Page 4 of Murder in Portofino

He shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea, I’m afraid.’

‘Is there anybody who might know? A boyfriend maybe?’

‘Not that I know of, but we have half a dozen teachers and I’m not too clued up about their private lives.’ From the look of him, he probably wasn’t too clued up about anything right now.

‘What about any of the other teachers? Would any of them know?’

There was a brief pause. ‘You could try Rose.’

‘Rose?’

‘Rose Alighieri, she’s one of the teachers.’

‘And how do I contact her?’

It was like getting blood out of a stone, but I finally managed to get the phone number of this other teacher and confirmation that Mr Smith hadn’t got a clue what might have happened to Heather. In fairness, from the state of him, he probably couldn’t remember what he had had for breakfast, and it was painfully obvious that I wasn’t going to get much more information here. I thanked him and, before leaving, gave him a little bit of advice.

‘We may have to report Heather’s disappearance to the police, so you might be getting a visit from a police officer some time soon. It might be a good idea to open your windows and let some fresh air in.’

A look of concern now flooded across his face and he hastily retired into his flat. Diana and I went back downstairs again and headed for a shady spot on the other side of the stone-paved street. I turned towards her.

‘That’s encouraging, isn’t it? At least she was here and working only two weeks ago.’

‘Yes, indeed.’ Diana was sounding less concerned – and to be honest, she hadn’t sounded that concerned in the first place. ‘What now?’

‘Do you know your way from here to Heather’s apartment? Why don’t we go there first and I’ll see if I can speak to the landlord, her flatmates or a neighbour and then, if we draw a blank, we can try phoning this other teacher.’

Our walk to Heather’s apartment didn’t take long. This was barely ten minutes on foot from the school, just on the other side of the historic Piazza dell’Anfiteatro, originally the site of a two-thousand-year-old Roman amphitheatre. It came as a surprise to see that the apartment was located in a block of four apartments created in a beautifully restored Renaissance building with a videophone entry system. It looked as though considerable money had been spent on renovating the ancient structure and I found myself wondering how a humble EFL teacher could afford to live in such luxurious surroundings.

I pressed the bell marked H. Greensleeves, interested to see that this probably meant that she wasn’t sharing with other people. I glanced sideways at her well-turned-out sister in her smart suit, beginning to think that maybe the Greensleeves family were wealthy and subsidising Heather’s teaching salary. Alternatively, maybe Heather had a second job. I waited ten seconds and then pressed the bell again, harder. After a wait of half a minute, it became quite clear that there was nobody home.

I checked out the other three bells and saw that only two of them had names alongside the buttons: Schaffhausen and Chieti. I tried pressing all three bells, including the anonymous one, but there was no response from any of them. Finally, I turned and looked around, searching for any signs of life in this quiet side street. Apart from a handful of tourists in shorts and T-shirts walking along, hugging the shade, there was just one open doorway, diagonally opposite, so I crossed the road and tapped on the door. Seconds later, an elderly woman appeared, carrying an old-fashioned witch’s broomstick. She looked down suspiciously towards Oscar.

‘Please don’t let your dog pee on my doorstep. I’ve only just finished cleaning up.’

Oscar looked mildly offended and I answered for him. ‘I promise he’s on his best behaviour. I was just wondering if you could tell me anything about the house on the other side of the road.’

‘What sort of thing?’ She was probably well into her eighties but her eyes were bright and she looked alert. I had a feeling nothing much escaped this lady.

‘I’m looking for an Englishwoman who lives in one of the flats. This is her sister but I’m afraid she doesn’t speak Italian.’

A distinct look of disapproval appeared on the old lady’s face. ‘That would be the blonde girl with the short skirts.’

Diana had brown hair but, of course, that proved nothing. Still, I checked with her. ‘Does Heather have blonde hair?’

She nodded. ‘Almost certainly. It changes every now and then, but she’s tended to be more blonde than anything else over the last year or two.’ She gave me a little smile. ‘She says Italian men like blondes.’

‘And does she like Italian men?’

Diana shrugged. ‘She likes all men… and they like her.’

I could see the old lady attentively following our conversation and I wondered how much she had understood, so I turned back to her and gave her an apologetic look. ‘Sorry, I was just checking to see if the woman we’re looking for is indeed blonde.’

The old lady smiled. ‘That sounds like her and I definitely get the impression she likes the men.’

‘You speak English?’

‘I don’t speak it much these days as I don’t have the opportunity. I worked in the Grand Hotel for thirty-seven years and the lingua franca for most of our guests was English so I picked up a good bit. What’s the problem? Has something happened to the girl?’

---