rocks, the path takes us down to a footbridge, and we can access the beach from there.’
They clamber over the final boulders and pause to look at the view. They’re high up now and the wind is swirling. Lola holds her flying hair back from her face. The sea looks magical, a mass of sparkles as the sun hits the crest of every wave. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she says. ‘And you’re right about it being remote. I see now why you get the beach to yourself most of the time.’
‘One of the benefits of being born here, I guess. Salvo used to bring me here before he moved away. We’d bring fishing nets and look for crabs in the rocks.’
‘I bet you missed him when he left. Why did he go?’
Patrick looks out to sea. ‘He grew up in Sartène, but I’m not sure why he went back there when he did.’
Lola thinks about the article she read, how it said the hotel was passed to Salvo by his mother. ‘He still owned the hotel though?’
Patrick sighs, then eyes the footpath. ‘Part-owned it, with my dad. I think they fell out over something, probably to do with business. My father wanted to modernise everything while my grandfather was a traditionalist. It’s not a great combination.’
The path is wide enough for two now and Lola falls in step beside him. ‘Did you go and stay with your grandparents in Sartène?’
‘Yeah, in the school holidays. In fact, I was packed off there for most of the summer break for about ten years running.’
‘That must have been fun?’
Patrick falls quiet again, as though he’s considering the question. ‘It was good to get away from here. But Salvo had changed by then, at least that’s how it felt. He worked such long hours on the vineyard, like it was some kind of penance.’ He blinks. ‘I wish I’d known then what I know now.’
‘And what’s that?’ Lola probes.
Patrick looks embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t really want to talk about it, if that’s okay?’
Lola’s cheeks flare. Why is she prying? Salvo’s only been dead a couple of weeks. ‘Of course.’
Patrick smiles his thanks. ‘Look,’ he says, pointing ahead. ‘There’s the bridge. Beach is just the other side. Come on.’ He starts walking again and after a second of hesitation, Lola follows. She needs to forget about Izzy, and who might have killed her, for a while. She’s here to enjoy a picnic with the most gorgeous man she’s ever met.
