This sally produced a shout of laughter. “Ah, she is witty as well as beautiful! I get it, as you say in America! Then may I beg that you will offer me a glass?”
I was beginning to like Bernardo. He was about John’s height, and about twice his breadth, especially through the chest and shoulders. He had an outdoorsman’s finely lined skin, eyebrows almost as oversized as his mustache, and a head of black hair so impeccably smooth it looked like a designer toupee. He bared a set of expensively capped teeth, and took a chair opposite me.
At his father’s request, Giuseppe produced another glass and we all settled down round the table. Giuseppe kept rubbing his wrist and shooting malevolent glances at John.
“None for him,” said Bernardo, indicating his son. “He does not deserve any. How true it is, your English saying, that one should never send a boy to do the work of a man. The mustache, as I tried to tell him, was a mistake.”
“Why did you send him, then?” I asked curiously.
“He must learn sometime. To your health, signorina. And to yours, my dear old friend.”
John acknowledged the salute with a sour smile. “What do you want, Bernardo?”
“Simple.” The big man put his empty glass on the table and leaned forward. “I want in on the deal.”
A fter our uninvited guests had taken their leave, John made sure the door was locked. “If you had bothered to close the door while I was subduing the incompetent offspring, Bernardo wouldn’t have got in.”
“He’d have got in one way or another,” I said, lifting covers. “Anyhow, what was the harm? He was very nice. Veal scaloppini? Tomato-and-mozzarella salad? Osso buco?”
“Don’t overdo it, Vicky.”
He wasn’t talking about the food. Abandoning my attempt at positive reinforcement, I went to him and put my arms round his neck. “As Bernardo might say, I do get it, John. He’s heard about—er—Feisal’s bereavement, and if he knows, so do a lot of other people. But he doesn’t know who pulled it off.”
“He thinks I did. What he was offering, in case you missed it, was to act as middleman in helping me dispose of it.”
“It wasn’t so much an offer as a demand,” I mused. “At least we know he wasn’t the one who stole Tut.”
“Splendid,” John said sourly. “We can cross one name off the endless list. I didn’t suppose he was; he’s never been known to operate outside western Europe.”
I couldn’t think offhand of anything positive to say about that. I carried my filled plate to the table.
“Eat something. Your blood sugar is probably low. Good Lord, listen to me. I sound like Schmidt.”
“Don’t mention his name. You might conjure him up, like a helpful elf.”
I looked up. He was watching me, his mouth curved in a smile. “I don’t deserve you,” he said softly.
“I was under the impression that you did.”
“I didn’t do it, Vicky.”
“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” I put my fork down. “That’s why you’re so nobly intent on tracking down the real thieves. Not for Feisal’s sake, but because you realized you’d be the prime suspect. No wonder! It’s precisely the sort of insane operation you once specialized in. Like the time you tried to build Camelot in the back pasture.”
John wandered over to the cart and busied himself removing covers and shifting plates around. “Jen would be deeply offended to hear you refer to the grounds of our stately manor as a pasture. You are, of course, correct.”
“And the time you tried to pose as an archaeologist so you could dig up a cache of buried treasure and —”
“Make off with the loot,” John said with a reminiscent smile. “You don’t know the half of it, darling. Did I ever tell you about—”
“I don’t want to hear about it. I want to hear about Bernardo. How did he find out?”
“He did rather avoid answering that question, didn’t he?” John joined me on the settee. Bending over, he inspected the underside of the table.
“What are you looking for?” I asked. “Oh my God. Did he put—”
“There was one under the shelf of the cart.” John took it out of his pocket, dropped it onto the floor, and stamped on it. “I was watching his hands, and I don’t think he managed to get another under the table.”
“What about the phone?”
“Bernardo didn’t know we were here until we were. Here, that is to say.”
“He seems like a civilized sort of guy,” I said, trying to look on the bright side. “No threats, no intimidation.”
“Aren’t you forgetting those large guns? Believe me, love, he will turn very uncivilized when he realizes I’m not going to cut him in, for the simple reason that I can’t. At the moment, thanks to my quick thinking and incessant talking, he thinks we are in the first stage of negotiation.”
“How long can you keep it up?” I asked, remembering those large guns.
“Not long enough, I fear.”
“Why don’t you try telling him the truth?”
“Good heavens,” said John, eyes widening. “What a novel idea. Because, you ingenuous young woman, he wouldn’t believe me. For some reason I have great difficulty convincing people of my veracity.”
The night passed without incident. John slept like a log, and as I tossed and turned I remembered another of the quotations he was fond of repeating: “The worse a man is, the more profound his slumber; for if he had a conscience he would not be a villain.” However, I felt a little easier in my mind now that I had (finally!) figured out what was driving him. If he were only going through the motions, pretending to be unwitting, he wouldn’t go to so much trouble.
Or would he? What if this trip had another motive? An excuse to get in touch with one of the other people involved in the theft, perhaps? In order to pass on instructions or receive a progress report? Communication by almost any other means could be intercepted. Hell, our government is listening in on half the world, and if they can do it, anybody can.
“Damn,” I said loudly. John grunted and turned over.
I finally got to sleep. Fifteen minutes later, or so it seemed, I was aroused by John, who was wearing one of his swishiest dressing gowns. “Didn’t you sleep well?” he asked solicitously, offering me a cup of coffee. Room service had come and gone, presumably without firearms.
I growled and snatched the cup. He stood watching me, tapping his foot, until I had finished the first cup and was halfway through the second. “Sorry to rush you,” he said, “but our appointment is at ten. Pop into the shower, why don’t you, and then we’ll have breakfast out.”
He followed me into the bathroom and helpfully adjusted the shower. Having reached a state of relative alertness by then, I expected he would join me. Instead he murmured softly, “We didn’t say anything last night that would put Bernardo on his guard, but from now on watch what you say. In fact, I would prefer that you say nothing except yes and no.”
“What—”
“Just keep quiet and listen. Cram all your vital belongings into that dreadful backpack of yours. Leave everything that is not absolutely essential. We won’t be returning to the hotel after our appointment.”
“Okay.”
Both of John’s eyebrows rose in a look of exaggerated surprise. “No argument? No questions?”
“I’m not exactly stupid, you know.”
“I do know. I’d kiss you if you weren’t so wet.” He handed me a towel and left the room.
We had brief but silent arguments over some of the items I considered essential. I lost most of them. He was right, damn him. Trust is not a conspicuous characteristic of evildoers. Bernardo would assume John had been lying through his teeth and that he would bolt if he got a chance. Finding our personal possessions still in situ might delay him temporarily.
I had hoped to scrounge another cup of coffee, but by the time we got through sorting things and gesticulating at each other, the hour of our appointment was upon us. Conspicuously sans luggage, we left the hotel and strolled to the corner, where John hailed a taxi.
