Unmasking Elena Montella Read Online Free PDF

raining there? He picked up the piece of paper that had fallen out of her pocket as she’d run for her plane. It was the address of the studio her sister was staying in.
    Mark had never been to Venice. When he came to think of it, he’d never been anywhere much. His parents were very much into holidaying in the UK.
    ‘ There’s nothing in the south of France that you can’t find in Cromer,’ his mother would insist. So, they’d inevitably spend the whole of their week’s holiday locked away in a caravan on the Norfolk coast sheltering from the rain.
    Elena had told him lots of stories about Italy: of her holidays in Rome, Umbria and Capri. It all sounded so exotic when you compared it to East Anglia. What puzzled him, though, was that she’d never mentioned any boyfriends. Now, in his experience, there were two reasons for not mentioning your past love-life: either you’d had more than your fair share of relationships or you’d had none at all, and Elena wasn’t the sort of girl to be in the latter category. Which made him worry about what would be happening in Venice. Wasn’t it meant to rival Paris when it came to romance? Would Elena be swept away by a gondolier?
    He looked at the grey street outside. People rushed by, hiding under umbrellas and dodging the splashes from a never-ending stream of traffic. It was a grim scene and he grimaced at it. And then a crazy thought entered his head - the sort of crazy thought that was also brilliant and might just work.
    Picking up his wallet and keys, Mark left the flat, shrugging into his jacket and running through the rain to the cash point in the next street. Pushing his card into the machine, he waited for his balance to flash up. Four hundred and seventeen pounds, ninety-two pence. Well, that put paid to his brilliant, crazy idea. April’s pay cheque from the skint Finn hadn’t yet cleared and he couldn’t risk making a withdrawal when his rent was due in the next couple of days, and he didn’t have any other source of cash. Unless …
    He pulled up his collar up against the rain and legged it down the street. It was a five-minute run to the flat he was going to visit - a flat which, believe it or not, was in a street even grimmer than his one. Buzzing the intercom, he waited. It was gone three in the afternoon so was probably the best time to catch Barney Malone at home. Barney worked evenings in one of the local clubs and, when he wasn’t doing that, he was out with his band, No Name . He was allergic to mornings but you could usually catch him around in the afternoon when he’d be wandering about his flat in his slippers and housecoat with a mug of tea and a bacon butty dripping ketchup down his front.
    Mark buzzed again but the intercom didn’t seem to be working so he stepped back into the street and peered up at the window through the rain.
    ‘ BarNEY!’ he yelled. ‘BARNEY!’ Rain had just begun to find its way down his collar when a window from the second floor opened and a pale, unshaven face poked out.
    ‘ Hey, man! Come on up, man!’ Barney shouted down to him.
    Mark was buzzed in and he legged it up the stairs to his friend’s flat.
    ‘ Come on through,’ Barney said, ushering him in.
    Trying not to trip over the drum kit in the hallway, Mark asked, ‘How’s it going, Barney?’
    ‘ You know what it’s like, man,’ he said, his pale legs sticking out of a holey housecoat. ‘Do you want a cup of tea, man?’
    Mark shook his head. Barney’s cups were a regular penicillin culture. ‘No, thanks. I can’t stop long. I’ve actually come to ask a favour.’
    ‘ You have? Well, anything to help - ask away.’
    ‘ It’s about that three hundred pounds.’
    ‘ Shit, man! Do he still owe you that money?’
    ‘ Yes.’
    ‘ God! I’m sorry.’
    ‘ So, you’ve got it then?’
    ‘ Er - no!’
    ‘ Barney - I really need that money.’
    Barney ran a hand through his lanky hair and sighed, shaking his head and looking around his living