But the ferries kept on coming. And she never appeared.
I slunk back to the Villa Orchis with the evening well advanced, baffled and confused. The hours I’d spent at Marina Grande had been in vain. My best guess now was that Vivien had returned to Capri on the ferry she’d left on, without ever disembarking in Sorrento. I expected her to be waiting for me at the villa.
But she wasn’t. Instead, Luisa greeted me with news I could never have predicted. ‘Vivien telephoned an hour ago, Jonathan. She met some friends from Cambridge at Pompeii today. Un caso fortuito. She decided to go with them to Rome. So, she will be away … a few days, I think. She said to tell you sorry.’
Friends from Cambridge? A chance meeting at Pompeii? I didn’t believe it for a moment. I remembered something she’d said to me that morning. ‘We must take our passports with us today, Jonathan. You’re supposed to carry one with you at all times in Italy. According to Luisa, the police on the mainland can be quite pernickety about it.’ Police pernicketiness, I now realized, had nothing to do with it. Vivien had planned to make herself scarce. She’d obviously reckoned on persuading me to go with her. And why not? A few days in la città eterna seemed vastly preferable to me right now than sitting out events at the Villa Orchis. Maybe I’d have gone along with the plan when it came to it. Except that I hadn’t left Capri. I’d stayed. And she’d gone.
Francis kept up an impressively unruffled front over dinner, filling the silences created by Vivien’s absence and my tongue-tied fretfulness with amusing reflections on island life that I did my pitiful best to suggest I was entertained by. Luisa looked unconvinced. I sensed she thought Vivien and I had had some kind of tiff. As in a sense we had. Though what kind Luisa could hardly have imagined.
Francis didn’t need to imagine, of course. He knew. An invitation to join him for his ritualistic brandy and cigar when Luisa retired to bed came, therefore, as a surprise. It was an invitation I’d have preferred to decline. But in the circumstances I didn’t feel able to.
I feared a further, more considered dressing-down. It was nothing less than I deserved. But it soon became clear Francis had something else in mind for me.
‘I seem to have misjudged you, my boy,’ he smilingly remarked as he proffered the cigar-box.
His geniality threw me. ‘I … I’m sorry?’
‘This message we’ve had from Vivien. These friends of hers from Cambridge? Her impulsive decision to accompany them to Rome? Tommy-rot, I’m sure you’ll agree. You weren’t being quite straight with me earlier, were you?’
‘Everything I told you was—’
‘No, no. Let’s have no more of that.’ He peered at me along the barrel of his cigar. ‘You gallantly insisted on taking the blame, whereas Vivien favoured cutting and running. That’s how it is, isn’t it? Her determination to root out the secret she believes lies behind poor Oliver’s death made her keener than you on the deal with Strake and less wary of the pitfalls. You could be with her in Rome now, whispering sweet nothings into her ear in some trattoria on the Via Veneto. Instead, you’re here, facing the music.’
I was tempted for a moment to admit he was right and bask in the approbation he seemed to be offering. But that would have defeated the purpose I’d set myself. ‘Francis,’ I said as earnestly as I could, ‘I can assure you Vivien knew nothing about my meeting with Strake.’
‘Fine. Let’s stick to that line, by all means. Vivien knew nothing about it.’ He poured me a larger measure of brandy than usual and then did the same for himself. ‘My advice to you, my boy, is to go after her. She shouldn’t be hard to find. Greville pays her a generous allowance and, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, she doesn’t like to slum it. So it really shouldn’t be difficult to track her down in Rome. Try the Hassler. Or the Inghilterra. She’ll be in one of the top hotels, I guarantee it. Without a friend from Cambridge in sight. In need of company, in fact. Company … and consolation. Salute.’ He took a sip of brandy. ‘Vivien’s had more to cope with than any girl of her age should have been asked to, so I’m not going to wax censorious over this unhappy episode. We’ll regard it as water under the bridge, shall we?’
‘Well, I …’
‘I should tell you that Strake’s been in touch. He’s not one to sit on a money-making opportunity. He claims that, armed with the sample of Luisa’s handwriting you supplied, he can prove she was the authoress of a series of anonymous love letters sent to a junior member of Mussolini’s government. How he came by the letters I don’t know and whether the claim’s true I don’t even care. The newspapers would undoubtedly make a small but embarrassing fuss about it, however. So, to spare Luisa any distress, I’m willing to pay Strake the figure he’s demanding. It’ll be done through an intermediary, naturally. I don’t intend to give him the satisfaction of a face-to-face meeting. I’m confident that will be the end of the matter. In fact, I propose this conversation be the last we have on the subject.’ He took another sip from his glass. ‘Well, Jonathan? Can I say fairer than that?’ He smiled. ‘I rather think not.’
Francis’s outpouring of goodwill was irresistible. He was convinced his interpretation of events was correct and I knew there was nothing I could say to dissuade him, so, in the end, I didn’t even try. ‘Least said, soonest mended,’ were, I think, his very last words on the subject, before he launched off on assorted brandy-fuelled wartime reminiscences.
By the time I stumbled up to bed, I was convinced all would be well. Strake would be quietly bought off by Francis, while I caught up with Vivien in Rome and assured her she had nothing to fear from returning to Capri. Everything was going to be as it was before. The harsh things we’d said and the foolish things we’d done were going to be forgotten. Life would revert for the remainder of our stay to its happy norm.
Then, as I was undressing, there came a tapping at the French windows leading on to the balcony. In my tipsy state, I had some idea Vivien had secretly returned and was eager to see me. But when I opened the door, I saw Paolo standing outside, the light from the bedside lamp behind me casting shadows on the tight frown-lines of his face.
‘What are you doing out there?’ I asked, surprised by how slurred my voice sounded.
‘I must speak to you,’ he answered, in a low, urgent tone.
‘What about?’
‘I fear something very bad is going to happen. Something … molto terribile.’
EIGHTEEN
PAOLO STEPPED INTO the room and padded softly across to the door from the landing, where he listened intently for a moment, then nodded in evident satisfaction. ‘Tutto bene,’ he murmured.
‘Paolo, what—’
‘Sta’ zitto.’ He put a finger to his lips and padded back to where I was standing. ‘Keep your voice down, Jonathan. Il Colonnello must not hear us.’ (He always referred to Francis as the Colonel, though whether respectfully or satirically it was sometimes hard to tell.) ‘I am worried about him. How did he seem to you this evening?’
‘Fine. Cheery, in fact.’
‘More cheery than usual?’
‘Yes. I suppose so.’
‘Si. That is it. An act. He is a good actor.’
‘Well, I—’
‘There is no one else I can ask to do this, Jonathan. I would do it myself if I could. But it has to be you.’
I stared at him, confused and thoroughly discombobulated. The groomed and preening Paolo normally treated me with a mixture of wariness and contempt, albeit veiled by the deference due to me as a guest of his employers. He had to be very worried indeed, if not desperate, to be asking for my help. ‘What … is this all about, Paolo?’
‘You were gone all day, so you would not know.’ (Paolo had of course been absent, driving Luisa somewhere, during my interview with Francis that morning, an interview I naturally had no intention of mentioning.) ‘Il Colonnello was in his study making phone calls most of the afternoon. He did not join la signora for lunch or tea. And later … he shouted at her. There was … an argument. They never argue. It is … a thin
g that does not happen.’
‘What were they arguing about?’
‘I do not know. I could not … make out the words.’
It struck me that, if he really didn’t know what the row was about, he had absolutely no business confiding in me. A marital spat, however unprecedented, wasn’t a subject he should be discussing with someone he barely knew. Besides, there was an obvious explanation for friction between Francis and Luisa: Paolo himself. ‘Why haven’t you asked Luisa what it was about?’ I ventured.
‘I cannot do that.’
I hadn’t the nerve to press the point. ‘People argue. It’s … no big deal.’
‘I think it is a very big deal. There is something wrong with il Colonnello. I need your help.’
‘What d’you expect me to do?’
‘He has told me he wants me to drive him to Marina Grande very early tomorrow morning. He is taking the six-thirty ferry to Napoli. He never goes to Napoli without la signora and the first ferry of the day … it makes no sense. We must find out where he is going and why he is going there.’
We? Clearly he didn’t intend to allow the improbability of our alliance to stand in his way. ‘I don’t see—’
‘You must be on the ferry, Jonathan. Get to the dock early and board before we arrive. I will make sure il Colonnello is one of the last passengers. He must not see you. When you reach Napoli, follow him. See where he goes. Then … telephone me here.’
‘He’s probably going to see his solicitor – or his doctor.’
‘On the six-thirty ferry? No. It is for something else.’
‘Yeah. Something that’s none of our concern.’
‘It is my concern if there is danger he will get into trouble. La signora would want me to stop that happening. I cannot follow him. There is no one else to do it except you.’
‘Why d’you think there’s a danger he’ll get into trouble?’
‘I see things. I hear things. I understand things.’
‘Such as what?’
‘Someone has tried to break into the villa. Now il Colonnello is angry and worried … and going to Napoli. All this is connected. We need to know how it is connected.’ There was that we again. Who exactly did he mean? It occurred to me that he might be recruiting me on someone else’s behalf. Luisa’s, perhaps. ‘Will you do it?’
One part of my brain advised me to send him packing. Another urged me to cooperate. It was clear, if nothing else was, that the affable forgive-and-forget routine Francis had treated me to that night was just what Paolo had called it: an act. Something altogether more complicated than buying off Strake was going on. Or else buying off Strake was itself more complicated. Either way, tailing Francis in Naples might lead to the answer. Though whether I’d tell Paolo what I learnt in the process was quite another matter.
‘Will you do it, Jonathan?’ he pressed.
‘You really think it’s important?’
‘Si, si.’
‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything you know?’
‘Because you are English. You have a suspicious mind. I am worried about il Colonnello. You should be too. Vivien would want you to do everything you can to protect her uncle, I think. And you want to please her, I think also. Dunque …’
‘What are we trying to protect him from, Paolo?’
‘I am not sure.’ Not sure, of course, wasn’t quite the same as don’t know. ‘When you see where he goes … maybe then I will know. That is why you must telephone me as soon as you find out.’
‘What if he spots me?’
‘He is old. He does not see so good. He will not … spot you. Unless you get too close.’
‘Easy for you to say.’
‘You think I want to rely on you? No. But I have to.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’
‘Basta! Will you do it or not?’
He was growing impatient. I had to give him an answer and it was never going to be no. Because I’d be following Oliver as well as Francis through the streets of Naples. The truth was a powerful lure. I nodded. ‘OK. I’ll do it.’
When the alarm woke me at 4.30 the following morning, I was convinced for a moment that I’d dreamt my exchanges with Paolo. But reality repossessed me as I lay staring into the darkness. And when I turned the bedside lamp on, there, beside it, was the small pile of gettoni he’d given me for the telephone call he’d be waiting for. He’d also given me several thousand lire to pay for any taxis I needed to take. He wasn’t taking a lot of chances with my competence.
The light was on in Paolo’s room over the garage when I slipped out of the front door of the villa, showered but unshaven, stomach already growling from lack of breakfast. I hurried down to the gate, opened it carefully to avoid setting off any loud creaks and set off into the thinnest glimmerings of dawn.
I’d never been out and about so early. Capri was dark and quiet, with only a few working folk on the move. The funicular had just started running and I made it down to Marina Grande with more than half an hour to spare before the ferry left. I bought my ticket and a copy of Corriere della Sera for camouflage, then dived into a bar for coffee and a pastry.
I was out on the jetty before boarding began, even so, and was one of the first up the gangway. I went to the far end of the cabin, opened the newspaper and kept watch from behind it. A few minutes before the ferry was due to sail, Francis came into view on the jetty, hatted and raincoated against the coolness of early morning. He was carrying a small leather briefcase and looked like a man with business to attend to. Paolo was at his elbow, but was soon waved away. He glanced in my direction as he retreated, though whether he caught sight of me was hard to tell.
Shortly afterwards, Francis entered the cabin and took the first free seat he came to, slumping down heavily into it. Dawn starts evidently didn’t agree with him. He pulled one of his airmailed copies of the Times Literary Supplement out of his briefcase and started perusing it, but was soon doing more dozing than reading, lulled, perhaps, by the sunlight that began to slant in through the windows. My Corriere della Sera became an unnecessary prop.
I spent most of the crossing wondering just what Francis was up to. He’d told me there was no question of his meeting Strake, so who was he going to see in Naples? He’d also told me he wished to spare Luisa any distress, which hardly tallied with the row Paolo reported them having. I’d assumed he meant her to know nothing of Strake’s threats.
Mulling all that over had got me precisely nowhere by the time we reached Naples and I was soon preoccupied by the practicalities of following Francis. I had to hang well back to let him gather himself together and then hang back again when he disembarked. Fortunately, he was never the swiftest of movers and was even slower this morning. He ambled across the landing area, heading, predictably, though from my point of view, inconveniently, towards the taxi rank.
There was nothing for it then but to let his taxi pull away, before jumping into the one behind and reading out the phrase Paolo had written down for me: ‘Follow that cab’ in Italian. The driver, a lugubrious, lantern-jawed fellow, grimaced at me. I repeated the phrase more loudly. He shrugged and set off with a lurch.
The morning rush was limbering up on the main road along the harbourside in Naples. It seemed to me that following one vehicle through the jockeying, honking traffic was impossible, but my driver managed it while smoking a cigarette, retuning his radio and casting me the occasional leer that suggested he thought I was too young for whatever game this was.
Before long Francis’s taxi took a left into the maze of streets in the old centre. We tagged along behind. I’d have rapidly lost all sense of direction but for the climbing sun periodically dazzling me. As far as I could tell, we were heading north, deeper into the heart of the city. My driver stopped grimacing and leering, as if he was beginning to enjoy himself.
Suddenly, he slammed on the brakes. We skidded to a halt. The other taxi had pulled up about thirty yards ahead of us. Francis
clambered out as I watched. I glanced at the meter and shoved enough lire into the driver’s hand to cover the fare, then jumped out, keeping my head down, and went after Francis.
He turned into a doorway. As I closed in, I saw the building it served was a hotel: the Albergo Lustrini. It looked cheap but not cheerful. A dusty front window, adorned with an even dustier rubber plant, gave me a partly obstructed view of a drab reception area, across which Francis was steering a straight course for the lift. I slowed, unsure what to do. He reached the lift and pressed a button. The doors slid slowly open. He stepped in.
That was my cue to move. I dodged into the hotel just as the lift doors closed. I kept my eyes trained on the floor indicator as I marched towards it, aware that the stairs were just to the right. The lift stopped at three. Without even a glance in the direction of the desk, I started running up the stairs.
Four flights took me to the right floor. I peered round the corner of the wall next to the lift and there, standing by a door halfway along the corridor, was Francis. He rapped at the door with his knuckles. It opened on a chain. I heard a muffled question from inside. I couldn’t have sworn to it, but it sounded like Strake’s voice.
‘Ways and means,’ said Francis. ‘Are you going to let me in? We can settle this here and now. On terms I think you’ll find attractive.’
There was a pause. Then the door closed and opened again, this time fully. I glimpsed a figure. Strake, almost certainly. Francis stepped into the room. The door closed behind him.
So, that was it. He was meeting Strake. Why he’d told me he wouldn’t was a mystery. Technically, I’d now accomplished what Paolo had asked of me. But I wasn’t keen on phoning him with this information. The less he knew about Strake the better. Maybe I’d just claim I’d bungled the job and lost Francis. I reckoned knowing Strake’s room number would be useful whatever I did, though. I trod lightly as I moved along the corridor far enough to see it: 239. Then, emboldened by how quiet the hotel seemed, I stepped closer. The door looked cheap and thin. It wasn’t likely to be very soundproof.
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