Daggers and Men's Smiles by Jill Downie Page B

as the feel of Giulia’s soft leather jacket beneath her hands. Gradually, Sydney found her own movements blending with Giulia’s, much as she had learned to move with another dancer in a pas de deux, relying on the strength and expertise of her partner.
    They seemed to be heading for the southern coastline of the island. In spite of their introductory tour, Sydney was vague about the geography of Guernsey, but she knew that this coastline — unlike the flatter, gentler western coastline where much of the filming would take place and where many of the wartime installations were to be found — was craggy and spectacular. Wild and beautiful, its cliffs and coves were breathtaking enough to have attracted the painter Renoir on a visit to the island. They turned yet another corner in a small, winding lane and Sydney saw a sliver of milky blue horizon beyond a cleft in the pine-covered slopes. Sydney felt herself slip toward Giulia as the Ducati descended a steep slope between the trees.
    â€œSee?” Giulia called over her shoulder, her words blown back by the wind. “ Mio castello .”
    Giulia’s castle, set high above the sea, was one of the eighteenth-century Martello towers, built to protect the island against Napoleonic invasion. This one seemed to have been modified, because on top of the familiar circular construction with its tiny slit windows, was what appeared to be another storey, with wider windows, still elongated in shape. There was a stone wall encrusted with plants around the perimeter of a grassy enclosure, with a solid-looking gate set in it. Giulia brought the Ducati to a halt by the gate, and got off the bike.
    â€œHere, let me give you a hand. I’ll unlock this and we’ll walk from here.”
    â€œ Your castle? I wouldn’t have thought they allowed anyone to buy one of these,” said Sydney, removing her purloined helmet. She was grateful for the heavy jacket. They were high up, close to the edge of the cliff, and the wind was strong.
    â€œYes, it’s mine. There are only one or two of these on private land — there’s one out at L’Ancresse in the north of the island, I’m told — and I was lucky enough to be staying with my aunt when this one came on the market.”
    â€œThe marchesa is your aunt?”
    â€œShe is.”
    Giulia pulled the Ducati through the gate, which she relocked. “Robbery is not such a problem here — it’s the sightseers and nosey small ragazzi I want to keep away from the place,” she said.
    For a moment, Sydney hesitated. Ahead of her, the Martello tower loomed, grey, cold and forbidding, like something out of a tale by Grimm. No attempt at decoration had been made to the exterior, and the area around it was unkempt, rough beneath her feet with exposed rock and long grasses. Above her head a flock of gulls wheeled with their hideous shriek. Ahead of her she saw that Giulia had unlocked the door of the tower and was pushing the Ducati inside.
    Well , she thought. You’ve done dumber things in your life, woman . And walked toward Giulia Vannoni.
    â€œWelcome,” said Giulia, “to my castello isola .”
    As Sydney stepped across the threshold, Giulia flicked a light switch by the door.
    Sydney gasped.
    Where the outside had been bleak and forbidding, the interior was warm, glowing with colour, ablaze with oranges, ruby reds, carmines, emerald and aqua, the glowing blue of stained-glass windows or Victorian enamels. Giulia was laughing as she flicked down the Ducati’s stand, leaving it on a terrazzoed area by the door.
    â€œThat look of surprise on your face — you expected gloomy grey and black bleakness — no?”
    â€œYes. This is like — a secret garden.”
    â€œThat is nice. I am away so much I do not want those beyond the walls to guess at what lies inside. The lady at L’Ancresse has a picture window where there once was a gun, but no