by Hester Rowan
I stopped, suddenly, staring – without registering the sight until afterwards – at a handsome pink-breasted bullfinch that was busily occupied in an apple tree, pecking a late spray of blossom to pieces. Of course. All my questions had an obvious, simple answer. I knew no details and I had no proof of anything, but the Langs were not what they had seemed, and they were after something that sounded as though it was of more than geological value.
And up there, somewhere in Trevalle, was the treasure that Alberto had wanted to tell Guy about; the treasure that Zecchini was definitely after and, as Guy had said, other people too, for all we knew.
No, I had no proof, but I was sure. Henry and Isabel Lang were treasure-hunting too – and what’s more –
‘Idiot!’ I cried aloud and the bullfinch took off from its branch, in a small explosion of leaf and twig and petal. Of course, what a fool I’d been not to see it before! And how could Guy have missed it!
The Langs knew exactly where to go for the treasure. They had as good as told us where it was: in the upper valley, somewhere in the rocks behind Giorgio’s farmhouse.
Instinctively I started to run. I had to get back to the villa, to tell Caterina immediately and then to tell Guy the minute he got back from Trevalle so that he could return and warn Giorgio. I pelted along the beaten earth of the path but my sandals were not made for running. One of the flimsy straps broke and brought me to a limping halt.
Another item of my wardrobe spoiled; another debit against Guy Lombardi’s account, I thought malevolently. I sat down beside the lake and made a futile attempt to thread the strap to the sole with a tough stem of grass. There was no hope that it would be effective, but at least the enforced rest gave me a chance to reconsider my intentions.
What could I possibly tell Caterina? Guy had been careful to keep Alberto’s message from her: she knew nothing about the treasure, had never heard of Zecchini. What could I say to her? I don’t believe that the Langs are father and daughter, and Maria knows something about them and they’re giving her money to keep her quiet. It was all so vague, so unsupported. I was sure that my suspicions were well-founded, but my actual evidence was flimsy.
Come to think of it – I groaned softly, exasperated by my own inadequacy because now I came to think of it my evidence was nil. I’d been so anxious to hide that I hadn’t dared to look at the couple whose conversation I had overheard. I’d been sure that they were the Langs. I’d seized on all their references to the villa, to admirers, to rocks, to the girl in the hotel as proof positive.
But I had no proof that they were the Langs at all. Their voices had been different from the voices the Langs had used last night, their relationship with each other had been different. The girl from the hotel had not necessarily been Maria. There were several other private villas round the lake where they might have been staying, and as for rocks … as for rocks, if those in the local mountains were of particular geological interest, presumably other geologists would want to investigate them.
I tossed a pebble into the lake, watching the rings of water widen and then break on the reeds. I seemed to have made a thorough job of demolishing my case against the Langs. Not that I had shaken my own belief, but I’d convinced myself that there was nothing I could possibly tell Caterina. And besides, they were her guests just as I was. How could one guest accuse another of masquerading?
I’d tell Guy, of course … but that would be difficult too – especially as Lang was an old friend of Guy’s father; and especially as Guy was so obviously looking forward to taking Isabel out …
I sighed, put on my sandal and got to my feet. It seemed that there was very little that I could do except listen and watch in the hope that the Langs would sooner or later give me the proof that I needed. But in the meantime I must somehow try to warn Guy that I believed that it might be his friends Giorgio and Maddalena and the little girl Lisetta who were in the path of the treasure hunters, so that he could get them out of the way as quickly as possible.
I set out again. After four steps my grass repair job worked loose, after seven it snapped. I took off my sandal and tried to walk dot and carry, but it was such an uncomfortable gait that, in the end, I slipped off the other and returned barefoot to the Villa Lombardi.
The Langs were back soon afterwards, looking immensely cheerful. He carried a rucksack and lifted from it several pieces of differently marked rock which he spread out on the terrace for our inspection. Caterina and I protested our ignorance, but his enthusiasm was so infectious that we were obliged to try to look intelligent as he demonstrated his finds to us.
Yesterday, of course, I would have tried harder to take an interest; yesterday I had found Henry Lang attractively distinguished. Today I hung back, doubting.
Isabel glanced at me. But then, Isabel and I had discovered last night that we shared a lack of enthusiasm for geology, and there was no need for me to pretend for her benefit. She lowered one of her long-lashed lids in a conspiratorial wink, and I forced myself to smile in return.
Had I been completely wrong about the Langs? They were just the same as they had been the previous evening: father and daughter, he rather solemn and courteous, she open and friendly. Their voices, their personalities were different from those of the couple I had overheard at the hotel.
But what if they were the same people, putting on an act at the villa for our benefit? It didn’t automatically follow that they were treasure hunters or that Giorgio and his family were in any danger from them. Nothing I had heard at the hotel proved that Lang was not the geologist he claimed to be. Perhaps there was some kind of academic hanky-panky going on, perhaps Dr Lang was involved in some scholarly skulduggery – disreputable, but neither criminal nor dangerous to others.
I was still trying to sort out the muddle in my mind when Guy returned from Trevalle. I wanted very much to talk to him, but he hurried to his room to change and then came out to the terrace to collect Isabel. There was no opportunity to speak to him alone.
While Isabel went to get ready, Caterina was as eager as Dr Lang and I were to bombard Guy with questions about his visit to Trevalle.
‘It’s going to be all right,’ he said with relief. ‘Giorgio and his family will be moved out of the far valley early tomorrow evening. There’s a lot of sympathy for the old chap in the town of course, which is why the police have kept cool and not tried to move him by force.’
‘But what makes them think that he’ll go quietly tomorrow?’ I asked.
‘His relatives and friends have organized a party for him,’ Guy explained. ‘They’ll go up to the far valley tomorrow afternoon taking plenty of wine, and as soon as Giorgio’s had enough not to know what’s happening they’ll carry him away with them.’
It sounded to me thoroughly callous.
‘Poor old man – it’s so undignified. And besides, there’s Maddalena and Lisetta.’
Guy shrugged. ‘I think it’s a very good idea. If you can think of a better, Clare –’
‘But what about Maddalena and the child?’ Caterina intervened. ‘And their belongings …?’
‘The townspeople will be able to drive as far as the pumping station – that’s nearly up to the mouth of the far valley,’ Guy explained to her, ‘and not much more than a mile from the farm. They were going to take some mules to carry the furniture and belongings from the farm back to the transport, but I’ve offered to go over with the Haflinger. That’ll mean that I can take Maddalena and Lisetta as well and get them out of the way before the serious drinking starts. Does that meet your objections, Clare?’
‘That sounds much better,’ I said with relief. ‘I’m glad you’ll be there to help them, Guy – they’ll be so bewildered.’
‘Would you like to come too?’ he asked unexpectedly. ‘After all, they know you now. And I’d like you to see where they’re going, just to convince you that it’s a good exchange.’
‘I’d like that.’
Dr Lang had been listening eagerly to our conversation and now he could
hold back no longer. ‘And what about getting to look at the rocks?’ he burst out. ‘Can you tell me when the valley will be clear?’
‘Oh, by about six o’clock, I should think,’ said Guy. ‘At the latest. The flooding won’t start until dawn the next morning, so you’ll be able to work without interruption until it gets dark.’
‘Not so long, up in the mountains,’ Lang said glumly. ‘Still,’ he brightened, ‘an hour or two should be enough. I’m grateful for your help, Guido.’
‘I’m only sorry that I couldn’t get you there sooner. By the way, I’ve told the local police chief what you’ll be doing. He’s concerned about closing the valleys before the flooding starts. There are bound to be sightseers and once Giorgio has been got out there’ll be police stationed by the dam to stop anyone going in. But if you tell them who you are, they’ll let you through.’
I glanced covertly at Lang. Would the mention of police alarm him?
Far from it. ‘Now that was thoughtful of you,’ he beamed. ‘Many thanks.’
‘But what about getting to Trevalle, Dr Lang?’ Guy asked. ‘You’ll have to go the long way round in your own car – would you like a lift over the mountains in the Haflinger?’
‘I wouldn’t dream of troubling you.’
‘It’s no trouble. Clare and I will be going anyway.’
‘Even so … you’ll want to be there early, no doubt, if you’re going to help the family move. No, I can just as easily go by the long route and then up to the dam from the town the way you showed me on the map.’
‘But then there’s the question of getting right up to the far valley. As I said, the road stops about a mile short of the farmhouse. You’ll really need the Haflinger to carry you from there.’
Henry Lang gave a benevolent smile. ‘Guido,’ he said gently, ‘you’re a young man. No doubt you think a man of my age is past walking as far as a mile, but I assure you …’
Guy’s neck reddened in embarrassment. ‘Of course not! But won’t you have a load to bring back?’
‘A few carefully chosen samples of rock … I can carry away all I want in a rucksack. Geology’s no sedentary job, you know.’
‘You look a good deal more fit than my idle brother-in-law,’ Caterina intervened tactfully. ‘Ah, here is Isabel – you have a very beautiful daughter, Dr Lang.’
She looked very beautiful indeed, and if Caterina and I thought so it was hardly likely that Guy would fail to notice. He rose and went to meet her.
I was thoroughly confused about the Langs. It was ridiculous to imagine that they could be treasure-hunting when he so clearly had no qualms about the police – and anyway, what sort of treasure could he possibly be after if it was so small that he could carry it away in a rucksack? On the other hand, why insist on travelling by car the long way round to reach Trevalle, when the Haflinger was going there anyway? Why the insistence on going alone?
I had to give Guy a warning, for the sake of old Giorgio and his family.
‘Guy –’ I said urgently.
‘Yes?’
He turned towards me, one foot on the steps that led down from the terrace, one hand on Isabel’s arm. She turned too: enviably beautiful, beautifully poised.
What could I possibly say in front of the Langs? And even if the Langs were not there, how could I imply my mistrust of them without giving Guy the impression that I simply resented the attention he was paying to Isabel?
I forced my lips to shape a smile. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said.
Chapter Thirteen
There were just three of us at lunch, Caterina, Henry Lang and myself. He was charming, dexterously paying us equal attention as he regaled us with stories of his geological expeditions, and I found it hard to imagine that he could simply be putting on an act. But at the same time I remained guarded, less forthcoming than I had been the previous day.
Caterina must have noticed my silence, because she tried to draw me out. ‘Did you enjoy your walk by the lake this morning, Clare?’
Was it my imagination, or did Lang hesitate with his wine glass half-way to his lips as he listened for my answer I was embarrassed, on the verge of changing the subject when it suddenly occurred to me that here was a perfect opportunity to find out whether it really was the Langs that I had overheard.
‘Yes, thank you. It was beautiful down there. I walked as far as the hotel – I thought perhaps I might see Maria and try to let her know that I sympathized about last night’s accident.’
‘That was kind of you,’ Caterina said. ‘And did you see her?’
‘No, unfortunately. There was rather a handsome young waiter, though, so I stayed for a time and drank lemonade.’
Henry Lang was silent, his fingers moulding the centre of a bread roll into little grey pellets.
‘Maria would have appreciated your visit, I’m sure,’ Caterina said.
‘Except, of course, that I don’t speak Italian. I was wondering whether I’d ask Guy to take me down to the hotel this evening and interpret for me. Do you think that it would be a good idea, Dr Lang? After all, your clothes were spattered just as much as mine when Maria had her accident. Don’t you think we ought to reassure her?’
Lang had slipped a forkful of cold meat into his mouth, effectively preventing an immediate reply. He chewed, considered, and then said: ‘Well, I don’t think so. After all, it might just embarrass her. I think that we should leave her alone.’
‘But Guy said that she was terribly upset when he took her home.’ I suddenly remembered what he had said, and it seemed to buttress my suspicion so that I pressed the point. ‘He said that she was upset out of all proportion to the offence, and that she felt she had let the family down. Well, that’s nonsense – isn’t it, Caterina? And I think that we should let her know it. I’ll ask Guy to come with me and speak to her.’
‘There’s ‘no need for that, Clare,’ His voice sharpened, but in a moment he relaxed it. ‘I mean as the other “offended party”, shall we say, and I’m not really offended at all, it was simply an accident – I have to disagree with your judgment. I believe that the girl will get over it quicker if we leave her alone. Don’t you think so, Signora?’
‘I think,’ said Caterina diplomatically, ‘that the best thing will be for me to go down to see Maria at her home, after she has had a day or two to recover.’
‘An excellent idea,’ said Lang. He smiled at each of us in turn, but the blue eyes were cool as they met mine.
‘Yes – that would certainly be best, Caterina,’ I agreed. He was wary, there was no doubt about it and I felt that I was right to put him on his guard; if I couldn’t let Guy know at least I might be able to deter Lang from doing anything that might harm Giorgio and his family. ‘By the way, Dr Lang,’ I added innocently, ‘I’ve been trying to remember – no reason, of course, just out of interest – do you speak Italian?’
He hesitated. Just for a minute he seemed confused, his eyes darting from me to Caterina as if trying to remember whether the subject had ever been raised. Then he leaned back in his chair, twirling the stem of his wine glass in his fingers.
‘Well now, that’s a difficult question to ask me in front of an Italian lady. After all, it’s discourteous to come to a country without trying to learn a little of the language, don’t you think? And then, I was here for a while during the war and I suppose I must have picked up a smattering, but of course, that’s a long time ago …’
Caterina smiled at him benevolently. ‘You have no need to make excuses, Dr Lang. You told us last night that you do not speak Italian.’
He smiled an apology, and I was sure that I could hear relief in his voice. ‘Ashamed as I am to admit it,’ he confessed, ‘I don’t.’
Which meant either that he was not the man I’d heard at the hotel, or that he was lying. And I still wasn’t sure which.
The siesta was an institution at the Villa Lombardi; after it, Dr Lang armed himself with hammer and rucksack and went to visit more geological sites, while Cateri
na took me for the promised tour of her vivid, untameable garden.
Her plans were grandiose: no less than the restoration of the garden to its original Edwardian splendour, with urns and statuary cleaned and repaired and steps and paths cleared to make it possible to walk without becoming entangled in the shrubs. As she progressed she held a pair of secateurs at the ready and carelessly hacked aside the roses and camellias that ambushed her path. Horrified by such prodigality I gathered up the flowers that she left in her wake and I was still scurrying and stooping and exclaiming when Guy and Isabel returned.
He stopped his car in the drive, as he had done when he brought me to the villa, and called a greeting to his sister-in-law. She waved her secateurs and went to speak to them and I followed slowly, my arms filled with stem and leaf and flower: white camellias, syringa, cream roses, red roses, pink and white oleander, teasing the air with their scent and stabbing at me with camouflaged thorns.
Guy and Isabel had had a delightful afternoon, they said; that was obvious. They looked delighted: with their afternoon, with themselves, with each other.
I smiled at them and turned away. Not for the world would I give Guy the impression that I minded that he took pleasure in another girl’s company.
But the fact was that I did mind. Suddenly, totally unexpectedly, and very much indeed.
The dinner, as Caterina had promised, was splendid but I ate without appetite or appreciation. I found it almost impossible to talk naturally to Dr Lang; once or twice I noticed his eyes on me, and although he immediately gave me a charming smile I was sure that his look had been coldly speculative. As for Guy, though I was acutely aware of his presence at the end of the table, I avoided looking at or speaking to him. I found myself wishing very much that Vincente were there – it would have been a great relief to be able to give my unwavering attention to the problems of the printing industry.
In Vincente’s absence and because I was anxious not to let Guy imagine that I resented her presence, I talked chiefly to Isabel. She was obviously happy to maintain the pleasant relationship that we had built up, and before long she had turned a remark from Guy about fossils into a joke with me about dinosaurs.