‘Pietro’ sounds the same in any language. Bruno cleared his throat.
‘Why do you speak of the master? Do not speak. I do not trust you.’
‘She is delirious,’ Bianca said. ‘She asked for the count; she could not believe he would let this happen. You know, Bruno – ’
‘I obey the young master,’ Bruno said sullenly.
‘But he has not told you to injure the signorina,’ John said suddenly. ‘He has gone to get medicine to help her. Hark – I think she calls me!’
‘John,’ I moaned obediently. ‘Oh, John – ’
‘There, you see? Don’t shoot, Bruno, old chap, I’m just going to hold her hand.’ He dropped to one knee beside the couch. At close range his face looked even worse. ‘The
He broke off abruptly as Luigi came trotting back.
‘What is going on?’ he demanded. ‘Bruno, you let them speak, you let them – ’
‘You did not tell me they could not speak together,’ Bruno exclaimed.
‘Never mind. You, Smythe, back to your chair. Here are the smelling salts. Is she – ’
‘I’m better now,’ I murmured. The incredible young creature was bending over me, looking genuinely worried. I smiled at him. ‘Thank you, Luigi. You are kind.’
He helped me to sit up and hovered anxiously while Bianca waved the smelling salts under my nose. I sneezed.
‘You are very good,’ I said, blinking at Luigi. ‘I know you don’t want to hurt me, Luigi. I can’t lie to you. I respect you too much. That call to Munich . . . it wasn’t the important call. There is someone else I must reach. If I don’t call him, he will open the envelope I left with him.’
‘Who? A lawyer?’ Luigi asked. ‘The police?’
‘A lawyer,’ I said.
‘Then call him. Now. Quickly.’
I dragged myself up off the couch and went with faltering steps toward the phone. Then a thought hit me, and I really did falter. I didn’t know the number of the palazzo.
I turned a horrified face towards John, who had returned to his chair and was watching me intently.
It might not have been ESP, just plain common sense. But ever since that moment I’ve had a sneaking, half- shamed belief in thought transference. John folded his arms and began holding up fingers.
Thank God we’re on the decimal system. I don’t know how we would have managed with a system of twelves, like the Babylonians used. All eyes were on me, so nobody noticed John’s contortions, which were done with considerable skill. The only number that gave him any trouble was nine.
The system worked fine, but I dialled slowly, because I needed time to think. There were so many obstacles to be overcome. The first one was the fact that Pietro probably wouldn’t answer the phone himself.
He didn’t. The voice was that of his butler, very smooth and impersonal. Obviously I couldn’t ask for Pietro.
‘This is Signorina Bliss speaking,’ I said slowly. ‘I am calling for Sir John.’
Luigi, who had recovered his gun from Bruno, looked at me suspiciously. I smiled and nodded at him. After all, he couldn’t know what arrangements I had made with the fictitious lawyer. It was not surprising that I should mention John’s name.
The butler might or might not be in on the plot, but he certainly knew about John.
‘Sir John?’ he repeated, forgetting his dignity. ‘Is it Sir John Smythe that you speak of, signorina?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But then you will wish to speak to his Excellency.’
‘That’s right too.’
‘I will call him. Please to wait, signorina.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, trying not to gasp with relief. I turned to Luigi. ‘The secretary is calling him to the phone.’
‘Be very quick,’ said Luigi suspiciously. ‘No tricks.’
He pointed the gun at John, who folded his arms and tried to look inconspicuous.
Then the familiar high-pitched voice came on.
‘Vicky? Vicky, is that you?’
‘Yes, that’s right; Signorina Bliss. I am with Sir John.’ Pietro started to splutter. I raised my voice and went on talking. This was the dangerous moment. There was a chance Luigi might recognize the familiar paternal shout. ‘No, everything is fine; we’re having a drink with Bianca and some people she knows, having a nice time . . . You must meet her some time, she’s anxious to meet you. I can’t talk now; my friends won’t let me.’
I hung up and smiled brightly at Luigi.
Perhaps he had half recognized Pietro’s voice, or perhaps he was affected by the tension that gripped the rest of us. He scowled.
‘That did not sound right,’ he said. ‘If you have tricked me, signorina . . .’
‘I wouldn’t do that,’ I said. ‘I admire you too much. Luigi, I wish you would tell me how you learned to do goldworking. You are such an all-around genius; just like Cellini, only better.’
This time the flattery didn’t work.
‘There is no time to talk,’ Luigi said. ‘I must – I must act.’
The trouble was, he didn’t really know what to do. He didn’t have Bianca’s experience or intelligence, he had simply flipped his lid and flown into action, and a bizarre combination of circumstances had put him in temporary control of a situation he could not handle. He would be caught sooner or later, but by the time the police or his father stopped him, a lot of people would be dead – including me.
I’m sure the Freudians could glibly account for Luigi’s breakdown. His father’s dislike and contempt, his mother’s death (I assumed she was dead, since nobody even mentioned her), the succession of cheap women who had replaced her in his father’s life . . . It doesn’t matter; nobody really knows why some people crack and some don’t.
‘What are you going to do?’ John asked, nervously eyeing the gun that was waving around six inches from his head.
‘I suppose I will have to kill you,’ Luigi said uncertainly. ‘I regret, Signorina Bliss; you have been
‘There is an alternative,’ I said. ‘You’ve been so busy you probably haven’t had time to think about it.’
‘What is that?’ Luigi asked.
How long would it take Pietro to get from the palazzo to the Gianicolo? It was after five, rush hour in Rome; the traffic would be appalling.
‘We could make a deal,’ I said, with my most engaging smile. ‘Bianca is already involved; she doesn’t want to go to the police. I’m sure she would be happy to continue in her present role – under your direction, of course. The same thing applies to – er – Sir John.’
‘And you, signorina?’ Luigi asked. ‘You are a scholar, an honourable lady. You came here to stop us. My father told me so.’
Here we were, back on the rotten ice. The wrong word, the false step . . . I couldn’t be too obvious about my change of heart. Paradoxically, the boy’s respect for me depended on that honourable facade I had presented to him.
‘It is difficult for me,’ I said truthfully. ‘But there are circumstances where the ordinary rules of conduct do not apply. There are men who stand outside the conventions of society. You are such a man, Luigi. How can I presume to judge you?’
‘You are right,’ said Luigi modestly.
He stood pondering. I risked a glance at John, and what I saw made my breath catch. He hadn’t forgotten the gun, which was now dangling in perilous proximity to his body; but his eyes were narrowed with amusement. As I caught his eye it closed in a wink, and the corners of his no longer well-shaped mouth quivered.
‘But the woman,’ Luigi said suddenly. ‘I killed her, you know. The filthy whore, she took my mother’s jewels – lived in her room . . . She had no right. And when she came to me, laughing at me, and yet touching me, stroking me, as if she wanted . . .’ His lips curled in savage disgust. ‘I killed her and she deserved it. But . . . I didn’t mean
