Chapter 33 Fenna – Day 8
After a hurried one-handed lunch, as Raffi refused to nap, she decided to bring him somewhere less stimulating.
Luke didn’t look up when she walked past, too busy pouring himself another glass of wine to notice.
At least Alba is enjoying having lots of attention.
There are safety nets and childproof features, plus a helpful member of the crew who is delighted to play with her.
The master bedroom is the furthest room away from the noise of the upper deck.
She stepped inside and looked around in awe.
It looks like it’s never been slept in. A deep window seat offers views of the calm water.
There are two walnut-brown built-in wardrobes, a plush ottoman and recessed shelves full of polished antique ornaments.
The spacious marble wet room ensuite has neatly folded fluffy white towels folded over a rail, embroidered anchors all facing the same way.
She’s tempted to take something as a memento. If it wasn’t for the rocking motion and the occasional creak from the hull, you could be mistaken for thinking you were in a five-star hotel. The gentle movement calmed Raffi, who has been asleep for the past hour.
Fenna picked up her phone to take a photo of the incredible room but ended up flicking through her photo album, landing on the shot she took of Rosie’s notebook.
Those strange, scribbled pages.
She brings it closer to her eyes, trying to decipher the crossed-out text.
The word ‘Fraser?’ and the local address are the only things legible.
The address that Luke told her was the site of the old shoe shop.
Rosie could have been hunting for a pair of authentic Italian leather sandals, but she doubts it.
Mario’s Shoes.
Fenna taps open Google and sees what comes up.
Mario’s Shoes, Laprezia. Permanently closed.
She frowns.
Why is Rosie interested in a shoe shop that doesn’t exist anymore? In amongst the search results is a chatroom-style thread all about the town.
Anyone know what happened to Mario’s Shoes? I remember walking past and smelling the sun-warmed leather when we used to go there on holiday many moons ago. (Pauline_73)
I’ve never seen it open. (MirelleL)
It shut down years ago. That building is cursed. (ManUDad)
A user has added a wide eye emoji.
What do you mean ‘cursed’? (Pauline_73)
It belonged to the Bernardi family. They tried to keep it going for as long as they could but sales pretty much died overnight. They moved away a few years later. It’s lay empty since. No one knows what to do with the building. No one wants to buy it because of the connection to DD (ManUDad)
A rush of heat breaks across her chest.
DD? I don’t understand?? (Pauline_73)
The Bernardis were Danielle Dixon’s host family (ManUDad)
Fenna sits up.
It can’t be a coincidence that Rosie wrote down this particular address, the last place Danielle was seen alive.
Rosie made out that she’d never heard of Danielle before she arrived here.
The Frasers were the ones to tell her all about the missing schoolgirl.
Weren’t they? There’s a cheer from the deck above.
Fenna blocks out the fun that everyone is having and opens Rosie’s Instagram profile.
There must be something she’s missed. She scrolls quickly but there’s nothing on Rosie’s neatly curated feed.
It’s unexciting and bland. What was her friend called?
Lucy? Lydia! Perhaps there’s something on her page?
Right down Lydia’s feed is a throwback post, a compilation of school photos that were taken a few years ago, including a full class line-up of gangly teenage girls with matching plucked eyebrows and sharp orange tide marks of foundation.
An unsmiling Rosie is tagged sitting beside Lydia in the front row.
The image is timestamped ‘Year 10. June 2010.’ Rosie and Lydia would have been fourteen or fifteen.
Fenna pulls the phone closer to her eye, swallowing the sudden sour taste in her mouth.
She’s seen this navy uniform before. The identical school crest is on the many missing posters around Laprezia.
Rosie went to the same school as Danielle Dixon.
Fenna frowns, trying to work out the dates.
She would have been in the year below. Did she know her?
This is starting to feel like too much of a coincidence.
First, the address where Danielle was last seen, and now the school connection.
What the hell is going on? A shiver rolls over her.
Alba calls for her from somewhere in the yacht, but she’s glued to her seat.
Her eyes drop back to the image. Amongst the blazers, straightened hair, and pleated slate grey skirts is a curly haired male teacher in his early forties who stands proudly at the end of the row.
She reads the comments under the images. There are angel wings and white dove emojis.
RIP Jonathan M. Queen Mary’s Legend. Heart of gold, f**k the haters.
Paedophile Mills you mean?
They must be referring to the teacher accused of having something to do with Danielle’s disappearance. Is Jonathan Mills the same man in the group photo? Did he teach Rosie, too?
Why has she kept this quiet?
Fenna types his name into the search engine. A list of sites flash up. The top one is for an English tabloid newspaper with a story from December 2010. She clicks the link.
TEACHER ‘TOOK OWN LIFE’ FOLLOWING FATEFUL SCHOOL EXCHANGE
A teacher questioned by police over the disappearance of a British schoolgirl took his own life, a coroner has ruled.
The body of Jonathan Mills, 45, Head of Italian at Queen Mary’s Girls’ School in Guildford, Surrey, was discovered by a train line in the town in September.
The father-of-one had led students on a foreign exchange in Tuscany the previous month in which he was linked, and then cleared, over the missing schoolgirl Danielle Dixon, 15.
An inquest heard that Mr Mills had ‘struggled to come to terms’ with being wrongly implicated over Ms Dixon’s disappearance. Recording a conclusion of suicide, coroner Alan Stevenson said: ‘Mr Mills had nothing to do with the missing persons case, but events took a tragic toll.’
After the hearing, Mr Mills’ wife told waiting reporters her husband had endured relentless press speculation.
Bethany Mills, 46, said: ‘Jonathan felt responsible for what happened during the exchange even though he was blameless. The Italian police and British press have blood on their hands. One day the truth will come out.’
Italian police believe Ms Dixon ignored her curfew and went out to meet an unnamed person on August 22 2010. The search for her, which began when she failed to return to her host family’s home, continues.
Detectives discounted Mr Mills from their investigations as witnesses confirmed his alibi, Italian media reported. However, the inquest heard that despite being cleared, Mr Mills ‘endured continuing local gossip and rumours’, Mrs Mills said.
Items of bloodied clothing and a camera belonging to Ms Dixon were found by Lake Parachetto, Laprezia. Despite numerous public pleas and vast searches of the local area, Ms Dixon has not been traced.
She stares at the photo of Jonathan Mills on the news website, his official headshot.
He has a recognisable birthmark under his left eye.
It is the same curly haired man in the school photo.
Fenna chews her lip, willing her exhausted, sleep-deprived brain to think faster.
There’s something about Mr Mills that claws at her.
She goes back to Rosie’s Instagram and zooms in to the nostalgic Christmas morning shot buried at the bottom of her page. The air leaves her lungs. Rosie’s dad has curly brown hair and a birthmark under his left eye.
A shiver rolls over her. She tears off the lid of a nearby bottle of mineral water and gulps it down.
Jonathan Mills – the man accused of killing Danielle Dixon – was not only Rosie’s teacher, he was her father.