A Tangled Web

By Viviane Elisabeth Borg

Serena finds romance amidst mysterious events which affect the life of her employer residing on the idyllic island of Malta.

Serena Burton is a shy and disillusioned young English woman holidaying on the idyllic Mediterranean island of Malta. Although she finds romance with the hotel manager, Luigi Coletti she finds it hard to commit herself completely to their relationship. This is mostly due to her deep involved in the life of her employer, an elderly writer named Louisa Weston.

As Serena gradually discovers Louisa’s strange past she is drawn into a tangled web of hidden mysteries. As these are slowly uncovered her fledging romance struggles to develop into something more meaningful. Regardless Luigi persists and though he perceives a future, it comes at a high price...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Luminosity Publishing LLP
• Release date: Jan 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370235032

Viviane Elisabeth Borg

Although Viviane Elisabeth Borg was born British of Maltese descent in 1925, she had an Italian upbringing and received a French education. Being a great lover of poetry and literature, she aspired at becoming a writer, but her studies were interrupted as World War II erupted over Europe.She was married in 1946.In 1956 political disruptions between Egypt and Anglo-French interests in the Suez Canal Zone resulted in military intervention forcing her family to leave as political refugees. They set up a new home in London, England.In 1997 she wrote and self-published a memoir entitled When the Wind Blows.She and her son, Robert L J Borg, jointly self-published a poetry anthology entitled Poetic Whispers in 2012.A Tangled Web was previously published in 2014 by Sweet Cravings Publishing, now being re-published by Luminosity Publishing, in August 2016.Viviane currently resides at Golfe Juan in the south of France.

Book preview

A TANGLED WEB

Viviane Elisabeth Borg

Serena finds romance amidst mysterious events which affect the life of her employer residing on the idyllic island of Malta.

Serena Burton is a shy and disillusioned young English woman holidaying on the idyllic Mediterranean island of Malta. Although she finds romance with the hotel manager, Luigi Coletti, she finds it hard to commit herself completely to their relationship. This is mostly due to her deep involvement in the life of her employer, an elderly writer named Louisa Weston.

As Serena gradually discovers Louisa’s strange past, she is drawn into a tangled web of hidden mysteries. As these are slowly uncovered, her fledgling romance struggles to develop into something more meaningful. Regardless, Luigi persists, and though he perceives a future, it comes at a high price . . .

PUBLISHER NOTE: Cozy Mystery. Female Sleuth. 57,900 words.

A TANGLED WEB

VIVIANE ELISABETH BORG

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LUMINOSITY PUBLISHING LLP

A TANGLED WEB

Copyright © OCTOBER 2021

VIVIANE ELISABETH BORG

ISBN: 078-1-910710-20-9

Cover Art by Poppy Designs

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this literary work may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without the written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To my children, Lesley, Robert, and Terry, who loved to spend their summer holidays on the island of Malta.

CHAPTER ONE

The Man by the Sea

Not a very nice evening, said Mr. Coletti the hotel manager, when Serena approached the desk to leave her keys.

I’m just going for a short walk before dinner, she replied shyly.

Better take an umbrella then.

I don’t think I’ll bother. She laughed. I won’t be too long anyway.

She stepped outside and cautiously looked right and left before crossing the road onto the seaside promenade. Ominous dark clouds were gathering fast on the horizon, and grayish blue waves splashed angrily against the white rocks, spraying her lips with salty droplets.

Serena was no stranger to this small Mediterranean island, but she had always come at the peak of hot and dry summers when the blinding brightness of the sky merged with the staggering azure blue of the sea. She never expected in a million years to find this sort of unremitting British drizzle soaking her hair through and through, nor an icy wind blowing on her face and making her eyes watery.

She looked in disbelief at the threatening sky and hoped the drizzle would not worsen. Forcibly she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and then walked briskly with her head down. She stopped abruptly out of breath and leaned against the silvery railings that ran all along in a wide bend. What on earth possessed her to come over here in the middle of this bleak and unusually cold winter? It was less than three weeks since she had that terrible row with Harry after catching him cheating with her best friend, Susan. Seething with anger, she broke off their engagement, but was so wretched and miserable that she felt like crawling into a dark corner or disappearing from the face of the earth.

A few days later, a stupid argument at work exploded into a major crisis. Full of hurt pride, she rebuffed any words of sympathy offered by her boss, and promptly resigned from her position as private secretary with a reputable industrial firm. She immediately moved out of her cozy little apartment in Putney and grabbed one of those last-minute holiday deals to the island of Malta, where they offered travelers four weeks for the price of three. Perhaps the change of scenery would help her get over the emotional roller-coaster ride she was on. A relaxing getaway may lead to a fresh start. She had to try.

The promenade was almost deserted, and the vast expanse of turbulent water was swelling under the blustery wind. Serena was so dejected and full of self-pity that her eyes filled with tears, but no matter where or when, the sea had always a soothing effect on her. Unlike a desert where its vastness and desolate emptiness exudes fear and wonder, the sea with its interchangeable moods of calm and rough had a mysticism of its own which for some unknown reason Serena was the most comfortable near it. And this kind of weather perfectly suited her present frame of mind.

Her tears were washed away by the rain, and she tightly gripped the metal railing that ran the length of the promenade until her fingers hurt. She inhaled the fresh, revitalizing ozone bringing her back to life. Serena was about to turn back, when at a distance she glimpsed the shape of a man sitting on one of the rocks protruding into the sea at the base of the low cliffs beneath where she was standing. Against the darkening sky, he looked more like a gray shadow, yet she could still notice a sort of naval cap pulled down on his forehead and a few shiny buttons glittering on a dark reefer coat.

Normally her first reaction would be to run in the opposite direction, but a compelling urge pushed her forward to that blurred figure, and her imagination started to run wild. Was he a seaman home on leave after a long exotic voyage? Or was he simply a stranger who, like her, was taking a stroll, indifferent to the elements? The man seemed totally unaware of her presence and was focusing only on the foaming sea. The incandescent light of a pale moon came peeping through the thick clouds, and for an instant, two very dark eyes stared blankly back at Serena.

A gust of wind forced her to turn away and, when she looked back, the man seemed to have vanished. Had he gone down the other side of the rocks, or was her imagination playing tricks?

With a deep sigh, she tied her white woolen scarf firmly under her chin and resumed her brisk walk to the hotel just in time to change for dinner.

I nearly sent out a search party for you, joked Mr. Coletti who from the first day of seeing Serena had been unable to take his eyes off her.

Serena had chosen the Stella Maris Hotel because of its melodious name, and it was small but comfortable, and had a stunning view of the open sea. Unfortunately, because of the low season and, in anticipation of the forthcoming Easter holidays when they could expect a larger number of foreign visitors, part of the big lounge and the cocktail bar had been closed for renovations. There was, however, a small television room where most of the guests assembled after dinner in order to keep nice and warm. They too, like Serena, had come in search of a cheap winter sun, only to find that even the idyllic Mediterranean can sometimes deliver treacherous winds and cold rain.

That night Serena was too preoccupied in her own thoughts of home and went up to her room to read a book or do some crosswords.

As always in the Mediterranean, the weather in unpredictable, and the next morning the sky was bright and blue. A small group of people were standing in the foyer waiting to be taken on a sight-seeing tour. Serena had done all the essential touristy bits many times before on her previous visits, and decided to take a trip into town instead.

Could you tell me which bus goes into Valletta? she asked the hotel porter after all the others had left.

From here there is only the one, mind you, but it stops right across the road, he replied with a typical drawling accent.

Her trip to the capital did not take long as she only wanted to buy a couple of books and visit, St John’s Cathedral again. She stopped for a bite to eat at Cordina’s, one of the best cafés in town, and was back at the hotel quite early in the afternoon when there was hardly anyone around, except for the relief receptionist filing her nails.

On a sudden impulse, Serena dropped her parcels at the desk and went out again. Without even thinking, she walked to the far end of the promenade where the white rocks were glistening beneath a shining, calmer sea. For no apparent reason, her heart was beating fast as she searched the shores with anticipation, but there was no one there either . . . nor the day after . . . or the day after that.

By the end of the first week, Mr. Coletti was standing at the entrance door with a radiant look on his face.

The bar is now officially open, he said in greeting as Serena came back from her usual walk. You can go through and have an aperitif on the house.

The poor man had apologized for the inconvenience caused by the bar having been closed at least a hundred times. Evidently, he was so anxious to please he must have been waiting all afternoon for each guest to return in order to give them the good news.

So far Serena had been too engrossed in her own problems to pay much attention to the hotel manager, but as he grinned, she realized that he was quite a good-looking young man. Though his earnest appearance and the dark-rimmed glasses he kept pushing back on his nose with a sort of nervous tic, made him sometimes look much older, he couldn’t have been more than in his late thirties.

Thank you very much, she said with a broad smile. I think I’ll go and change first.

Serena was reluctant to be seen sitting alone at the bar as it would, at least in her eyes, seem as though she were a lonely or sad woman. To delay her departure from her room she took longer than usual to scrutinize her appearance in front of the mirror and walked down the stairs instead of using the elevator. Eventually, she went in and plucking up some Dutch courage, ordered herself a scotch on the rocks.

The newly refurbished room had a welcoming atmosphere. Apart from a faint smell of paint which still lingered, it didn’t look as if much had been done to change the décor or modernize it. It had retained an old traditional look of dark oak panels and deep red wallpaper. The bar counter was shaped like the prow of a ship and adorned on both sides with all sorts of nautical brass ornaments. Next to it, an open log fire diffused the most comfortable glow, and above the dark mahogany mantelpiece, hung a portrait of a sea captain in full navy uniform standing proudly against a dark background.

Serena stood clumsily holding her drink in one hand and a small, complementary plate of canapés in the other.

To your good health, said Mr. Coletti coming hastily toward her and raising his glass.

She was about to do the same when she caught sight of the portrait again, and the blood drained from her face. The man posing under a soft suffused light looked uncannily familiar, and his deep dark eyes seemed to follow her with a glint of mockery.

Are you all right? asked Luigi Coletti.

Who is he? she whispered staring at the painting.

His name was Captain Giorgio Carpani, he emphasized as if referring to someone important. He lived in this house many years ago, long before the war and long before it was converted to a hotel.

But, I could have sworn . . .

He had a beautiful wife and a bright six-year-old son called Ralph, added Luigi ignoring her remark. The story goes that on a cold and blustery January afternoon, Captain Carpani, who was home on leave, took his little boy to play on the white rocks along the seafront. With no prior warning, the wind turned into a freak violent storm, a sort of mini-cyclone, the kind of which is rarely seen in these waters. Before he could reach for his son who was running ahead of him, the little fellow was thrown by a huge wave and swallowed beneath the sea.

There was a deafening silence as the other guests had gathered closer to listen.

An eyewitness reported that Giorgio Carpani leaped into the water screaming in a desperate attempt to find his child. His head re-emerged a couple of times, but the undercurrent was too powerful, and he disappeared. A few days later, the child was swept ashore, but the man was never found.

How dreadful, cried old Mrs. Williams from room 216, dropping heavily on a chair. I think I’m going to faint.

There, there, dear, have another brandy, fussed her husband all flushed in the face. Sorry for the interruption Mr. Coletti, do carry on, please.

Luigi paused for a moment and looked around to savor the attention he had aroused.

The grieving widow and inconsolable mother retired to a convent where she died a year later, on the anniversary of that very same fated date. People say that the captain’s soul is still not at rest, and that on some dark stormy nights a raucous scream can be heard, or that a gray shadow haunts the rocks as it stares at the angry sea.

The atmosphere was almost electric. Everyone kept looking simultaneously at the portrait and at Mr. Coletti, who had dramatically lowered the tone of his voice as if performing on stage.

Mind you it is only hearsay, he added. To my knowledge, no one has ever come forward to admit to having one of these weird experiences.

Well, well . . . Mrs. Williams exclaimed now fully recovered. Wait till I relate this to my Bridge friends back home.

I think I need another drink, said her husband.

Everyone was still overexcited, but as they all started to disperse no one paid any attention to the pallor on Serena’s face. She had retreated in a dark corner drowning in her own thoughts. Could it have been just a strange coincidence, or had she too been subjected to this alleged supernatural vision? She didn’t believe in ghosts and would have laughed at such a ridiculous hypothesis, but what if it were true? What if this Captain Carpani had chosen to materialize in front of her for some particular reason?

She felt an inner trepidation and a niggling voice coming from within, urging her, pressing her . . . to do what?

When she was little, her mother used to tell her that she had a hypersensitive nature. That she could feel things more intensely than others, but why here and why now? She gave a long meaningful look at the painting, half expecting a sign from those deep penetrating eyes. Perhaps her earlier encounter with the supernatural experience was some sort of omen?

She tried to draw the attention of Luigi Coletti, who was laughing and socializing with the other guests. He noticed her beckoning sign and dashed toward her.

Are you sure you are all right? he asked, bending slightly to meet her eyes. I hope you were not too disturbed by my story. After all, it is only a crazy tale, and I do get carried away sometimes.

Serena smiled at this new side of Luigi’s character.

No, I’m fine, she replied with more self-control. It just occurred to me that I would like to prolong my stay here in Malta and was wondering about the possibilities of someone like me finding a job?

 We’re only a small nation. Even our graduates cannot find suitable employment. I’m afraid the chance of a non-resident getting work is almost non-existent, he replied almost apologetically.

She made a swift gesture of annoyance. I see . . . well, good night, Mr. Coletti, it’s been a rather long day. I think I’ll skip dinner tonight.

CHAPTER TWO

A New Beginning

The sea rushed in long white ripples toward the shore. It was still February, but one could already smell the approach of spring. The newly painted façade of the hotel had taken an altogether more cheerful aspect, and tables and chairs had been neatly laid out on the terrace in anticipation of warmer days ahead.

Well wrapped in her pale pink jersey, Serena stepped outside to enjoy her morning coffee in the crisp, fresh air. She felt rather lethargic after a long restless night, and had not bothered to pick up her daily paper at the corner shop. She had been doing so religiously every day since that meaningful evening at the bar, to browse through the job vacancies in spite of Mr. Coletti’s discouraging response. Her mind bursting with confused thoughts, she kept stirring the cup of coffee in front of her on the table. Here she was, nearly thirty years old, jobless, homeless, and still single. Where would she go upon her return to London in a few days’ time? And what would she do? The very idea of bumping into Harry face-to-face, made her sick to her stomach.

When her mother passed away the year before last, after