by Anne Mather
He fastened his tie, slid his arms into the jacket of the dark suit he was wearing, and opened his bedroom door. The apartments seemed unusually quiet for this hour of the morning. It was a little after nine, and his grandmother was usually up and about by now.
Entering the kitchens he came upon Anna, standing by the broad table mixing batter for pancakes. She was staring ahead of her in an abstracted way, and he said lightly, ‘Anna? Is something wrong?’
Anna jumped, and looked round. ‘Oh, signore,’ she exclaimed. ‘I am glad you are up. I do not know whether anything is wrong or not. I am at a loss!’
Cesare felt the stirrings of apprehension in his stomach. ‘So? Tell me! What is troubling you?’
Anna shook her head. ‘When I went into the Contessa’s room this morning she is sleeping so deeply. I am worried, and I try to wake her, but she does not stir.’
Cesare’s face whitened. ‘Is she alive?’
‘I think so. At least—oh, signore, I am not sure any more.’
‘Then why didn’t you wake me?’ Cesare strode to the door.
‘And signore!’ Anna’s voice halted him.
‘Well? Be quick!’
‘The Signorina Maxwell, signore …’
‘Go on!’
‘She … she has gone!’
‘Gone?’ Cesare’s tone was incredulous. ‘Where has she gone?’
‘I do not know, signore. Back to England, she said, and Giulio was to take her to the station, but then when he went to get her luggage, she had disappeared!’
Cesare moved his shoulders helplessly. ‘My God, Anna, you keep some strange things to yourself. Wait I must see my grandmother!’
He entered his grandmother’s bedroom quietly, and approached the bed. The old Contessa looked small and fragile, but praise be! she was still breathing. Cesare drew back one of the heavy brocade curtains, and looked down at her again anxiously. Her breathing was very shallow, and her cheeks were very pale. Then as he looked, her eyes opened.
‘Hello, Cesare,’ she said weakly. ‘I … I’m feeling rather tired this morning. I don’t … think I’ll get up, after all.’
‘All right, Contessa,’ said Cesare gently, smiling down at her. ‘What’s wrong? Have you been having too many late nights?’
‘Something like that,’ said the Contessa tiredly. ‘But … no … Cesare, don’t go. Not yet. I want to talk to you.’
‘All right, Contessa.’ Cesare seated himself beside her, taking one of her veined hands in his own strong brown fingers. ‘What is it?’
The Contessa ran a tongue over her dry lips. ‘I’m worried, Cesare, very worried,’ she said. ‘It’s … it’s about Celeste!’
‘Celeste? What about her? Oh, you mean about last night? Don’t worry about that. I can handle Celeste.’
‘I know you can, Cesare. I know she will marry you whatever your shortcomings, given the chance. But … but, Cesare, I’m not sure any more that that’s what you should do.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘The Palazzo, Cesare. Is the Palazzo important, Cesare? Is it more important than you, than your happiness?’
‘Contessa …’ he began impatiently, but she held up her hand.
‘No, wait, Cesare. Listen to me. I’m very old, and I don’t think I’m going to live very much longer. And it’s very important to me, your happiness. I … I’ve been lying here all night wondering, and worrying. Cesare, you don’t love Celeste. You couldn’t love her. She’s so cold and mercenary, and I am afraid that after I am gone the Palazzo will become a chain about your neck, and a sword in Celeste’s hand to twist every time she does not get her own way.’
‘I’ve told you. I can handle Celeste.’
The Contessa sighed. ‘Yes, yes, maybe you can at that. But what kind of life is that? Living under threats as you would be doing. Or getting your way by bribery and corruption. No, Cesare, I can’t have it … I won’t have it.’
‘Contessa, Contessa! Calm yourself! Who has been putting these ideas into your head? Celeste? It hardly seems likely.’
‘No, not Celeste. That … that child of hers. Or rather stepchild. Emma. What an innocent she is to be living with that woman. Celeste will do her best to ruin her life also. They are not living the kind of life Celeste would have us believe. I sometimes wonder whether she had ever bothered about Emma before they came here.’
‘Emma,’ said Cesare suddenly, remembering Anna’s words. ‘Contessa, I must leave you. There … there’s something I have to do.’
‘Before you go, Cesare, promise me one thing.’
‘If I can.’
‘That if you ever find someone you love … if you have already found someone to love … don’t let the Palazzo stand in your way. I beg of you. I’m too old to care any more. And this building will always be here, whatever happens. The state will take care of it. If you had if off your shoulders you could live a normal life. Cesare, you would not be rich, but you would not starve. Please, Cesare, think about it.’
Cesare stood up. ‘All right, Contessa, I’ll think about it. Now, be good and relax here until I come back.’
He smiled confidently at the Contessa until the bedroom door was closed, and then he leaned back against it, his face transforming completely into a hard mask. Emma was his prime concern now, and he could have kicked himself for not realizing that her pride would not allow her to carry on as though nothing had happened; that she would try to escape, and in so doing maybe endanger her own life.
He strode back to the kitchen to Anna, who had now been joined by Giulio. He closed the door, and said:
‘The Contessa is alive, but very frail. She is staying in bed. But now, I want the whole story about Emma, and fast!’
‘It is simple,’ replied Anna, shrugging her broad shoulders. ‘The signorina came to breakfast very early. She told me she wanted to get away without seeing anybody. She asked me to ask Giulio to take her in the motor launch to the main railway station so that she could make her way back to England. She told me she used to be a nurse in a hospital there. She wanted to go back.’
‘Then what?’ Cesare was impatient.
‘Giulio came to collect her bags, but she had gone! Her bags had gone, and so had the motor launch. She must have decided to go alone. It is most peculiar.’
‘That it is,’ said Cesare grimly. ‘For God’s sake, Anna, why didn’t you wake me?’
‘Signore,’ exclaimed Anna, ‘the signorina was most adamant that you should not know of her departure. I could not destroy her confidence in me.’
‘But when the launch disappeared, did neither of you wonder why? After all, I do not believe the signorina knows how to navigate the vessel. My God, anything could have happened to her.’
Giulio’s face was grave. ‘You think the signorina may have been taken …’ His voice trailed away. ‘This did not occur to me, signore.’
‘Then it should have done,’ snapped Cesare angrily. ‘Look, go get another launch and go to the railway terminal at once. If there is no trace of her there, ring me at this number; at once, you understand?’ He handed Giulio a slip of paper.
‘Si, signore, I will be as quick as I can.’
After Giulio had gone, Cesare went to his bedroom, removed his suit jacket, and donned a thick black sweater. Then he unlocked a small safe behind a picture on the wall and removed a small pistol which he slid into a concealed pocket inside the wasitband of his trousers. Then he left his bedroom, closing the door and entering the lounge of the apartments. To his surprise Celeste was standing by the window, smoking nervously, and she turned quickly at his entrance, flinching at the grim expression on his face.
‘Well, Cesare,’ she said lightly. ‘How are you this morning?’
‘No better for seeing you,’ returned Cesare bluntly. ‘I can’t stop now, Celeste. There are things to be done.’
Celeste frowned. ‘Why? What’s going on? Where is everyone today?’
‘Anna will tell you,�
� said the Count bleakly, and opened the door on to the gallery. ‘If you are in need of an occupation I would suggest you pack your things,’ he said, as an after-thought. ‘I believe there are vacancies at the Danieli. Maybe you could get your old suite back again.’
‘Cesare!’ Celeste was aghast. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ The Count’s expression became sardonic. ‘You are no longer welcome in my home.’
He closed the door on her before she could come to her senses and start venting some of her anger in his direction, and ran swiftly down the steps to the hall below.
Making his way through various alleys and back streets he came to the network of wharves and warehouses at the back of which he found Domenico’s surgery. Letting himself in he ran up the stairs, through the empty waiting room to the inner office. Using a key, he opened the inner door and entered Domenico’s surgery. It, too, was empty, and he closed the door, relocking it, and then opened the door of a cupboard on the wall which appeared to be merely a medicine cabinet. However, pressure on the right-hand side of the shelves caused the outer compartment to swing forward, revealing a comprehensive radio transmitter behind.
Cesare seated himself at the transmitter, switched on and tuned himself in to the frequency necessary for using a direct line to Marco Cortina. When Marco answered Cesare merely said:
‘Transportation B,’ and switched off.
Then he closed in the transmitter, locked the cupboard, and put his keys back into his pocket. He paced about the room impatiently for a few minutes and then went out, locking up after him, through the waiting room and down the stairs to the door into the alley.
Outside it was beginning to rain, and the outlook was grey and dismal. A few seconds later he heard the sound of a motor launch coming in his direction, and he left the house and walked swiftly through the archway to the canal. He climbed silently into the launch, and went down to the cabin after a brief nod at the pilot.
The busy square provided good cover as he entered the realm of Marco Cortina’s offices, and he was quickly swept up to the upper regions of the building.
Marco was waiting for him, in his shirt sleeves, a cigar clenched between his teeth. He shook hands with Cesare swiftly, his expression probing into Cesare’s thoughts.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘What’s happened?’
Cesare explained briefly, and then lit himself a cigar from the box on Marco’s desk. ‘Do you think I’m being overly cautious?’ he snapped.
‘Maybe, maybe not. You’re in love with this girl, aren’t you?’
‘Goddammit, forget my reasons for anything! Is she in danger, do you think? Or has she really left?’
Marco shrugged. ‘There’s word that Ben Mouhli is in the city,’ he said flatly. ‘I think you’re probably right. He has got her!’
‘Oh, God!’ Cesare felt his stomach contort violently. ‘Why?’
‘Obviously to draw you to seek them out.’
‘But what if I don’t? I mean, they can’t know whether I would care enough to put my own life in danger for a slip of a kid.’
‘Can’t they? She was a guest in your house. It’s logical to suppose that pressure would be put upon you to try and find her. It’s annoying that they’ve done it this way. It means we’ve got to come out into the open. I didn’t want that to happen.’
‘And the alternative?’ Cesare drew on his cigar. ‘I go it alone.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ muttered Cortina violently. ‘You wouldn’t stand a chance. Mouhli has more than a dozen men!’
‘I know, I know!’ Cesare strode about like a caged tiger. He was thinking, trying desperately to find a solution in a brain that seethed with emotion of a very different kind. If he got Emma back now …! He would be able to fling it all up without a qualm. He would no longer be destroying his grandmother’s plans for the Palazzo. That particular millstone could be dropped from his neck.
‘Look,’ he said, at last. ‘Our strength lies in the fact that Ben Mouhli thinks I have no liking for policemen. He believes I’m trying to manoeuvre him out of the syndicate. He knows I was responsible for Ferenze’s disappearance. He thinks I still have the stuff, just waiting for a chance to unload it and make the fortune that’s there to be made. If I go to him … I’m pretty sure I could find him somehow … I could try and bluff it out….’
‘Fantastic!’ muttered Cortina. ‘What a bloody idea!’
‘Have you another one?’
‘Not yet. But that’s not to say there isn’t one to be found.’ He sighed, ‘Good God, Cesare, I want you alive. You’re no use to me dead!’
‘But you want Ben Mouhli, too, don’t you?’
Of course I do. But there’s little chance of going into those alleyways without attracting attention to ourselves.’ He chewed his cigar. ‘But, Cesare, if we got our hands on Ben Mouhli –’
‘That’s out! But positively!’ Cesare’s face was grim. ‘If those villains get one inkling of what we’re doing, Emma won’t get out of there alive!’
‘Okay, okay. So you go alone. Much good may it do you! Unless …’ he halted. ‘You could take a consignment of the hemp with you. You won’t stand a chance without something to bargain with.’
‘But that’s stupid! If Mouhli gets me, he gets the hemp! And there’s no absolute guarantee that we’ll get out of there alive anyway.’
‘I know that.’ Cortina’s eyes were guarded. ‘You’d have to try and convince him you were simply trying to take over the syndicate. Then when he’s swallowing that, of choking on it more like, you try and make a deal with him.’
‘Some chance!’
‘I agree. But once you and the girl are out of there, we move in regardless!’
‘Okay, okay.’ Cesare stubbed out his cigarette. Then he frowned and studied Cortina’s face shrewdly. ‘You’re taking this very coolly,’ he said, but his friend did not reply.
Then the telephone rang.
Cortina answered it, spoke for a few moments, and then rang off. ‘That was control downstairs. A call came through from Giulio. There was no sign of your Miss Maxwell at the railway terminal. No one of her description has been seen buying tickets and so on. I guess that wraps it up, doesn’t it?’
‘I guess it does,’ agreed Cesare heavily. ‘Okay, let’s get busy.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE day dragged interminably by. The bench on which Emma was seated with one of her captors beside her was as hard as iron now, and she felt numb, and frozen with despair. There was no light or heating in this enormous room, and although it was a warm day outside Emma knew nothing of it. She knew she ought to be grateful that so far her presence had been practically ignored by the big Moor, but she could see no way out of her dilemma, and she felt desperately near to breakdown. It was too much; after the trouble with Cesare, and her own ridiculous display of weakness towards him would only arouse his amusement when he had time to think about it. And if she had disappeared, who was there to care anyway? The old Contessa perhaps might spare a thought for the young girl to whom she had acted as teacher of classics, but there was no one else. After what happened last night Celeste would have nothing but hatred for her, and would do her utmost to ruin her life if she could.
The man called Kavir had left a couple of hours ago to deliver the message of her kidnapping to Count Cesare, but had so far not returned. Emma wondered whether Cesare would come. It was becoming patently obvious that the syndicate dealt in something like arms, or drugs, even, and consequently whatever opinion she had had of Cesare before this was going through a swift revision. She could not love a man who dealt in misery and death, no matter how attractive he might be, and part of her own misery stemmed from the knowledge that Cesare had been proved to be something she loathed and despised.
Her own guess was that they dealt in drugs; the references to injections and consignments all seemed to point to something small but lethal, and if this was so maybe that was why Cesare had been so annoyed when
she discovered that underwater diving equipment in the violin case. Already so many things were beginning to fall into place. Count Cesare’s unexplained actions so many times; his disappearance the afternoon they spent in the lagoon, and the men who attacked him and herself. It was all becoming painfully clear, and not at all what she wanted to believe. It hardly seemed possible that Cesare could align himself with men like Sidi Ben Mouhli.
She sighed, and immediately the Moor’s eyes turned to her.
‘You grow weary, perhaps, Miss Maxwell,’ he said, smiling maliciously. ‘Rest assured, you will not have much longer to wait. The gallant Count is a somewhat tardy knight errant, but he will come, never fear, he will come.’
‘And when he does?’ Emma’s voice was unsteady.
‘And when he does, we will have a little fun. The good Count has had it his own way long enough. Now it is his turn to lose a hand, or maybe every hand, who knows! No one doublecrosses me. No one!’
‘Whatever the Count has done is of no interest to me,’ replied Emma shakily. ‘If I had known …’ She bit her lip.
‘What is this?’ The Moor’s eyes widened. ‘You mean you knew nothing at all of his little game? That I can hardly believe. But you see, the Count is under the impression that he has fooled me. He has disposed of a cargo of which you yourself unfortunately have the number carved on your shoulder. This cargo was worth many thousands of dollars, and at first it seemed that the Count wanted to play me at my own game. But then certain information came to my sight which proved conclusively that which I had begun to suspect. That your dear Cesare was no longer one of us, but a shrewd, yet sometimes stupid, member of the Italian Intelligence service!’