Beggar of the Deep

By Georgina Zuvela

Rosalyn Shaye and her fianc, Paul Xavier, become targets of new criminal activities. In Zagreb, Croatia. A band of con artists and international smugglers set in motion a new sequence of adventures along the Dalmatian coast. Everyone is racing to find the lost treasure of St Lancelot. The amazing ingenuity of the crooks, affiliated with Orlando Morettis Exclusive Art Lovers Association, create an intriguing atmosphere in which Rosalyn and her friends are drawn to risk their lives over and again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Feb 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493131976

Georgina Zuvela

I was born in Surrey, England 1958 to a seamstress and an animation artist. I attended the Heath Clark Grammar School in Croydon. I left England to be married at seventeen. In Zagreb I worked as Secretary of the American School and also as a translator.     I immigrated to Australia in 1983. I worked as a computer operator until I became a mother of three. For fifteen years I was a Director of my husband’s business. I volunteered as a Catechist in the Diosese of Broken Bay during the 90’s. I love working in retail and creative writing has become a passion and fulfilment in my life.     My novels are fun to read, playing with common fears and phobias, crime and vigilantism. Power, religion and social acceptance are mixed with adventure and the notion of achievable immortality. The plot evolves and leads the reader to new revelations about the Madonna’s Cross. The series is filled with action, mystery and drama. There is some romance and also a healthy sense of humour.  

Book preview

Chapter 1

SIMPLY EXCLUSIVE

Venice was brimming with fresh excitement only one week before Easter 1977. I was on a short vacation by myself this time. The city was abundant with young talented musicians that brought joy to the streets after the long winter. I love the aromas of coffee brewing and freshly baked bread blending with the perfume of blooming flowers that dangled in baskets from the windowsills, although I was missing Rosalyn’s company and her warm comments. The canals mirrored the bustling activities and the blue sky promised a beautiful summer ahead. The shops were already teeming with customers hoping to buy their new outfits for the Easter Vigil and gifts for their families and friends. Still, I couldn’t blame Rosalyn for wanting to stay at home after all that had happened.

Even I, Livia Esthawaye, fell victim to the budding art association that belonged to a charming man by the name of Orlando Moretti. He lived above his new showroom on the square. Having prepared himself for his opening day, I noticed him skip and come skidding on his patent-tortoiseshell shoes. He just manage to grab onto the banisters to save his butt colliding with the marble stairs. He was in a hurry as usual to greet us, his visitors that had come from all over Europe for this unforgettable Special Spring Event.

I finally managed to catch up with Lilly Somek, dressed in her mauve-satin evening gown with her auburn hair flowing in wisps of curls. I watched her set out the dainty salmon and cucumber sandwiches on the smorgasbord and wished that Rosalyn could have been there with me.

Piccino, who happened to be Lilly’s private bodyguard, stood in his formal attire with a black bow-tie. He was already mingling with the guests and offered them his special hors d’oeuvres on a tray. He had created a new recipe for button mushrooms, having stuffed them with a green, prawn’n chilly mixture sautéed in butter and a splash of champagne and then lightly toasted with a herb’n garlic cheese topping.

I studied these self important people with a detached kind of independence. Piccino proudly explained the whole process to Lady Avila, while he watched her face with a most intense satisfaction. The flavour hit her taste buds with an explosion that turned her face to a charming blushing-pink.

I love these special events, Piccino… Orlando really knows how to entertain his friends. The food is exquisite! I don’t know how he does it, she commented while she quietly sipped her champagne.

Sir Nigel took a dim-sim from another passing tray and dipped it into the sweet’n sour sauce. Where is Orlando, by the way, has anyone seen him yet? he inquired in his pompous tone of voice.

Piccino joined in the conversation for a moment, since he was the only person who happened to know why Orlando was so late. However, before he was able to make excuses for the host, he was tapped on the shoulder by Orlando himself.

Orlando was rather a petite man with a large ego. He was also a knowledgeable man who stood only a head and shoulders above Piccino, who was a dwarf. Orlando had arrived just in the nick of time to save his clean-shaven face. His thick black hair was still wet and combed with a parting down the middle for a change.

Orlando interrupted the conversation. Piccino go and give Lilly a hand in the kitchen, she’s taking far too long with those sandwiches. Leave the tray with me and I’ll catch up with you in a minute. Now be off, he commanded and helped himself to one of Piccino’s tasty mushrooms. He placed the tray on the smorgasbord. I’m so pleased you could make it, Lady Avila, and Sir Nigel, it is my greatest pleasure to entertain you here in my newly renovated showroom this afternoon. I am truly honoured that you could come along to our favourite event of the year, our spring event, he said and inclined to divulge his little secret to them.

Sir Nigel wiggle his cultivated moustache with excitement. We are happy to be here, Orlando, what do you have in mind?

This year is promising to be a very exciting summer for the arts, Orlando continued, lowering his voice to an intimate level in order to wet their appetites. I have several rather exquisite paintings to show you later on, if you will allow me… something you surly don’t want to miss, Sir Nigel, he informed him and his wife in confidence.

Orlando Moretti would always attract his more important guests with the promise of a private viewing of works from their favourite artist. This made them feel they were even more exclusive, or rather a cut above the others, and set the mood in which they could show-off their high social standing and usually back it up with a substantial purchase.

Orlando knew exactly which buttons to press and his technique never seemed to fail him. He managed to sell his paintings at top prices and he liked to show his appreciation by lavishing extravagant parties on his customers and friends in order to reward them for their loyalty.

Orlando founded the Exclusive Art Lovers Association five years earlier after he met Lilly, and his club was becoming more popular among lonely hearts in the world of aristocracy. Many of them were in it simply to enjoy the fruits of high society and were very good customers. He had certainly tapped into a need of theirs, offering a place where they could secretly rendezvous and catch up with the gossip.

The door suddenly swung open and then automatically closed, stopping on the heels of a brawny ginger-haired man in a grey suit. He stood tall in the doorway to allow for a rather wizard-like man, whose name was Benedict Fandango, to enter the showroom bearing his walking stick high and pointing the way in a rather impolite fashion.

Benny Fandango was a first class distraction. Thank you, Dylan, you can leave the briefcase with me. Now, go and park the car, he commanded his bodyguard. He was attracted by the new ceiling. You’ve done a great job, Orlando, the place looks almost like a cathedral, dare I say… I shall bring my fiancee with me next time and we could get married in here, hah! I think that’s a great idea, don’t you? Fandango suggested, stepping into the centre of the showroom and dancing a little twirl on the polished parquet. He nearly hit Lady Avila in the head with his walking stick.

Her husband stepped in… I say, old chap, do you mind? People are trying to swallow their frog’s legs. You can’t just come waltzing in here, like a wizard on cannabis! There is a protocol you should follow if you want to remain a member in this club! Sir Nigel waffled on with his mouth full of dim-sim.

Avila straightened her hat and moved out of the way, leaving the two men to argue between themselves.

Well, if it’s not my dear old nephew, that’s a turn-up for the book! What brings you to this spring event? I thought you gave up collecting art years ago. I seem to remember you landed yourself in . . .

"If you don’t mind, Uncle Benny, Sir Nigel interrupted him, my private business has nothing to do with you or anyone else present in this showroom. Shut your cake-hole… ! before I shut it for you," he spluttered.

Gentlemen please… ! Orlando kicked in with his heels. He realised he had made a terrible mistake inviting the two old farts to the same event.

Avila was doing the only thing a Lady could do in this situation. She had turned her back in embarrassment and was studying exhibit number nine with increasing interest at the far end of the showroom.

Lilly came out of the kitchen for the last time, carrying another tray of sandwiches. Brilliant… ! she declared, and stood admiring the colourful spread on the smorgasbord, but she was unaware of the tension growing between the guests in the showroom.

The young charismatic priest came and stood next to her. Well done, my dear! You have surpassed all expectations, he complimented her and took a small plate for himself and filled it with a sample of deep-fried sprats and crummed calamari rings.

Thank you, Fr Domingo, I’m so glad you could come along to our Special Spring Event. I hope you don’t mind, but we’re going to ask you to say a blessing over our renovated showroom, Lilly alerted him, taking him a by surprise. He promptly put down his plate to await Orlando to introduce him to the other distinguished guests.

Orlando climbed up onto the third step of the spiral staircase. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great pleasure to introduce to you, Fr Domingo, who is going to give the blessing and then we can all eat, he announced.

Thank you Orlando… this is very short notice and I have not prepared any kind of speech, nevertheless I’m sure I can find the words… he began, looking up to the ceiling. Lord bless all these worldly people and this wonderful spread before us, and bless these very pleasant surroundings in which we find ourselves today. May God bless you all and I proclaim this Special Spring Event now open! Thank you my dear people, Fr Domingo declared and descended to reclaim his plate.

The other guests politely lined up behind him while he selected the more recognisable foods from the smorgasbord for himself.

Half-an-hour later the people seemed well lubricated with champagne that flowed freely from the bottle. Piccino kept a close eye on the guests as they discussed the latest fads and crazy colour schemes that were being introduced for this summer’s fashions. He was always out of step with the general crowd but managed to find for himself an easy victim.

Piccino intruded with a cheeky grin. Sir Nigel, I hear you were in rather a sticky situation this winter. I can’t imagine you being in such a pickle… Did you volunteer to be put away?

Ah… where did you hear that, Piccino?

Everyone has been talking about it recently, Sir Nigel.

Really? I can’t imagine why!

Was it really worth your while? Piccino asked shamelessly. He had no respect for anyone’s private matters, since he was brought up to speak frankly and had not a trace of a complex unto himself. This took most people by surprise and allowed him to catch them completely off-guard.

Sir Nigel was on the ball and covered his tracks. It could have happened to anyone, my dear chap, an honest mistake on my behalf and a simple typo, I believe. However, it was, er… worth my while, if you put it like that, Piccino, although I wouldn’t recommend that anyone try to do the same as I did… I wouldn’t recommend it at all.

Piccino was spellbound. But what was it exactly that you tried to get away with this time? I heard it was something to do with one of those pyramid schemes that are sprouting up all over Europe. I don’t believe in those easy formulas to get rich. How much profit did you make this time, Nigel… ? he pried, gawking at him in his usual crusty fashion.

Sir Nigel Montgomery was not quite as naive as he allowed others to believe. He knew how to turn on the charm while covering his tracks. He kept his life a complete mystery. He was, however, a master at gaining intelligence for business purposes. His friends invariably presumed he was a harmless middle-aged nitwit, who spent most of his time in social orchestration, little did they know.

Piccino’s personality and openness to others, made him vulnerable to Sir Nigel’s manipulation. He was easily deployed, like a missile to his enemies, or in the form of an innocent dove. He could be relied upon to deliver certain messages, mostly subliminal, unto his next victims. Sir Nigel had no qualms. He thrived on EXALA’s juicy gossip that inevitably found its way to his ears, since he was one of the biggest con-artists in Europe.

Orlando received a call on his private telephone and Lilly came to inform him that Mr Prod was waiting on the other end of the line.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have an important phone call to attend to, er… I hope I shan’t be too long. Please enjoy the tour of our new gallery. Madame Liseaux has prepared quite an interesting talk for you this afternoon, Orlando excused himself and added… Please feel free to ask any questions during the tour as Madame Liseaux would be only too happy to enlighten your minds to the artist’s intentions. Now if you would excuse me… he said and withdrew from the crowd.

Orlando, shutting the door behind him to his office, was not altogether happy to take the call at this particular time. Prod was a name that everyone secretly feared and his synthesised voice was not merely to disguise his identity, but it was presumed that he had lost his voice box to some terrible disease during his youth. Mr Prod usually circulated his business intentions via audio tapes, which he placed in prominent places around Venice. Although Mr Prod was Orlando’s top customer, dealing with him made Orlando far more uncomfortable than he cared to admit.

Standing beside his office window and looking down onto the flagstoned square below, Orlando listened to his client with acute anxiety.

Ah! Orlando, Mr Prod began, immediately sensing his fear, I have some recent information that I want you to confirm for me, regarding this unfulfilled delivery of mine.

Of course, Mr Prod, that’s not a problem… Carry on, I’m all yours.

Bernard Sumora is still in a mental asylum in Split… is that true?

Aye, aye… I am pretty sure that is affirmative, Sir… a high security mental asylum, so I hear. I hate to disappoint you but that is the story I last heard from one of my most trusted sources, Orlando replied, quivering from head to toe. He had no idea what the consequences might be if he had given the wrong answer.

Mr Prod further inquired… Is it also true then, that my shipment of diamonds is currently lost at the bottom of the Adriatic Sea, Orlando?

Ah well, as far as I know… that is also affirmative… yes, Sir, I do apologise for the delay. I have been trying to locate them for some time now, and umm… till now, I have not been, oh, I’m sorry but to be honest, I need more time to work something out. I am terribly sorry for any inconvenience this very unfortunate delay may have caused you, Sir. And I will certainly let you know when I’ve uncovered anything new and more substantial, believe me, Orlando waffled on to save his own skin.

Good show, Orlando, I believe you are a man of your word, or else I wouldn’t be doing business with you. However, my patience is wearing very thin. I need to know what is going on as soon as possible, do you understand? If I am not satisfied within the next two weeks, my dear fellow, I shall take my business elsewhere and you shall cease to exist! Do you understand? Prod’s voice sounded icy cold and to the point.

There was no denying the fear that ran through Orlando’s veins at hearing Prod’s last statement. I assure you, most fundamentally, Sir… you are my first and foremost priority, Orlando reassured him, wiping the perspiration from his brow. Allow me to get back to you in a few days, Sir… I’ll do my best to find out what is going on. Thank you for your patience, thank you… thank you very much, he babbled, not knowing what else to say.

Prod hung up on him to save him any further embarrassment.

Orlando slumped into his chair. He immediately rang his travel agent to arrange a flight to Yugoslavia for that very same afternoon. He hoped to track down a couple of his friends in Zagreb. There were a few favours owing to him, and now was the best time to cash them in.

Orlando unlocked his secret drawer in his desk and found several passports that were ready for selection. Each one portrayed a different identity. He grabbed the one named Orlando De Strande. He took a gun and some cash, which he placed inside his leather briefcase and then after a quick glance at himself in the full length mirror, he straightened his tie and left the building via the fire exit.

Chapter 2

CROSSED PATHS

Palm Sunday in the city of Zagreb was drenched in sunshine after a sprinkling of rain. The cherry trees were budding and swelling with new life ready to burst into blossom and Rosalyn Shaye was still in her best pyjamas, burning her second lot of toast for a late breakfast. She was about to get an unexpected visit from her fiance, who was already bounding on his way up the stairs to her apartment. Paul was looking forward to taking her on a lovely drive into the countryside in his brand new BMW Cabriolet.

Rosalyn had been very busy over the past few months with her private tutoring classes. Her ‘English for Business’ language course was very popular among the budding entrepreneurs.

Paul wanted to give her a break and spend the day with her, to pamper her and show her that he cared, since he had also been preoccupied with his work recently. He preferred to shield Rosalyn from his work at the British Consulate, since she had the tendency to get over involved. She had always been a bit of a vigilante in many ways and he feared this was a growing problem between them. He feared she would get out of hand, just like the recent episode they had experienced over the New Year.

Paul did not want to go through another spate of adventures where he nearly lost Rosalyn to an officer of the Coast Guard. Secretly he suspected Bianka’s influence was more to do with her coming back to him. His aunt was a meddling spinster. She couldn’t help interfering in his private affairs. Bianka always felt responsible for her nephew. She believed he needed a strong woman in his life to make him settle down.

This Christmas and New Year would not be easily forgotten on any account, since the situation had spiralled out of control. Luckily they were all still alive to tell the tale how they captured the most infamous smuggler and villain in the Mediterranean. Nevertheless, the thought they could still be targets for revenge, made him shudder.

Paul had managed to remain on good terms with Rosalyn, and the last thing he wanted was to jeopardise their plans of moving in with each other. He was actually looking forward to breakfasts being cooked by his fiancee, except that Rosalyn insisted on playing hard to get.

His Aunt Bianka always served up his ham’n eggs with a lecture about them getting married. He had been living with her, initially to save money, but now that she was travelling far a wide with her work as a Hotel Restaurant Reviewer for a Dalmatian tourist magazine, she was hardly ever at home in her cottage in Botinec.

Rosalyn’s apartment being conveniently located in the heart of Zagreb, was very close to his office. He wanted to propose to her once again, which would make it the fifth time he had done so in so many months.

Rosalyn was still struggling to understand how Lilly, her best friend and neighbour, could have been working for Sumora’s gangsters and she found it very hard to dismiss their friendship, although that is what Paul expected her to. Neither could she comprehend how Maria Berislav, her landlady and Paul’s cleaner lady, had ended up tied to a rock at the bottom of the river Sava. Her niece, Natasha had taken the blame for it, but Rosalyn thought the wisp of a girl couldn’t have done it by herself. Rosalyn dared not mention to Paul anything about the corpse she had found in the storeroom at the convent, since she could not bear to think of it. She waited for Chief Inspector Mishkovich to confirmed whose body it was, however, wait as she did, he was not forthcoming with any news.

Mysteries such as these all weighed heavily on Rosalyn’s mind and coupled with her suspicions that Paul was covering up for something did not help. She was sure he knew more about Lilly’s disappearance at Christmas time than he was letting on. None of this was conducive to them having good relations. Rosalyn speculated that conditions were not ripe for them to get married yet, although she loved Paul very much.

Lately, Rosalyn had even given up trying to extract information from him. Paul simply avoided any subject pertaining to his wild, seemingly offbeat mission, which she liked to refer to as mission Fake Epiphany. Her lack of trust in him had left her almost in despair. She had reverted to daydreaming about Thomas, the coast guard, with whom she had an affair just before their wacky escapade at sea had began. What was worse, Paul got annoyed every time she even mentioned Lilly’s name, although she still thought of the girl as being a fun-loving friend with a zest for life, the kind of zest that seemed to be missing from her own life recently.

Rosalyn seemed to spend most of her time devising new and exciting ways to improve the curriculum for her English courses, since she had many different age groups to cater for, beginning with, soon to graduate high school students and ending with people like Dr Montague Belamich, who took up the course simply because he liked Rosalyn’s company.

Paul knocked on Rosalyn’s door at last, even though he had his own front door key to let himself in. He wanted to surprise her today and had brought with him a bouquet of brilliant red roses. He was wearing light-grey trousers and a cable-knit vest, which made him look a bit like a cricket player. Paul still kept the lucky ring in its original box, tucked away in his trouser pocket. He had been waiting for the perfect moment in which to give it to Rosalyn.

Rosalyn threw the burnt toast into the bin and inserted two more slices of white bread into the toaster. She sighed when she heard the knock on the front door and shuffled her way to the hall in her fur-lined slippers. She quickly fastened the top buttons on her pyjamas as she peeped through the spy hole casually. On seeing Paul standing alone with a huge grin on his face, she opened the door to give him a warm welcome.

Darling! I’m so pleased to see you… give me a hug! Rosalyn welcomed him and wrapping her arms around him.

Happy anniversary, darling! Paul confronted her and picked her up in his arms to carry her over to their favourite antique couch. He knelt down beside her on the parquet floor and landed a passionate kiss on her lips.

Roz darling, come out with me today… please! You haven’t been out of the city in the fresh air for weeks. It would do you the world of good. Look, I have a great idea, my darling, we could take a drive to Samobor and I’ll treat you to a creamy custard slice. I hear they are even better than homemade ones.

Well… I’m not sure I have the time, Paul.

Come on Roz, say you will go with me. I want to take you for a drive in my brand new BMW, by the way it’s a convertible, darling.

That sounds really inviting, Paul… much better than my burnt toast, I must say, but I’m afraid I’ve got so much work to do . . .

They looked up at the plume of smoke that was gushing from the kitchen and had started to spread across the ceiling. Rosalyn jumped up swearing and ran to the kitchen. Damn and blast! I’m going to throw that ruddy toaster out the window!

Forget the toast, Roz, go and get dressed, Paul suggested, turning on the television to see what the news might reveal. Well, the weather will be in our favour, at least, if we get going soon we shall make it just in time for lunch, he remarked, being sarcastic.

Rosalyn got dressed in her blue jeans and her comfy boots. She donned a tight sweater and took a light jacket with her, which she threw in the back of the car. She was impressed with Paul’s new car and felt pampered as he drove them out into the countryside. They were feeling happy and relaxed to be in each others company and Paul was looking forward to proposing to her over a nice meal and glass of red wine. They breathed the fresh air and focus on the green fields, showing signs of new growth. The wild flowers splashed a delightful tinge of yellow in every direction and the promise of Easter was evident, which happened to make Rosalyn feel a little homesick for England.

Roz darling, you’re being very quiet today. I think I know what you are going through. I had a hard time when I first came out here to Croatia, until I got used to the language and all. These people are very friendly here, don’t you think?

Yeah, I love them… really I do, she responded with a tinge of guilt and skillfully changed the subject. "You know, I have a funny sense of deja vu, I keep imagining that I see Lilly. I expect her to turn up at the cafe, and I even expect to see her at Mass