Two Drops Of Water. Nicola Rocca
skin prompting him to shudder.
Another step towards the trees... As he got within a few yards, there it was again:
Frrrrsscch…
A definite rustle. No doubt about it.
Someone was there.
Another two paces towards the trees...
He gripped the axe with his other hand and defensively brought the weapon in front of him. Just like he'd done with the bottle that time...
He'd been slumped in his armchair in the living room watching Hitchcock's Psycho, one of his favourite films. Every time he watched it was like the first time. His eyes were glued to the screen and he had an ice-cold beer in his hand. Empty bottles were lined up on the table.
It was the first weekend of the off-season at the B&B, and like every year he was celebrating the start of his holiday alone, relaxing in his armchair, consuming a load of beer and junk food, and getting lost in Hitchcock or Dario Argento films.
Very few clients darkened his door from the end of November until the beginning of spring. There was the odd foreigner on a business trip who might stay for one or two nights, and a few couples arrived in December looking for a quiet break with good food. But other than that, not a soul for months on end.
He'd nearly finished his beer, but he was so engrossed in the film that he didn't want to get up and grab another one from the fridge.
Suddenly, something distracted him. It sounded like a window slamming, but he was sure he'd closed them all properly. Next, the sound of glass shattering.
He leapt out of his armchair and gripped the beer bottle tightly around the neck, brandishing it like a weapon. Anthony Perkins and Vera Miles continued their dialogue, but now his attention was elsewhere. Someone was messing about with some kind of metallic implement outside the house.
He made his way to where the living room met the large entrance hall and flicked the light switch.
Voices.
Footsteps moving away into the distance.
He approached the window and tentatively pulled the curtain. A gust of wind blew in through the hole in the centre of the pane. Alfredo looked down at the floor and saw shards of glass scattered everywhere. It took him a few seconds to realise what had happened. He thrust the window open wide and looked out, his fist clenched tightly around the neck of the bottle. What looked like two human figures were walking off into the distance, leaving him stood there, powerless, a cry caught in his throat.
Alfredo felt just like he had that evening. He cursed those sons of bitches who would occasionally come round. They would play all sorts of pranks on him because someone, God only knows who, had been spreading vicious rumours about the B&B.
He took another step towards the twin olive trees, the axe still tightly in his grasp.
He reached one of the trees and turned to lean his back against its considerable trunk. He was panting heavily now.
Frrrrsscch…
There it was again.
He spun around the trunk and raised the axe above his head, ready to bring it crashing down onto....oh.
Alfredo looked down and saw a pair of defiant eyes. They were black as tar and staring right at him.
The stone marten eventually broke away from the staring contest, spun around and scuttled off a few yards.
Alfredo looked up to the sky and burst out laughing. Then he turned back towards the animal, which had itself turned back and was staring right at him again. He lifted a foot and stamped hard on the ground.
The marten jumped and disappeared into the long grass.
CHAPTER 12
She'd cheated death.
It had been a real stroke of luck - a miracle, in fact. She was still sat securely in the driver's seat of her C2; her mother must have had a word with Almighty God, that was the only explanation.
Dead because of a blown-out tyre...
She felt sick at the thought of it. The car had slammed into the crash barrier and she had come away without a scratch. Just a bruised wrist and an almighty scare.
Someone was banging furiously on the window. Chantal turned to look and unlocked the door from the inside so the concerned-looking man could open it.
"Are you OK?"
"Yeah, thanks...just a bit shaken up, that's all."
Two other cars had stopped, their occupants keen to check on her well-being, but Chantal just wanted them to leave her alone.
In the end, she felt bad for thinking that because they removed her lacerated tyre and replaced it with the spare, allowing her to resume her journey.
She was running two hours late now and would have to let Alfredo know. She would call him, but only once she'd listened to the old Guns N' Roses song that had started to play over the speakers...she adored this track.
… and it's hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain…
OK, so it wasn't November, but it was certainly raining. Better to let the candle go out and then light a new one once the rain stops or you've found some shelter.
Sometimes I need some time... on my own
Sometimes I need some time... all alone
Everybody needs some time... on their own
Don't you know you need some time... all alone…
She definitely needed some time all alone.
The brake lights of the car in front came on, warning her to slow down.
She was stationary in seconds. A traffic jam.
What the hell...?
Luckily, there was a sign informing her that there was an Autogrill a few hundred yards up the road.
Stopping at the services would be infinitely preferable to sitting in the jam like a lemon.
“Twin Olive Trees B&B, Alfredo speaking. How can I help you?"
"Hi Alfredo, it's Chantal."
"Chantal?" He sounded confused, as if it were a name he'd never heard before. "Why are you calli..."
She butted in because she knew what he was about to ask.
"I tried you on your mobile a couple of times but you didn't pick up, so I thought I'd ring you on this number."
Silence for a few seconds, then the hesitant voice of Alfredo.
"Oh, right, the mobile...I must have left it charging somewhere. What's going on? Is there some kind of problem?"
Chantal sighed.
"Actually, there is. It's more than just traffic; I think there must be an accident or roadworks. I haven't moved for about 20 minutes. Well, I have moved, but only a hundred yards or so."
She paused, wondering whether to tell him about the puncture, but decided against it for now. She didn't want him to worry.
"It's no problem if you get here a little later than advertised," he reassured her.
"I've even thought about staying over somewhere and setting off again tomorrow morning. I mean, I could be stuck in this for hours. Luckily, there's some services a few hundred yards ahead. I'll stop there and..."
"Staying over somewhere?" he repeated incredulously. "You've got to be kidding, right? You're my guest tonight. Why on earth would you pay for a room somewhere else?"
"I might not be with you till gone midnight. I don't want you having to stay up late."
"Right, good one..."