Cesare threw a glance over his shoulder. “Those two have a great deal to answer for.”
“But they knew nothing about the drugs...”
He cut across me severely. “They have been connected with a drug-smuggling organisation. That is a very serious matter. We shall need to be entirely satisfied of their innocence in this respect. And apart from that, there is no doubt they were dealing in forged paintings.”
“So you are going to arrest them?” I cried, dismayed.
“They must certainly be taken in for questioning. What happens afterwards remains to be seen.”
“But that’s just plain silly. You know as well as I do that it was only a game to them.” Mutinously I began wondering if there wasn’t some way of warning Adeline. My hard thoughts about her were rapidly melting before a warm flow of affection. Hadn’t she been most awfully kind to me?
In his official manner Cesare was saying: “Inspector Vigorelli’s men will have picked up Giles Yorke by now. Signora Harcourt I shall attend to myself as soon as we get to the villa.”
It was already dark when we swung into the cypress-lined drive of the Stella d’Oro. There were no lights showing and the front door was unexpectedly locked.
Impatiently, Cesare rang the bell. Philip stayed with me in the car, keeping Zampini covered.
There was quite a wait before we saw any sign of life. A light went on in the hall, and Maria’s frightened voice asked who was there.
Cesare barked that it was the police.
The door stayed shut.
“Maria,” I called gently. “It is Miss Lyndon and Mr. Rainsby.”
We heard scuffling noises from inside. The door seemed to be fixed with everything Maria could lay her hands on. Not just bolts and chains; it sounded as if furniture was being shifted.
Two scared faces peered out. Maria and Luciana.
Philip lifted me out of the car and carried me up the steps straight through the hall into the salon. Carefully he put me down on a sofa. “I’m going to ring for a doctor,” he said, hurrying off.
Zampini came lumbering in, prodded from behind by Cesare. He sat down where he was told on an upright chair in a corner. The two servants had followed us, very much agitated. I asked them where Miss Harcourt was.
Maria broke into a string of fast Italian before remembering I could understand hardly a word of it. “The signora has... left.”
“Left!” Wild hope was rising in me. “Do you mean she has gone away?”
It was more than Maria could manage in English. As Cesare translated for me his voice showed deep displeasure.
“Signora Harcourt went off about an hour ago. She drove away in her car, saying she would not be back. Apparently she told these two women they would be well looked after.”
“So she’s got away after all.” I couldn’t hold back a smile of relief. “You’ll not have the chance to put the poor old thing through your beastly third degree.”
“She will not get very far. Sicily is an island, remember. We shall catch up with her before long.”
But I had a hunch that Adeline might prove a match for the police force. I hoped so.
The phone was busier than I’d ever known it. After Philip, Cesare got through to police headquarters. And then there was an incoming call for me.
“Your friend Miss Halliday-Browne,” announced Cesare.
“Monica! Good heavens! Is she back in Rome?”
He shrugged indifferently, too involved with his own problems. “She did not say.”
Philip solved the matter of getting me to the phone by carrying me there, just as if it were normal procedure. There was nowhere for me to sit in the little telephone room, so he stood holding me in his arms. He was still without a shirt, still dirty and blood-streaked.
I grabbed up the receiver. “Monica! How lovely!”
Monica’s delight nearly split my eardrums. “Kerry, my pet! I just had to give you a ring.” But then the voice dropped and became quite different. “Please listen carefully, Kerry darling. Do not show any surprise, but act as though you really are speaking to Monica.”
I choked back my astonishment and clamped the receiver tighter to my ear so Philip couldn’t hear.
“Er... Monica, we’ve had an awful lot of excitement here. I must tell you all about it sometime.”
Adeline sounded anxious. “But are you all right, Kerry? I had a dreadful fear that Guido might...”
“You’ll never guess,” I went on brightly. “That man Zampini turned out to be a dreadful crook who’d been smuggling drugs out of Sicily, and he’s just been arrested...”
“Thank God for that! It was the only way.” She hesitated. “I... I’m sorry to have let you down so badly, Kerry. You understand that I have to go away now? There is no alternative.”
“I understand... Monica.”
“I made my plans a long time ago—just in case; and I told my lawyer what I wanted done with my possessions if... if I ever left Sicily. The Stella d’Oro is to go to the nuns, and I have made provision for Maria and Luciana—and a bit for old Pietro. But you, Kerry darling; what will you do now?”
I looked at Philip. He leaned forward and kissed my nose. “I shall go back to London,” I said into the phone. “Maybe I should have done that before, but I’m glad I didn’t now.”
“I must be going, Kerry darling.”
“You haven’t said where you are phoning from—what your plans are.”
Was it a sigh at the end of the line, or was it a chuckle? I couldn’t be sure. “I can’t tell even you that, Kerry darling. We may meet again—who knows?”
She sounded quite cheerful, as if she were about to embark on a great adventure. Maybe that was how she thought of it.
I wanted to ask her about Giles, but I couldn’t think of a way. Monica wouldn’t even have known of his existence. Perhaps Adeline understood my hesitation for as an afterthought she put in: “Oh by the way, I phoned Giles to warn him, the very moment I heard.”
“Oh good!” I made it sound quite matter-of-fact. “And how did you come to hear? You haven’t explained that.”
I glanced quickly at Philip to see if I’d said too much. I was supposed to be talking to Monica, not Adeline. But he grinned at me patiently, shifting my weight in his arms.
Poor Philip! He should be cleaned up and resting by now, not holding me while I chatted on the telephone. I hated deceiving him like this, but I wasn’t yet sure about his attitude to Adeline’s escape. And I might never get another chance of speaking to her.
“How did you know... Monica?” I pressed.
This time it was definitely a chuckle, filled with teasing overtones. “Some men, my dear Kerry, will still put loyalty to a friend above the call of blind duty.”
Suddenly I didn’t want her to tell me any more. “I’m glad,” I said simply, my throat oddly restricted. “And... Monica...”
She waited, and then prompted, “Yes, darling?”
I went on quickly, because I felt like crying: “I hope you find somewhere... somewhere nice, very soon. And all my love.”
As Philip carried me back into the salon he asked: “What on earth was all that about?”
I gulped. “Oh, you know what Monica’s like—always doing things on the spur of the moment. She just wanted to say hallo, really.”
A fortuitous commotion announced the arrival of both doctor and a carload of police. Inspector Vigorelli came bustling in importantly, glaring at the captive Zampini. He gave a brief nod to Cesare and then came towards me, smiling.
But there was gravity in the smile. “My dear Signorina Lyndon, I regret I bring you sad news.”
“Sad news?”
“Your friend Giles Yorke is dead. He was trying to escape from my men. He jumped from the window of his studio to the rooftop, but unhappily, he slipped and fell...”
“Oh no...”
Cesare was scowling at the inspector. “How is it possible that Yorke was allowed to get away? Such inefficiency!”
<
br /> His cold police reaction switched my sorrow to swift anger. A man had died, and to Cesare it was a matter of reprehensible inefficiency.
Inspector Vigorelli was unruffled by the criticism. His gaze swivelled round the room until he was looking directly at Cesare, and his eyes held a challenge. “My men both went to the studio door and knocked and waited there. I... omitted to warn them to guard the window also...”
“And Signora Harcourt has escaped us too,” Cesare exploded. “Do you realise that?”
Inspector Vigorelli painted surprise over his bland face. “So she has disappeared? One might imagine she received a—what is it called in English? A tip-off.”
“One might suppose something of the sort.” Cesare’s anger was subsiding into a half-amused resignation. “Do you think if your department instituted a search for Signora Harcourt, it could hope to meet with any success?”
“We can but try.” Vigorelli scratched his wiry moustache, hiding his mouth. “I shall put in hand the necessary arrangements as soon as I get back to my headquarters.”
“And how soon will that be?” inquired Cesare ironically.
“Why this evening, naturally. The moment I have finished my dinner.”
Cesare didn’t argue any more.
Later, when Philip and I had a chance to talk alone, I tackled him about Adeline. “You’re glad, aren’t you, that she’s managed to get away?”
“What, me!” Then he laughed out loud. “It’s a good job I’m not the vindictive type. At least those damned Raphael forgeries have been stopped.”
* * *
As the plane to Rome climbed higher I didn’t trouble to look back at Etna. One day, perhaps, I’d return to Sicily. But at the moment I wanted only to get away.
The morning had been hectic, preparing to leave at such short notice. But there was really no reason for Philip and I to stay on. Between them, the police and Adeline’s lawyer were coping with the problems she had left behind her.
My leg, stretched out before me on a footrest, was feeling a whole lot better. The doctor had pronounced that there was no serious damage and that it was just a matter of time.
Philip’s hand found mine. “Don’t be sad, darling.”
I smiled at him quickly. “But I’m not sad.”
“You seem a bit wistful.”
“Oh well, after all that’s happened...”
“The Art world doesn’t often provide such excitement. Will you settle down to the quiet life?”
“Just you try me!”
His arm slid around my shoulder and drew me closer. Foolishly, I felt a bit shy. I glanced round hastily to see if anyone had noticed, but none of the other passengers seemed interested in us.
Across the gangway, alone in a pair of seats, sat an elderly nun. She was placidly starting on a salad lunch, enjoying with it a small carafe of red wine.
Something about her caught my attention, yet just what it was I couldn’t fathom. If ever anyone looked like a typical Mother Superior, she did. The calm relaxed profile, close encased by the stiff nun’s wimple, expressed a dignity and inner beauty such as I had often seen on the screen.
Covertly, I watched her as she ate. So serenely unhurried; yet wasn’t she just a tiny bit larger than life?
I realised that she, at least, was aware of Philip and me. She put down her glass, delicately, and turned her face to smile.
The disguise was perfect. Or almost perfect.
Amused lips formed the words which floated silently across the few feet separating us.
“Good luck.”
I smiled back, and then flicked a look at Philip. He’d noticed nothing.
I’d tell him, of course. There was nothing I wouldn’t tell Philip.
But not quite yet. Time enough when we were back in London. Time enough when Adeline Harcourt had safely disappeared into the blue.
Openly, I reached out for Philip’s hand, squeezing it tightly. I thought the nun would be glad to know just how things stood between us.
I’m sure she was. The smile lingered upon her face as she returned to her luncheon tray with good appetite.
Copyright © 1969 by Nancy Buckingham
Originally published by Robert Hale [UK] ISBN 978-0709110767
Electronically published in 2015 by Belgrave House
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.BelgraveHouse.com
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is
coincidental.
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