Chapter 30 #2
The next day, Anya playing on her mind again, she met Bobby’s friend at the British Hotel on the Grand Harbour for high tea.
He rose to his feet as she approached and took her hand.
He was older than Bobby, maybe thirty-five, taller too and darker-skinned with curly brown hair and kind amber-coloured eyes with flecks of gold in them.
‘I’m so pleased you decided to come,’ he said, shaking her hand. ‘Ottavio Zampieri.’
‘Riva Janvier.’
They took their seats and a waiter was instantly there with a menu.
As they ordered tea and cakes, she looked Ottavio over.
Well-heeled but with a slightly dishevelled look, he wasn’t unattractive.
Then she turned to the stunning view of the Grand Harbour, golden and glowing in the late-afternoon sun.
‘Have you been here before?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘No. You have an unusual name, if you don’t mind me saying, Mr Zampieri.’
‘My father was Italian, and my mother is Maltese. Do please call me Otto.’
‘Well, I’m happy to know you, Otto, although I’m not at all sure why you wanted to meet me.’
‘Bob tells me you are a dancer.’
‘Yes.’
He glanced around and, his face thoughtful, he spoke in a hushed tone. ‘And you had a friend who went missing and was sadly found washed up on the beach.’
She sighed deeply and leant forward. ‘Anya, yes, I was terribly upset to hear what had happened to her, but she wasn’t a friend really. I only spoke to her once.’
‘Would you mind telling me about that?’
‘We lived in the same house, although I think she was only there for a night or two. I heard her crying and went to see what was wrong. At first, she didn’t want to say but then told me she’d been forced to come here.’
‘Anything else?’
‘She just seemed very frightened.’
‘Did she mention any names?’
Because Otto had spoken even more quietly, she lowered her voice. ‘Names?’
‘Of whom she may have been scared.’
Riva shook her head. ‘No. And the next thing I knew she was gone.’
‘That same day?’ he said, frowning.
‘Yes. When I came back later her room was empty, and all her things were gone.’
‘And why did you look into her room again?’
‘I promised her I would. I said we’d have tea together.’
‘I’m wondering—’
But then the waiter arrived bearing a cake stand. He was accompanied by a second waiter who placed a silver pot of tea on the table, plus milk and sugar. He poured their tea and then left.
‘This looks very British,’ she said as she added milk and sugar to hers and noticed he took neither.
‘Yes. And you are French of course,’ he said in a conversational tone.
‘I am. These cakes look delicious. Mind if I help myself?’
‘Not at all.’
She chose a slice of sponge cake, an eclair, and what looked like a chocolate biscuit. ‘I’ve just remembered something. Before I met her, I think I saw Anya with someone at the club I work in.’
‘Who was that?’
‘It may have been a man called Stanley Lucas. Could he be involved?’
Otto shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But,’ he continued in a whisper as she ate the sponge cake. ‘I’m wondering if you might assist me. I want to find out what is happening to these girls.’
‘Girls!’ she said, swallowing rapidly and almost choking. She held up a hand and coughed a couple of times before she hissed, ‘You mean Anya is not the only one?’
‘Several foreign artistes have disappeared, some never found, but three others have turned up dead. Anya was the latest. The other two were a French and a Hungarian girl.’
‘Dear God. I didn’t realise.’
‘It gets hushed up. The problem is that prostitution is flourishing and it’s a market which, to some extent, relies on the trade in human trafficking. Apart from how terribly wrong that is, we are also attempting to develop tourism. The two don’t really fit together.’
‘I see. Tourists are unlikely to want to come to a place where girls regularly turn up dead.’
‘Or a place whose reputation is tainted by tales of a trade in foreign women and girls.’
‘Anya was Russian and terribly young.’
‘Yes, they usually are. The island is beautiful but there is an undercurrent, and it flows right through Strait Street. Because you work there, I thought you might be well placed to pass on anything you see or hear. I would pay you, of course.’
‘You want me to be a spy. How thrilling.’
He laughed. ‘I suppose you could say that.’
‘Can I think about it?’ She bit into an eclair and chewed. But she already knew. She had wanted to be changed, to be different from her bourgeois parents and now she would be. A spy! How about that? Of course she would do anything to protect other young girls from going missing.
He glanced around and spoke even more quietly. ‘Many of these girls are working for dangerous men, criminals. They live on immoral earnings and mistreat the girls. You would need to be extremely careful.’
‘I can take care of myself.’
‘All the same. And as you said, give it some thought.’
‘Can I tell Bobby?’
‘I don’t think he’ll be happy but yes, you can tell him, nobody else though, and I’ll meet you here in a week.’
‘Perhaps I shouldn’t be seen with you in public. Won’t people put two and two together.’
‘I chose this hotel because it’s entirely British and the paper I work for is pro-British, so anyone who spots us here will think nothing of it. Don’t worry. You’re safe here. It’s in Strait Street that you will have to be careful. That’s where you need to keep your eyes open.’