‘If we ever do need you,’ said Perkins affably, ‘don’t think we won’t be able to find you.’
‘You will be leaving tomorrow,’ said Manston. It wasn’t a question. It was an order.
I nodded, always polite, and moved away because I had just seen Letta come to the door of the gaming room.
So, secondly, there was Letta. La Piroletta. Leon Pelegrina’s daughter. I wondered whether Manston knew that connection. He would know about Paulet and Duchêne. He might know about the steam yacht La Sunata. But what he didn’t know, clearly—otherwise he would never have been wasting any time here—was where Pelegrina and Freeman were at this moment. I might be a jump ahead of him there. But what could I do about it? I’d offered to help and had been told to go and chase insurance cheats. That hurt my pride. Not that I worried over that. The pain was minimal.
So, as I said, secondly there was Letta in a yellow silk gown, a scrap of mink over her shoulders, dark dusky skin making my fingers tremble to touch it and her dark, deep, brilliant eyes afire with the thought of a big plate of pasta and a flask of Chianti for two.
We got it at an Italian restaurant in the town, a jolly place with check tablecloths and little vases full of plastic flowers. Six men in from the desert, forgetting the sand and the oil rigs as they cut into big steaks and washed the meat down with neat whisky, stopped only for a moment to follow Letta with their eyes as we passed their table.
She ate pasta in a way that was right out of my class and she took more than her share of the Chianti, and she was bright with chatter and laughter and held my hand under the table when she wasn’t holding a fork or glass. Anyone looking on would have thought there wasn’t a cloud in her sky. Personally I wondered what the hell she was so determined to conceal. Much later I did find out—but not from her. I realized then that she was just hopping mad . . . with her father. Maybe that was why, on the swing back, she was so kind to me. All I needed was a little kindness to encourage me.
We walked back along the sea front, long after midnight. Although I was happy, and had one arm in hers, it was the left one. I wasn’t going to be taken off my guard again. I didn’t have to ask whether I had passed muster, all her actions indicated that I had been accepted as a custom-built job. She clearly was a quick shopper, knew what she wanted and when she found it paid cash down. It took the romance out of life a bit for me. Let’s face it, I’m the kind whose performance is better if both parties subscribe a little to the illusion of love. . . . Well, it’s cosier that way at the time, even if you both know that it isn’t going to last.
We had a nightcap in her room, ran pleasantly through the few, obligatory preliminaries—me, wanting to linger a bit longer over them, she not indecently hasty but anxious to have them out of the way—and then she got up, said something about giving her five minutes and went into the bedroom. I was happy to give her the time. Her handbag was on the small table and I fished out her address book. It was one of those jobs with an alphabetical cut-out down the side. I tried F for father and got nothing, then P for Pelegrina or Papa and got nothing, and then found it under L for Leon. The flat in the Piazza Santo Spirito and its number was listed, and then under that came:
Villa La Sunata, Bizerta. 27.103.
I put the book back. He had a yacht called La Sunata, and also a villa. Obviously the name had a sentimental or pleasing meaning for him. I wondered if it had been the name of Letta’s mother. I made a note to ask her at the first chance.
The thought went right out of my head when I went into the bedroom. She was sitting on the edge of the bed quite naked, her hair tied up at the back with a broad piece of red ribbon. I didn’t rush things. After all, if you’re being presented with something out of the grand cru class you don’t gulp, you take it easy, missing none of the cumulative pleasures of sight, touch and taste. Her skin was an even light-biscuit colour. Her breasts had a beauty which made me feel a little heady, and she had one of those narrow little waists that flowered out to broad hips and then on to long, breathtaking legs. She sat there and gave me a little smile of delight for the wonder in my eyes.
I said, ‘Don’t you wear a nightdress?’
‘Normally, yes,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. Have I robbed you of the pleasure of taking it off?’
‘No. I was just making conversation.’
‘Don’t bother. I’m not in the talking mood.’
She put her arms out towards me and the lift of her shoulders did things to her breasts that boosted me right off the launching pad and into orbit. We went into outer space together, and I wasn’t caring if we never came back.
*
I woke to feel her naked body pressed close up against my back. Through drowsy eyes I could see that the room was full of half-dawn light coming through the partly drawn curtains. Outside a strong wind was making a hissing noise through the palms in the garden. There was the creak and rattle of an anchor chain coming up from one of the cargo boats in the harbour. I closed my eyes and drifted back into paradise. Behind me I felt her
