Darcey twisted the ignition. ‘Tuxedos, roulette tables, superyachts. Wasn’t quite what I had in mind.’
‘Nor me,’ Ben said. ‘Not really my style. I was thinking about visiting an old lady there.’
‘See, now, that’s much more like it. An old lady.’
‘Her name’s Mimi Renzi,’ Ben said. ‘And I’m pretty certain she has something interesting to tell us.’
Ben waited, hidden in the back of the van and impatient to get out of his prison overalls, while Darcey did the rounds of a street market in one of Rome’s many little squares. She came back a quarter of an hour later with a pair of white training shoes, jeans and a T-shirt, as well as the biggest pair of sunglasses she’d been able to find and a cheap designer version of a military fatigue hat in desert camo. Ben held out the T-shirt. Its glittery logo proclaimed ‘Yeah, Baby!’.
‘That’s the last time I send you shopping for me,’ he said. ‘I’m going to look like an idiot in these things.’
She pointed at the crowds of tourists milling around the piazza. ‘You want to blend in, don’t you? Now hurry up and get changed. I won’t look.’
She only took two little peeks as he peeled off the prison overalls and started pulling on the clothes she’d got him. ‘Who is this Mimi Renzi?’ she asked.
‘The former maid and longtime companion of the artist Gabriella Giordani,’ Ben said. ‘Before all this happened with Tassoni, she tried to get in touch with me. Said she had something important to tell me. I don’t know what, and I didn’t care at the time, but now I want to find out.’
Darcey frowned. ‘And this is relevant because . . .?’
As Ben finished dressing and laced up the training shoes, he ran quickly through what he knew about the counterfeit Goya. ‘My bet is that the real artist was Gabriella Giordani herself. Back when she was a young countess, she had to paint in secret because her husband didn’t allow it. I think she forged ‘The Penitent Sinner’ – maybe for money, maybe just for the hell of it. Pride in her skill or something. I don’t know. The point is, Shikov sent his son to steal it even though he knew it was a fake. His man Gourko told me as much before you crashed the party.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘Only one possible reason,’ Ben said, tucking the Browning into the waistband of his new jeans. ‘There’s something about that sketch. Something that goes way beyond any inherent value it could have, even if it was genuine. When I talked to Pietro De Crescenzo in Salamanca, he couldn’t come up with any ideas. But I have a feeling Mimi knows. And I have a feeling it’s going to help lead us to Shikov.’ He pulled the floppy rim of the fatigue hat down low over his face, and clambered into the front passenger seat.
‘Very nice,’ Darcey said, glancing him up and down. ‘A definite improvement. Though I have to say, those overalls really brought out the colour of your eyes.’
‘Please,’ Ben said, and slipped the sunglasses over them.
They made it out of Rome and southwards to Fiumicino without an army of Carabinieri coming after them. Leaving the Ford on the far side of the car park, they merged with the crowds funnelling inside the airport building. A newspaper stand in the lobby was screaming with the latest reports of the dramatic shootout in the streets of Rome and the disappearance of Urbano Tassoni’s killer as his armed gang sprung him from police custody.
‘You just can’t stay out of the news, can you?’ Darcey said. Ben didn’t reply. Security cameras watched them from all sides, and it felt as if every one of them was staring right at them as they crossed the busy lobby. Ben tried not to worry about them, and fretted instead that some resourceful cop going through his things after his arrest might have figured out what the little key tagged ‘187’ was for. At the enquiries desk he did his best rendition of a hapless British tourist who’d lost his wallet with his luggage locker key inside. Darcey handed over the ten euro fine, the attendant went to fetch a duplicate key, and suddenly Ben had one less thing to worry about. Five minutes later he had his old green canvas bag slung over his shoulder, still containing his wallet and cash, and they were heading back towards the car.
Forty-seven minutes after that, shortly before midday, they parked the stolen Ford for the last time near Stazione Termini, Rome’s main railway station. After pressing nervously through the crowds under the watchful eye of armed police, Ben bought tickets and they boarded a Trenitalia express heading for Milan and connecting to the Riviera train service to Monaco.
‘First class,’ Darcey noted as they found their seats, which faced across a table by the window. ‘You wouldn’t be trying to impress me, Ben Hope?’
Ben dumped his green bag on the seat next to his and shoved the holdall under the table. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. First’s quieter. I’d prefer to stay away from crowds right now.’
After a few minutes, the train pulled away. Nobody else had boarded their carriage. Ben leaned back in his seat, watched the outskirts of Rome flash by through the window, and closed his eyes as the clatter of the tracks settled into that same steady, hypnotic rhythm that he’d found relaxing ever since childhood. His thoughts swam for a while.
Then some instinctual sense made him open his eyes suddenly, and he saw Darcey watching him across the table.
‘I thought you were sleeping,’ she said.
‘I can’t sleep with you staring at me. I can feel it.’
‘I was thinking about you and Boonzie,’ she said. ‘He’s been following the news and really worrying about you. If I hadn’t threatened him with all manner of dire consequences, he’d have been out here like a flash to be with you in person.’ She paused, and added, ‘He loves you like a son, you know.’
Ben grimaced. ‘First you disturb me, then you embarrass me. This is going to be a great journey.’
‘A long lost son, from the sound of it,’ Darcey went on. ‘Seems you don’t keep in touch with your old friends much. You’re a bit of a rolling stone, aren’t you, Major Hope?’
‘I told you, don’t call me Major Hope,’ Ben said. ‘He’s ancient history. I’m just Ben, all right?’
‘Tell me about Dr Marcel.’
‘What do you know about Brooke?’ Ben said. He felt his face flush as he said it.
‘Jeff Dekker told me you were on your way to London to see your girlfriend. Brooke
Ben stared out of the window.
‘She’s very attractive,’ Darcey said. ‘I saw her photo on your website. Love that whole pre-Raphaelite look, with the curly red hair.’
‘It’s auburn,’ Ben muttered without looking at her. ‘How come she wasn’t expecting you in London?’ Darcey asked.
He glared at her. ‘Jesus, you’re like a pit bull with these questions.’
‘Just that it seemed to me that if she’d known you were on your way to see her, she’d have stayed put. She appears to have gone off somewhere.’
‘Portugal,’ Ben said. As it came out, he heard the sigh in his voice and wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
‘You don’t want to talk about her, do you? Raw nerve?’
‘That’s very perceptive of you. So yes, I’d appreciate it if you could either change the subject or shut up.’
Darcey smiled. ‘Ah. I think I get it now.’
He looked at her sharply. ‘Get what?’
‘The answer to a question I’ve been asking myself ever since I heard you’d been arrested. How a guy good enough to get away from me twice could have been stupid enough to get himself picked up for drunken brawling in some bar-room.’
‘It’s so unusual for people to get away from you?’
‘Never happened before,’ she said. ‘Kind of got under my skin.’
