From Humble Beginnings (Joe Steel) by Ian Harwood Page A

not when the pair of them came together; it’s like a battle tactic!”
    “I’m sure you’re being melodramatic.  If a handsome man chats to me then I’m not churlish enough to ignore him.  And Clordina was gorgeous! You’re only dating Juliet.  That doesn’t mean you can’t talk to other women!” she mocks. 
    Refusing to listen to her taunts, I stand, my chair scraping against the wooden floor.  “If you want to be blind, then be blind.  It will all go into my report regardless of whether you agree with me or not.  Something weird is going on; they approached us as though they were escorts! Not employees!”
    “They’re Italian! They flirt. It’s what they do best.”
    “Yeah, well, pull the wool over your eyes if you want.  I don’t like it.  It stinks to me.”
    Strolling over to the terrace doors, I open them and walk towards the railing.  Angelo and Clordina aren’t the only things that stink around here.  There’s a fetid smell and it makes me rear back.  Directly beneath the terrace is a small flower garden, which is illuminated and then the river.  Wondering why the water stinks at this particular point, I happen to see a shadow in the midst of the gloom. 
    “Oi! Who the hell are you?” I call out, noticing that the shadow is skulking away.  Squinting, I watch as the figure steps into the vicinity of the flower garden and I finally get a good look at him.  “This is private property.” Whether he understands me or not, I don’t know, but hopefully my tone tells him to piss off if he’s trespassing.
    “I know it is,” came the heavily accented voice.  As the man nears, the stench comes too. “I work here. I’m Marco.”
    I blink as a man, looking suspiciously like a tramp appears out of the darkness.  “In what capacity?” I demand, not refusing to take the man’s word as gospel.
    “I am the gardener and the driver.” The last was said sulkily.
    “I met the driver this evening.  He brought me from the airport.  He certainly wasn’t you.” As polished as Angelo was, I doubt he’d ever smelled as bad as this man had in his life! He probably took baths in his Armani aftershave. 
    “No.  I wasn’t allowed to collect you.”
    “Who said that?”
    “They forbidded me,” he answers and I don’t care that his grammar is appalling; I’m just relieved that he can make himself understood. 
    “Who did?”
    “They did.”
    “They? Who are they?”
    “Them. The bosses,” came the retort. 
    Before I could ask who the hell the bosses are, the man darts away into the shadows.  I’m partly relieved.  His smell was making my eyes water!
    “We’re the bosses,” I mutter under my breath, frowning in the direction of the man cum tramp cum gardener cum supposed driver.
    What’s that about then?
    Why is the usual driver, even as smelly as he is, forbidded , as he phrases it, from collecting us?
    My questions regarding Angelo and Clordina have just grown in number.  And Cass can fancy the arse off Angelo as much as she wants, I’ve found something else that stinks and we’ve only been here a few hours.  That really bodes well for the remainder of our stay, doesn’t it?   
    And to make matters worse, they always say that things come in threes, don’t they?

Chapter Six
                 
    I’ve always hated flying.  Being cooped up in a metal tin can, soaring through the sky in a machine that no one, not even the pros know how the damned things stay up in the air, isn’t my idea of a good time.  Give me a car or a boat.  That’s my idea of fun.  But more than anything, even the flight, I hate the day after.  I’ve hardly crossed a dozen time zones but I still feel jetlagged.  And I always do.  It must be something to do with the air system on board; or the too-fast motion of arriving in one country after crossing seas and mountains doesn’t sit well with me. 
    I’ve never been a morning person either, but today, waking up is harder than