not wait for them.’
We didn’t have to wait long for Helena and Smythe. She gave me a big grin as she entered; her crucifix, of gold and pearls, was prominently displayed. Smythe followed her in and took a seat next to me.
The meal was a pattern of the others I was to eat in that house. The boy never appeared at all, nor did the dowager. Pietro explained that his mother often dined in her rooms. That was almost all he said. Smythe didn’t contribute much either. He seemed preoccupied. As soon as we had devoured the vast quantities of food, Pietro went staggering out to take a nap. Helena followed him, and I caught Smythe’s arm as he passed me on his way to the door.
‘Don’t you think it’s time we had a talk?’ I asked.
I forget whether I’ve mentioned that he was just about my height – an inch or so taller, maybe, but the heels on my sandals made up the difference. We were eyeball to eyeball as we stood there, but by some alchemy he managed to give the impression that he was looking down at me – down the full length of his nose.
‘I suspect it will be wasted effort on my part,’ he drawled. ‘But I’m willing to give it another try. Let’s stroll in the gardens, shall we?’
‘How romantic,’ I said.
It might have been, if someone other than Smythe had been my escort. The cool tinkle of the fountains followed us through shady walks and avenues lined with flowering shrubs. When I tried to talk, Smythe shushed me.
‘May as well find a quiet spot,’ he said.
We rounded a corner, and I jumped six feet off the ground. Straight ahead was a giant monster’s head carved of stone. It was so big that the open mouth was taller than I am. Its snarling expression and horned, serpent- entwined head would have been startling even in miniature.
‘I suppose that’s your idea of a joke,’ I said, getting my breath back.
‘Sorry. I forgot the damned thing was there. It’s not a bad place for a private chat, actually. Come on in.’
He walked through the mouth, stooping slightly to avoid the stone fangs that fringed it.
I followed him. The stone of which the atrocity was carved was a rough, dark substance, pumicelike in texture, but much harder. Lichen and moss had grown over the surface like peeling skin. It was a singularly unappealing piece of work.
The hollow head had been fitted up as a summer house. Light came in through the eyes and mouth and nose slits, but it was still pretty dark. Smythe sat down on a bamboo chair and waved me towards another.
‘Are there any more little charmers like this around?’ I asked.
‘Several. The ninth count got the idea from a friend – Prince Vicino Orsini – back in the sixteenth century.’
‘I’ve read about the Orsini estate,’ I said. ‘Bomarzo – isn ‘t that the name of it?’
‘I don’t remember. It’s about fifty miles north of Rome. Quite a tourist attraction, I understand.’
‘Never mind the guidebook excerpts,’ I said. ‘I want – ’
‘My dear girl, you introduced the subject.’
‘Consider it finished, then.’
‘Did you really leave a letter with your solicitor?’
‘I left a letter, but not with my solicitor. I don’t have a solicitor. I admit that the evidence I’ve collected so far isn’t conclusive. If it were, I’d go to the police. But I’m sure you will agree that my demise or disappearance would confirm my suspicions in a particularly inconvenient fashion.’
‘Inconvenient for us, certainly. We don’t want publicity.’
‘Then what do you intend doing about it?’
‘About what?’ His left eyebrow lifted.
‘Why, this – the plot – the . . .’
He leaned back in his chair, his hands folded on his flat stomach, and smiled at me.
‘Really, Victoria, you’re being unreasonable. I don’t see why I should do anything. It’s up to you to take action, I should think. What are
‘Find out all about the plot,’ I said. ‘Then go to the police and have you all put in jail.’
‘How very unkind of you. I do think you are jumping to conclusions. What makes you suppose this is a police matter?’
I got a grip on myself. His nonchalant, oblique style of conversation was affecting mine; we were talking around the subject and not saying anything.
‘You seem to know all about me,’ I said. ‘I suppose you checked up on me after I gave you my name. You know where I work; you also know that your man in Munich – ’
‘Lovely title for a thriller,’ he interrupted.
‘It’s been done. Stop interrupting. Your man in Munich is dead, and you know he had the Charlemagne talisman – ’
Smythe sat upright. His smile had faded, and his eyes were bright and speculative.
‘So that was it. No, I didn’t know what had stimulated an employee of the National Museum to burglary, but the mere fact was enough to make us suspicious of you. Even so, my dear, the existence of the talisman is irrelevant. What a nasty suspicious mind you must have, to leap to the conclusion that our pretty little copy meant larceny.’
‘Where you made your mistake was having me kidnapped,’ I retorted.
‘You don’t suppose I would do anything so stupid?’ Smythe demanded scornfully.
‘Who did, then?’
‘None of your business. Good Lord, girl, you didn’t really imagine I was going to blurt out a detailed confession as soon as you had me to yourself? You can’t prove a bloody thing. You can sit here till moss grows on you, and you still won’t be able to prove anything.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Yes, really. We have our tracks very nicely covered, I assure you. You won’t learn anything here, but it is possible that you may get into trouble. My colleagues are harmless souls, on the whole, but one or two of them . . . I spoke quite sharply to them about kidnapping you, and I hope it won’t happen again. But I can’t promise, and I’m damned if I’m going to make a habit of rescuing you. Why the hell don’t you go away?’
‘You wouldn’t be so anxious for me to leave if there were nothing to be learned here,’ I said.
‘Rudimentary Logic One. How to Construct a Syllogism. That doesn’t follow, you know. I told you, I am not completely certain of my colleagues’ reliability.’ His tone changed. He leaned forwards, his blue eyes softening. ‘Look here, Vicky, it’s really quite a harmless little plot. Why can’t you drop it?’
‘If I knew all about it, I might agree with you,’ I said sweetly.
Smythe opened his mouth as if to speak. Then he fell back in his chair and started to laugh.
‘No, no,’ he said, between chuckles. ‘I was tempted to spin you a pleasing yarn. I could do it, you know. But you have a mind that is almost as twisted as mine. You’d never believe me, would you?’
‘Frankly,’ I said, throwing tact to the winds, ‘I wouldn’t believe you if you told me the sun rises in the east. Why don’t
Gravely Smythe removed a white handkerchief from his pocket, waved it in the air, and then returned it to its place.
‘The parley is over,’ he said. ‘We don’t seem to be getting anywhere. I am going back to the house; I have work to do. Coming?’
‘I’m beginning to like this place,’ I said. ‘I think I shall stay awhile.’
Smythe walked to the mouth – the door, that is. He turned. Against the sunlight he was a dark paper shape, a silhouetted shadow. I couldn’t see his features, but when he spoke his voice had lost its humorous tone.
‘I admire your bravado, Vicky. But don’t push it too far. There are things that walk in the garden here – and not only by night.’
Which was a nice thought to leave with a girl who was sitting inside a monster’s head.
