Gemma Makes Her Mark, page 14
Today the plan was to go into the old town and do some sight-seeing and exploring; then after a final night on board and the usual heavy breakfast, and assuming he hadn’t got it wrong and Gemma and him were really over, he’d do what was needed with her and melt into a new life, maybe making his way across to the Greek islands, perhaps Crete for a while at least. Mark had stayed there one summer a few years ago when a student and enjoyed the easy-going atmosphere. He had managed to get some work in a bar with no questions being asked.
Mark had had no real plan at the beginning of the trip, apart from a vague idea of some kind of accident-cum-drowning if things didn’t work out. However after Gemma had gone back to their cabin once they had eaten last night, he’d spent the rest of the evening drinking with Derek and Jude, an oldish couple of regular cruisers who’d told him about the little island of Lokrum that snuggled in the bay a few hundred metres from Dubrovnik itself. They had seemed pleased to have someone younger to impress and Derek, in particular, had revelled in being allowed to show off his knowledge of the area, and of life in general. Apparently Lokrum had been the home to Benedictine monks for centuries up to the early 1800s but, apart from being used as a holiday home by Archduke Maximilian of Austria for a few years in the mid-nineteenth century, it had been uninhabited ever since. However it was open to visitors in the day time with regular ferries to and fro from the port of Dubrovnik. Aside from the remains of the monastery, a few paths and a small café, it was largely wooded, although there was a deep salt water lake there, apparently ideal for swimming. Derek and Jude had visited on each of their previous trips to Dubrovnik and, between G & Ts and pints, had explained how it was the perfect place to get away from everyone and everything, and particularly so in late autumn. Their implication, albeit in their slightly inebriated state by the end of the evening, was that a young couple like himself and Gemma could get back to nature and ‘do their thing’, as it was rather inelegantly put. In fact, they had mentioned there was some sort of nudist beach there too, although November probably wasn’t the time to explore that. For Mark, though, it had sowed the seeds of a plan. When he had returned to their cabin for the night, Gemma had been awake still and he’d suggested they visited Lokrum on one of the two final days of the trip.
As the Uganda dropped anchor between Dubrovnik and the island itself he could see what Derek and Jude had meant. The outline of the island, dark green, almost black, against the horizon and early morning light, with the waves from the liner lapping gently along a deserted shoreline, evidenced no signs of habitation.
***
Gemma put down her copy of Robert Ludlum’s latest story of espionage and skulduggery, The Parsifal Mosaic, stretched lazily out of the deck chair, pulled her jacket around her shoulders and wandered down to their cabin to see if Mark was going to bother with breakfast before the first ferry of the day to the old city. She liked a good thriller but this one on the Cold War hadn’t gripped her in the same way as The Bourne Identity or some of his other previous books, and especially The Scarlatti Inheritance, had. This one was a little far-fetched and samey; still, it was alright as holiday reading and nice that bits were set around the Mediterranean. It had been a pleasant start to the final day of the cruise and all in all and in spite of her misgivings she had enjoyed the trip so far. The weather had been unusually mild for early November and the brief stopovers in Malta and Naples had been fascinating, if a little rushed. Mark hadn’t been too much of a strain either. Even though he’d agreed not to expect anything, they had decided to share a cabin and she’d actually let him sleep with her on the second night, partly to keep him quiet but mainly because sleeping on board had turned her on – and why not? After all, if he couldn’t cope with it that was his look out. The thing was that Mark had been really easy-going, in fact in a quite out of character manner, and they had got on remarkably well for what was definitely for her a last goodbye. She had noticed that he’d seemed somewhat distracted too, as if he had something on his mind, but she really couldn’t be bothered to worry or even think about him or what was going on in his head. They had made an arrangement to have this final holiday and that was it as far as Gemma was concerned.
She made her way down to the cabins, checking that breakfast was being served in the dining area. Before she had reached the cabin deck she bumped into Mark who was on his way to find her. He was dressed and looked ready to go.
‘Come on Mark, let’s grab a quick bite and get the ferry into the town, it looks absolutely gorgeous and it’s going to be a nice day by all accounts.’
She gathered her things for the day and reminded herself that she needed to get to a post office or somewhere she could phone her solicitors and bank to check that the details on the sale of her flat in London were being tidied up and it was going ahead as planned.
After a quick breakfast, they joined quite a number of their fellow passengers to clamber down to the ship’s tender for the short trip across to the harbour, which apparently wasn’t deep enough to take the larger ships themselves. It wasn’t a problem for Gemma or Mark but the climb down the side of the Uganda was clearly something of an ordeal for one or two who, along with a good proportion of the cruisers, looked well into their retirement years. It was certainly the case that cruising was generally seen as the ideal holiday for older folk. In spite of being just about the youngest passengers, that hadn’t bothered Gemma or Mark either. In fact the lack of the stereotypical two-plus-two families, and of children in general, was quite refreshing; indeed, the couples on their trip didn’t hold back on eating or drinking and were generally pretty decent company. They weren’t overly bothered about the state of their lungs or the shape of their bodies and were happy to sit around talking and drinking day or night. Both of them, but perhaps particularly Mark, had enjoyed a few late-night sessions with whoever was around and willing.
It was a little after ten when they disembarked at the old harbour, with a good four or five hours to look around before the return trip. Gemma suggested they split up and explore on their own.
‘I’m going to do some clothes shopping which isn’t your thing, I know, so why don’t you look around yourself? I may do the city walls too, so let’s just meet at the harbour around three for the ferry back. I haven’t forgotten you mentioned going over to that island but we could do that tomorrow after they throw us off the boat. We’ve got hours before the flight home and anyway we could always re-arrange that if we had to.’
Mark could hardly believe it and was happy to agree. It was as if Gemma had read his mind; surely she couldn’t have guessed what had been going on in his head for the last few day. He put the thought aside.
‘Yes, good idea. I wouldn’t mind looking round the old cathedral and there’s a couple of museums that Derek and his wife were telling me about last night.’
That was true, anyway. Ever since he had been taken to virtually every cathedral in Britain as part of their family holidays when he was a boy, Mark had always retained a real and genuine fascination with those buildings. The proportions, the windows, the pillars and ceilings had an inspirational quality he was unavoidably and deeply touched by. It never ceased to amaze him that they had been built before the tools and machinery available and taken for granted nowadays. He’d read about the baroque style of the cathedral in Dubrovnik in an old Baedeker guide the travel agent had lent him; it had been renovated over the last few years and Mark was keen to have a look. His more recent and up-to-date Lonely Planet guide book had mentioned that during the renovation another even older cathedral dating back to the seventh century had been discovered under the foundations of what had until then been thought to be the original cathedral, which was itself badly damaged by an earthquake in the seventeenth century. He loved maps and travel guides and couldn’t understand why people visited places without finding out as much as possible about them.
***
As Gemma wandered off through the gate leading from the harbour into town, Mark strolled around the jetty and past a few fishermen pottering about in a desultory fashion, mending nets and baskets and doing whatever they did when they had managed to get rid of their catches. He took a few photos and walked up to the town himself. It was certainly impressive. The marble effect of the main streets sparkled in the autumnal sun; it really did look like marble although he recalled that the Baedeker book had said something about hard limestone. The various shops and cafés on the Placa, the main street running up through the middle of the town, were already geared up for their day’s activity. Mark strolled up to the Franciscan church and monastery, just before the main entrance gate of the city walls, at the top of the Placa. He sat down by the stone fountain opposite; the monastery didn’t appear to be open, and after a quick glance at the useful street map in his Lonely Planet guide he decided to make his way through the smaller side streets back to the cathedral and then perhaps try to find somewhere for a sandwich and drink.
The maze of streets and alleys had led him almost back to the port again when he came across the cathedral. Appearing quite suddenly, almost by surprise, it was imposing without being overpowering. The surrounding square seemed a little dowdy and certainly low-key, but the four columns on the front façade were grand enough. Mark entered the nave which was surprisingly bright and spacious: it gave the impression of being too large for the outside of the building. There was some pretty stunning glass and artwork too, including a 16th century work by Titian that must have survived the earthquake. He wasn’t sure about the policy on taking photographs but there weren’t many visitors inside and only a couple of what he assumed must be local worshippers so he managed to sneak in a good few pictures. Being bothered to take photos struck him as a little strange; he wondered who he’d ever have to show them to. After all, it wouldn’t be Gemma and he wasn’t intending to go back to England for a good while either. Still, there would no doubt be someone, he was sure of that.
It was past midday when Mark emerged into the sunlight and he was ready to find somewhere to sit down and eat. Although the Baedeker wasn’t much help with places to eat and drink, his Lonely Planet book on travelling in Europe had mentioned a small café-cum-bar in Dubrovnik, situated on one of the steep streets just off the Placa and running up to the residential areas of the town, apparently either managed or owned by an English couple. Mark headed back into the centre of the old town to look in to it.
Sure enough, by the time he got to the third or fourth side street he spotted a small Union Jack hovering across the narrow passageway, more than street, that separated the buildings on one side from those on other. There were a couple of tables outside but there was little chance of the winter sun reaching them, let alone the summer one, Mark thought. He went in and sat at a table near the window and let his eyes adjust to the lack of light. Apart from him there were only a couple of what looked to be local builders eating some kind of pasties with their coffees. There was a pile of magazine and papers on a bench by the door and he picked up a copy of the Sunday Times magazine from a couple of weeks back. That was an encouraging sign, he reckoned. Earlier in the day, he had exchanged just a few pounds into what seemed to be a massive amount of dinars and he ordered a coffee from a waitress who clearly wasn’t English while deciding which sandwich to go for. As she brought it over he gave a sudden start, behind her and emerging from what he assumed must be the back kitchen was someone who looked strangely familiar. He couldn’t place when or where but Mark was certain he knew him; surely not from his time in prison. After a second take it came to him: it wasn’t from prison, it was from his university days, and when as a student rather than lecturer. He was sure it was Howard, the quiet lad who’d been in his year at Kent and in a couple of his Sociology classes. He remembered they’d chatted on occasion, mainly about the course and essays, and he had seemed a decent enough type, if a little uncool by Mark’s standards at the time, however embarrassingly dated those seemed now. Mark stood up and called over to him.
‘My God Howard, is that you? It’s Mark, we were at uni together.’
Howard put the grubby pair of oven gloves he was carrying on the counter, took off his glasses and came across to Mark’s table, staring at him.
‘Yes so it is, wow, what are you doing here?’
He looked more shocked than Mark.
‘I don’t believe it, I read all about you, you were all over the news.’
Mark had never really taken the time to consider how people he had known just in passing before the murders and his imprisonment would have reacted and he could see he would have to explain things to Howard.
‘Yes it must have been a shock to people, but look, Howard, I was stupid and did some mad things; but don’t worry, I’m not some sort of out of control maniac killer. And I’ve come over here to start again and rebuild things.’
He thought it probably best not to tell Howard that he was in Dubrovnik as part of a plan for another possible but certainly final murder.
‘It must be more than ten years since I last saw you, Howard.’
Howard pulled a chair over and sat down. He was tall and thin, skinny really, and quite tanned; even in a somewhat greasy T-shirt and jeans Mark reckoned he looked better than he had done as a student in the late ’sixties. Even in his work clothes, he exuded a confidence and sense of control that certainly hadn’t been apparent back then.
‘No I’m not one to judge, but it’s amazing to see you here. I’ll get a bottle of our local wine and you can tell me what happened. I mean, what are you doing here?’
‘Yes, it’s weird seeing you again, you look like you’re sort of at home here, though. Actually I’m on the cruise liner that arrived this morning, I’ve got to get back to the harbour around three but it’d be great to catch up.’
Howard brought a bottle of red over and asked Lana, the waitress, to bring some bread and cheese and to deal with another couple of locals who’d just come in to the bar. He was obviously intrigued to find out just what had happened. And judging from the way he talked to Lana he was obviously more than just a part-time waiter.
‘You know we all thought you were so hip, I was a little in awe of you at uni; you probably don’t remember but I got some pot off you and Tom a couple of times. What happened to Tom? I mean I heard you’d got a job at Sussex University and then, years later, a mate of mine called me and said he’d heard you were on trial for murder. It was massive news.’
The atmosphere in the café bar was pleasant and Mark felt pretty comfy and quite happy to get things off his chest. He had lost touch with so many old friends and contacts and it felt good to have someone from back then to talk to. He launched into it.
‘Well it’s a long story but actually Tom was one of the reasons I did what I did and in the end the bastard took off with my girlfriend. You know he was really well off, well his parents were; he just flashed his money in front of her and turned her head. I know I was married but it wasn’t really working and my in-laws were rolling in it. I needed to sort things for me and Justine, she was my girlfriend and Tom knew I was planning on leaving my wife and being with her. Anyway, as you no doubt heard, I got rid of them to get my hands on some real money. I was only trying to get a future for me and Justine sorted until he intervened; in any case it’s water under the bridge now. I served my time as they say, over six years and the thing is that there is no future back there for me now. Actually I’ve got a decent stash of money, enough to invest in something and start a new life somewhere. But look what about you? Tell me what you’re doing here.’
Howard poured them both another glass.
‘Okay, but I’m not letting you go without finding out all about things. You murdered them – poisoned, I seem to remember. Bloody hell, Mark, I did read about it once I’d heard it was you.’
‘Fair enough, if we get a chance I’ll tell you all about it, but how come you’re here?’
Howard took a packet of Malboros out of his shirt pocket and offered Mark one.
‘Well, I came over soon after finishing at Kent, just for the summer initially but I met this Croatian girl, Branka, and came back the following year and basically stayed here. She had a bit of family money and we decided to open this place. Her family were great; they could see tourism beginning to take off in the area and helped out. I’ve done a lot of the legwork to get it started and they’ve helped with the legal and official stuff, and it’s going okay. In fact, we’re thinking of expanding things. We’re married now but she’s not around today, gone to see her sister in Split for a day or two.’
As he listened, Mark could sense the beginnings of an opportunity opening up, particularly when Howard mentioned that they needed a bigger place to cope with the demand. Even though President Tito had died a couple of years previously and there was a good deal of financial instability in the country, his lengthy period in power had helped create a more modern Yugoslavia and a degree of freedom from the Soviet domination of Eastern Europe. That had opened the country, and especially Dubrovnik itself, up to western tourists, as evidenced by the flurry of hotel building on the hill up from the old town, along with its developing role as a cruise stopover.
