BooksBarbecue
Back Time Is a Killer
Chapters (84)
  1. Dedication
  2. Time is a Killer
  3. Contents
  4. Map
  5. 1
  6. Twenty-seven years later …
  7. IRevellata
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. IISaint Rose’s Day
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. 50
  58. 51
  59. 52
  60. 53
  61. 54
  62. IIISempre giovanu
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. 58
  67. 59
  68. 60
  69. 61
  70. 62
  71. 63
  72. 64
  73. 65
  74. 66
  75. 67
  76. Twenty-seven years later
  77. Acknowledgements
  78. AFTER THE CRASH
  79. BLACK WATER LILIES
  80. DON’T LET GO
  81. About the Author
  82. Also by Michel Bussi
  83. More on W&N
  84. Copyright

She turned her breasts to face Natale, but this time Clotilde felt no jealousy. Maria-Chjara’s revelations had completely won her over.

‘So, Brad, treat yourself, have a good look. A private session. They’re not mine, so enjoy. Or not mine yet – at 3,500 euros a boob, I’ve had to take out a ten-year loan. Paying for your youth on credit is one hell of an invention, isn’t it?’

Contorting herself to put on the tiny white bikini top, Maria-Chjara addressed Clotilde.

‘Don’t be cross with me, darling. You must be nearly the same age as me, you’re pretty as a picture, your lover is bewitching, so don’t be cross with me. Men love you for your smile, your energy, your elegance, while with me it’s only my tits they’ve ever looked at, ever since I was fourteen. They are, you might say, my identity. My double identity! It was either that, or follow my father into the broccoli business and I don’t have much time for vegetables!’

She burst out laughing.

This time it was Clotilde who took her hand.

‘You sing well, Maria. I heard you singing “Sempre giovanu” recently. You’ve always had a beautiful voice. That was what attracted men, your singing, not your body.’

Clotilde immediately reproached herself for having used the past tense, but Maria-Chjara didn’t notice, or didn’t seem annoyed by it.

‘Thank you, my darling. That’s kind. Excuse me now, I have to go for a dip.’

She exploded with laughter again and stared for one last time at Natale, adjusting her bikini top, which was already slipping down to reveal two dark nipples, studiedly symmetrical. Then she turned round, gently whistling the tune to ‘Boys, boys, boys’, this time without glancing in the mirror.

~

As soon as they left the caravan, the hooded guards disappeared into the night. Natale took Clotilde’s hand to help her through the crowd that was beginning to swarm on to the beach. They were walking in the opposite direction to the groups of excited young dancers approaching the stage, a bit like suddenly turning around in a corridor of the Métro. Clotilde, lost in thoughts, allowed him to guide her.

The teenagers and young adults, noisy, glittery, fluorescent, formed a kind of carnival around her which, rather than making her feel intimidated or distracted, prolonged the feeling of serenity that lifted her heart above the seething tide of spectators.

Nicolas hadn’t killed her parents.

The steering of the Fuego had been sabotaged.