Nicola Rocca - Two Drops Of Water

slamming sideways into the barrier that ran alongside the hard shoulder. Sparks flew up as metal ground on metal, the noise piercing Chantal's ears.

She closed her eyes, fearing the worst.

CHAPTER 11

The axe swished through the air.

A bead of sweat formed on Alfredo's temple, before trickling down his cheek and becoming an irritating itch. He gripped the handle more tightly and brought the axe down once more, the blade slicing through the icy winter air before thwacking into the wood, sending an echo all across the valley. The huge log split, but more work was required to separate the two halves completely.

Frrrrsscch …

The noise of the blade rushing through the air was interrupted by a rustling sound. Alfredo paused with the axe in mid-air and felt his shoulder muscles tighten. He turned towards where the rustling had come from.

There was nothing there.

He took one hand off the axe and used the back of it to wipe the sweat from his face. With both hands now back on the handle, he swung the tool back and brought it crashing down once more into the log, which finally split clean in two.

"That ought to do it," he said, as he threw the two pieces of wood into a basket that was already full to the brim.

Added to the wood he had chopped in the previous days, today's haul would be enough to keep the fireplace going all winter. The huge pile in the woodshed was the result of a lot of hard graft.

Feeling pleased with himself, Alfredo buried the axe in the huge tree stump he used for cutting the logs and bent down to pick up the basket.

Frrrrsscch …

There it was again. Hearing it once, he could have been mistaken, but not this time. He was certain he'd heard something move, right where he was looking.

There two trees stood next to each other. Olive trees. Identical. Like two drops of water. When his father had planted them, they had obviously been much smaller than they were now, but they had looked alike even then. And the similarity had only deepened with the passing of the years as the trees grew. One day, after his parents had died, Alfredo had decided to change the B&B's name and logo. Gone was the face of a wild boar, to be replaced by two identical olive trees. White and green. White at the base of the logo and green for the trees themselves. From that day onwards, The Wild Beast was known as the Twin Olive Trees B&B .

Someone was hiding between the two trees. God only knows how long they'd been spying on him as he chopped the wood.

Alfredo took a deep breath.

'Better to be safe than sorry,' he told himself.

He stooped down a fraction to grab the handle of the axe, slung the tool over his shoulder and glanced over to where the rustling had come from.

He thought he saw an outline behind the mighty trunk of one of the olive trees. He could feel his heart pounding and could even sense the blood coursing through his veins. Alfredo resolved to be brave and took a step towards the olive trees. He felt the ice-cold air on the back of his neck, the sharp contrast between the freezing temperature and his sweat-drenched skin prompting him to shudder.

Another step towards the trees... As he got within a few yards, there it was again:

Frrrrsscch …

A definite rustle. No doubt about it.

Someone was there.

Another two paces towards the trees...

He gripped the axe with his other hand and defensively brought the weapon in front of him. Just like he'd done with the bottle that time...

He'd been slumped in his armchair in the living room watching Hitchcock's Psycho, one of his favourite films. Every time he watched it was like the first time. His eyes were glued to the screen and he had an ice-cold beer in his hand. Empty bottles were lined up on the table.

It was the first weekend of the off-season at the B&B, and like every year he was celebrating the start of his holiday alone, relaxing in his armchair, consuming a load of beer and junk food, and getting lost in Hitchcock or Dario Argento films.

Very few clients darkened his door from the end of November until the beginning of spring. There was the odd foreigner on a business trip who might stay for one or two nights, and a few couples arrived in December looking for a quiet break with good food. But other than that, not a soul for months on end.

He'd nearly finished his beer, but he was so engrossed in the film that he didn't want to get up and grab another one from the fridge.

Suddenly, something distracted him. It sounded like a window slamming, but he was sure he'd closed them all properly. Next, the sound of glass shattering.

He leapt out of his armchair and gripped the beer bottle tightly around the neck, brandishing it like a weapon. Anthony Perkins and Vera Miles continued their dialogue, but now his attention was elsewhere. Someone was messing about with some kind of metallic implement outside the house.

He made his way to where the living room met the large entrance hall and flicked the light switch.

Voices.

Footsteps moving away into the distance.

He approached the window and tentatively pulled the curtain. A gust of wind blew in through the hole in the centre of the pane. Alfredo looked down at the floor and saw shards of glass scattered everywhere. It took him a few seconds to realise what had happened. He thrust the window open wide and looked out, his fist clenched tightly around the neck of the bottle. What looked like two human figures were walking off into the distance, leaving him stood there, powerless, a cry caught in his throat.

Alfredo felt just like he had that evening. He cursed those sons of bitches who would occasionally come round. They would play all sorts of pranks on him because someone, God only knows who, had been spreading vicious rumours about the B&B.

He took another step towards the twin olive trees, the axe still tightly in his grasp.

He reached one of the trees and turned to lean his back against its considerable trunk. He was panting heavily now.

Frrrrsscch …

There it was again.

He spun around the trunk and raised the axe above his head, ready to bring it crashing down onto....oh.

Alfredo looked down and saw a pair of defiant eyes. They were black as tar and staring right at him.

The stone marten eventually broke away from the staring contest, spun around and scuttled off a few yards.

Alfredo looked up to the sky and burst out laughing. Then he turned back towards the animal, which had itself turned back and was staring right at him again. He lifted a foot and stamped hard on the ground.

The marten jumped and disappeared into the long grass.

CHAPTER 12

She'd cheated death.

It had been a real stroke of luck - a miracle, in fact. She was still sat securely in the driver's seat of her C2; her mother must have had a word with Almighty God, that was the only explanation.

Dead because of a blown-out tyre...

She felt sick at the thought of it. The car had slammed into the crash barrier and she had come away without a scratch. Just a bruised wrist and an almighty scare.

Someone was banging furiously on the window. Chantal turned to look and unlocked the door from the inside so the concerned-looking man could open it.

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah, thanks...just a bit shaken up, that's all."

Two other cars had stopped, their occupants keen to check on her well-being, but Chantal just wanted them to leave her alone.

In the end, she felt bad for thinking that because they removed her lacerated tyre and replaced it with the spare, allowing her to resume her journey.

She was running two hours late now and would have to let Alfredo know. She would call him, but only once she'd listened to the old Guns N' Roses song that had started to play over the speakers...she adored this track.