The Savage Garden

    It was a perfect night, the cooling sea breeze a welcome change from the windless humidity of the hills. Overhead, the stars cast a dirty stain across the sky. The smell of grilling fish mingled with the soft scent of pine trees and the earthy spice of cigar smoke wafting up from the terrace below. The white wine was crisp and dry, his shellfish starter a revelation. Under any other circumstances he would have lingered over his meal. Instead, he wolfed it down, eager to get back to the bar.

    'Good evening.'

    Adam turned, saw Gaetano standing over him and froze in the act of raising the fork to his mouth. Was Maurizio that far ahead of him? Had he predicted Adam's next move and furnished Gaetano with a detailed description of the meddlesome Englishman?

    'Are you enjoying your meal?' Gaetano inquired.

    The clothes might have been discreetly elegant, but the hand that Adam shook spoke of a life spent working the soil.

    'Yes. Thank you.'

    Gaetano nodded approvingly. 'The best fish stew in Viareggio.'

    'Yes, it's excellent.'

    'Good. I'm pleased.'

    It was only as Gaetano moved on to the next table that Adam realized he'd been doing no more than performing his patronly duty, checking up on his customers, ensuring that all was well. He cursed himself for missing the opportunity to strike up a conversation.

    Maybe the tour of the diners was Gaetano's last act before breaking for the night and heading home, because he was nowhere to be seen in the bar when Adam headed back downstairs. The two men Gaetano had been sitting with were still in the corner booth, slouched and nonchalant in their short sleeves, and they had been joined by an elderly man and a young woman, both of whom had evidently taken too much sun that day. A faint ray of hope came with the sight of a fifth wineglass on the table in front of them.

    Adam was at the bar, waiting to order, when Gaetano appeared from a door behind the counter with a box of cigars. He exchanged a few words with one of the barmen, who set up a bottle of malt whisky and some glasses on a tray.

    The moment a table came free, Adam pounced. He immersed himself in his book, happy to bide his time, ready to be the last to leave, if that's what it took. A while later, a woman placed her hand on the back of the chair opposite and asked in a sultry voice:

    'Can I?'

    She was tall, fine-featured, very attractive.

    'Of course,' said Adam, assuming that she wished to take the chair to another table. Instead, she lowered herself into it.

    'Are you alone? Apart from that boring-looking book, I mean?'

    'Er, yes.'

    'American?'

    'English.'

    'On holiday?'

    'Studying.'

    The woman slowly pulled a cigarette from her packet. 'Is it your first time in Viareggio?'

    'Yes.'

    'Where are you staying?'

    'A pensione over there.' He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the bar.

    'Oh, that one.' She flashed a smile. 'I'm Alessandra.'

    'Adam.'

    'You have lovely eyes, Adam.'

    'Thank you.' 'Do you also have a light?' She waggled the unlit cigarette between her fingers.

    'Of course. Excuse me.' He fumbled for his lighter on the table.

    'Leave the young man alone, Alessandra.'

    It was Gaetano.

    'Oh, do I have to?' she pouted up at him.

    'I'm afraid so.'

    Alessandra looked back at Adam. 'The boss,' she said with a mocking tone. 'I think he wants you for himself.'

    'Very funny, Alessandra.'

    Alessandra leaned across the table, smiled sweetly and raised the cigarette to her lips. Adam lit it for her. 'Spoilsport,' she muttered to Gaetano as she sashayed off.

    The only explanation Adam could come up with was that she worked in the world's oldest profession, and