Craig drank his Italian champagne, and went to look for more. There was plenty of it, and no shortage of clever, witty people who knew all sorts of clever, witty things to
IDS HAPPY B
about nuts and bolts, and Craig was glad when the first b kle toward dinner began, round about eight o'clock. About nine, Rachel took him by the arm, and led him into a corner, lx>ked at him with the shrewd, appraising eye that agents and producers share with butchers and judges of catde shows.
T want a word with you,' said Rachel. 'About Pia.' A lady television director made her famous, swooping exit, cannoned into Rachel and sent her sprawling into Craig's arms. He righted her neatly, easily, like a deft postman handling a messy parcel.
'Christ, you're a hard bastard,' Rachel said.
'Are you working round to thumping me?' Craig
asked.
'In a way, sweety. In a way. I want you to give Pia up.' Craig made a silence. 'You're not helping her, you know. She wants to run after you the whole time. That won't help her career.'
Craig said: 'Are you telling me she's got a career?'
'Believe me, darling,' said Rachel, 'our Pia can
'She was never any good before,' Craig said.
'And now she's bloody marvelous. Something must have happened to her. Have you any idea what it is?'
Craig thought of the two of them cooped up in the cell like battery hens, of the frantic terrible fights with D- ton-Blease, the agony of loving in his cabin in Naxos's yacht.
'Not the slightest,' he said.
'That girl is going to go so high,' said Rachel, 'unless you're going to be nasty. You know, I think you ought to leave her alone for a bit. Let her work. I don't want to threaten you, darling, but—'
'No, don't do that,' Craig said. T might burst into
tears.'
'Well then,' said Rachel.
'Quite so,' said Craig, and Rachel frowned.
'Don't laugh at me, darling,' she said. 'I'm serious.'
'If only,' said Craig, 'you had a whip.'
At 9:30 only Eddy and Rachel were left, and Eddy cleared his throat and turned to Craig. Rachel said: 'I've had a word with him,' and Eddy looked happy and took Rachel out to dinner.
'What scrumptious friends you have,' Craig said.
'You're not angry with me, darling?' said Pia.
'Should I be?'
'Of course,' she said. 'Look at the mess I made in your flat.'
'You let me stay for the party. What's for supper?'
'I found an Italian restaurant three doors away; they make the most marvelous spaghetti Bolognese. I'll get some.'
She ordered, and the food sent up was splendid. Craig began to relax.
'You've had more work,' said Pia. 'Does it show?'
'Not to others. I know you very well. Something has happened?'
'The past caught up with me,' said Craig. 'Italy?'
'Greece,' he said. 'I was eighteen and a half years old. You would have been four I suppose—making big eyes at G.I.'s for chocolate.'
She climbed into his lap.
'Tell me,' she said.
'No,' said Craig. 'It's over. Finished. Let's talk about you. I hear you quit the espionage business.'
She stiffened then, tried to get up, but Craig's arm came round her so tightly that she gasped, forcing her back to him.
'Don't be silly,' he said. 'Loomis hired you to keep an eye on me, didn't he? He was worried because I was a lush. Isn't that right?'
Her face burrowed into his coat. 'That morning you had the orange juice and champagne already mixed—you remember—wasn't that a test for poor old Craig? And you tried to stop Tavel beating me up. Right?'
'I didn't know you then,' she whispered, 'but how did you find out?'
'You did a job with Grierson,' Craig said. 'It made me think about all sorts of things.'
'I thought there was nothing else for me,' Pia said. 'I really thought I had no talent for acting. And if that was true, I had nothing. Then Grierson came to Rome and talked to me. What's wrong?'
Craig laughed aloud.
'Nothing,' he said. 'I always forget how professional Grierson is. No wonder he was embarrassed that day on Naxos's yacht.' His hands grew tender. 'You saved me from that suntan oil. Ill never forget that.'
'And now I can act, after all that happened,' Pia said. Her voice was tentative.
'Loomis won't stop you—if we get Schiebel. You'll be cleared straight through.'
'What about you?' said Pia.
'Honey, all I did was hand you the key to the madhouse,' said Craig.
'You're safe and sound outside now.'
Her hps closed on his then. Her eyes were shut, and the tears flowed warm down her cheeks and on to his. Craig knew it was good-bye. Soon he would have to look for Selina.
* Chapter 21 *
Extract from an autobiographical fragment written by Edward Billings, known as 'O Level Edward.' It was composed as therapy initiated by the psychiatrist of the Borstal Institution where Billings was then confined (larceny of motor vehicle, actual bodily harm, obstruction of a police officer in the performance of his duty). The psychiatrist concluded from the fragment's contents that Billings was 'utterly and uncurably mendacious,' but nevertheless resorted to Freudian analysis. Inevitably he failed. Billings had written the truth.
o o o
Harry is talking to this Arab geezer in a coffee bar, and this doesn't surprise us. Harry doesn't worry about all that color-bar crap; spades or wogs or the Forty Thieves—it's all the same to Harry. And after a bit he starts getting like angry, and leaves the Arab, and Jigger says: 'Looks like trouble,' but Lonesome—we call him Lonesome on account of his B.O.—he says: 'Nah! Harry's putting it on,' and he's right, because one thing about Lonesome, he's got all his marbles even if he is a stinker.
So Harry comes over and he says: 'That geezer wants us to find a bird for him.'
'Let him find his own birds,' I say.
'No,' says Harry. 'This is a wog bird. He claims he's lost her. This bird.'
And he shows us a picture of this bird, and I go off Claudia Cardinale for ever, because this is a real crazy bird, believe me.
'Nobody ever lost that,' I say. 'Nobody's that careless.'
'Where d'you get it?' asks Lonesome.
'Mr. Candlish. He says to look out for her too,' Harry says. 'That's why I tell the wog I don't know. All he offers is money.' What Mr. Candlish offers is anything from a fortune to a belting, depending on success or failure, and we know this. We always act respectful with Mr. Candlish.
'I seen her,' says Lonesome. 'I seen her yesterday when I was on the bike.'
Lonesome has a 1,000-cc. Norton about the size of a cart horse, and he covers quite a lot of country in our corner of Prolyville.
'You're sure?' asks Harry.
'Look at the picture,' says Lonesome. 'There's only one bird round here looks like that. I see her. With a tall wog.'
The Arab gives us a dirty look and we survive it and he leaves.
'There's a tall wog dead in the papers,' says Jigger, and pulls out an
