'Can we help in any way?' suggested Paula.
'No! But thank you.' He went to the rear door, unlocked it. 'Watch your feet. There is a narrow staircase behind that door. I must go now.' He went over to Paula and hugged her. She nearly burst into tears. 'It has been such a pleasure to know you, to enjoy your company.'
At the door through which they had entered he turned back. He handed a folder to Beaurain. 'There are two return rail tickets to Verona. So you do not have to go to the ticket office at Centrale.'
'Do take care,' Paula called out.
'Thank you.' Mario smiled, became the same man he had been when they arrived. 'I go to my meeting in my Fiat. You probably saw it parked on the pavement when you arrived.'
The door closed on him as he left. Paula ran over to the eyebrow window, crouched down. It was dark but street lamps illuminated the area. There was no one about. All the shoppers had gone home.
'What are you doing?' Beaurain called out harshly.
'I can watch him leave.'
Beaurain joined her, bending very low. They did see Mario climb inside his Fiat, drive it off the pavement and down the street. He had only gone a short distance when men wearing balaclava helmets appeared from nowhere. They were holding automatic weapons. Uzis, Beaurain thought.
Mario had no chance. A hail of gunfire hammered into the Fiat. Mario stopped, threw open the front door, a gun in his hand. The gunfire increased in ferocity. Mario fell forward, sprawled on the pavement under a street light. Paula could see the pavement turning red with his blood.
'Oh God!' she exclaimed, her voice a mix of fury and sorrow.
'They're coming this way,' Beaurain snapped. 'The rear door.' He grabbed Paula's arm. They ran to the door. They had just reached it when a fresh hail of gunfire hit the eyebrow window. The glass shattered, A large object was thrown through the unprotected window, landed on the floor. Beaurain had the door open, hauled Paula with him, slammed the door shut, a torch in his other hand lighting a very narrow winding stone staircase. There was a tremendous thump against the door Beaurain had closed behind them. The door shook, but held.
'What the hell was that?' Paula cried.
'They threw a big grenade – maybe a bomb – through the open window. And that door is three inches thick. We must move – but watch your footing.'
Gripping an iron rail, Paula followed him down the diabolical, twisting stone staircase. At the bottom Beaurain's torch shone on another heavy door, closed with a bar. He lifted the bar, peered out into a dimly lit alley, gun in hand as he'd switched off his torch, shoved it in a pocket.
It was very quiet and they had a choice of alleys. One to the right, another to their left, the third straight ahead. The latter was vaguely illuminated with side lights attached to the stone walls. The alleys were paved with old cobbles. No one anywhere.
'We must find a hotel for the night,' Beaurain decided, 'so follow me.'
He made his cautious way down the alley straight ahead and soon it curved round dangerous corners. Paula, gripping her Browning, kept glancing back. If the murderers of Mario found them here they'd have little chance of surviving.
14
Paula never forgot their creep through the sinister alleys. Like herself, Beaurain also wore rubber-soled shoes, so they made no sound as they advanced slowly like ghosts amid the long shadowed areas between infrequent lanterns hung from ancient stone walls.
They passed alcoves inside which heavy doors closed off the entrances. High up, at first floor level, square windows, showing no lights, were set well back. Every now and again even narrower passages led off the main alley. Beaurain continued straight ahead, pausing at every corner where the alley curved. He had Paula behind him, where he wanted her, would hold up a hand to stop her while he peered round a curve.
The cold was intense, like walking through a refrigerator. Frequently she took off her gloves to rub her frozen hands together. Much good that it did. Beaurain had paused once more as he checked what lay beyond a curve. He whispered: 'I think there's a hotel. I'll check it and you keep out of sight
A red neon light over the entrance was flashing on and off. He reached the entrance steps and a blonde girl smiled at him invitingly. A cheap fur hat was perched on her head at a jaunty angle and the fur coat she wore was short, exposing long slim legs.
'You're home, darling,' she said in Italian. 'Come on in and I'll warm you up…'
Beaurain shook his head, gestured for Paula to follow him along the alley. The blonde sniggered when she saw Paula, called out something in Italian to Beaurain.
'What did she say?' Paula asked him as they continued walking.
'Nothing you'd want to hear. Wrong sort of hotel…'
They emerged from the maze of alleys suddenly into a main street. Still no one about. No traffic. Across the street a large building glowed with lights. Albergo Pisa. Inside the main entrance stood a doorman in a blue uniform, a gold cap. A Bugatti pulled up. A well-dressed couple hurried into the hotel and the car, with a chauffeur at the wheel, drove off.
'That's the place,' Beaurain said, taking Paula by her arm. 'Are you OK after all that?'
'I'm starving.'
After an excellent dinner with Beaurain Paula expected to fall into a deep sleep. Beaurain had booked two rooms and they had placed him in the next room to hers. Before she said good night to him at her bedroom door he had warned her: 'This should be safe, but we cannot assume that. If you are frightened by something bang on my wall. We can test it before I go to bed. Two hard knocks.'
When he had gone she had used her hairbrush to bang twice on the adjoining wall. Within seconds she heard his hard raps, acknowledging he had heard her. She climbed into bed, closed her eyes, opened them after only a few minutes. A vivid picture had entered her mind of Mario, smiling as he first greeted them. Taking a handkerchief from under the pillow she dabbed at her eyes, determined not to cry. She lay awake for a long time.
She was woken by rapping on the adjoining wall. Jumping out of bed, blinking, she threw on her dressing-gown, took the Browning from under her pillow, slipped it into her pocket. As she passed a wall mirror she paused briefly, dealt with her hair, then opened the door on the chain. Beaurain stood outside, wearing a smart blue English suit, a spotless white shirt and a matching blue tie. She was struck by his freshness.
'It's only ten in the morning,' she protested.
'I was up at seven o'clock,' he said with his engaging smile. 'You will want a good leisurely breakfast and then we have to take a taxi to the station – Centrale. Knowing Milan, the taxi will take ages to arrive.'
'Give me half an hour to shower, dress and pack.'
'I gather you didn't sleep well. Make it an hour. I checked and they serve breakfast all morning…'
She needed a fresh handkerchief and dived into the pocket of her coat hanging in the wardrobe. She felt something strange, took it out. One of Mario's biscuits she had slipped into the pocket before leaving his home. Her eyes began to water.
She dived into the shower. The water was just the right temperature. She stood under the shower, sobbing. Then she stiffened herself, held her face up to the shower for several minutes. Drying herself with a large towel, she peered again into the wall mirror. Thank God, her eyes were not puffy.
Three-quarters of an hour later she left her room, carrying her case, rapped on Beaurain's door. It was opened instantly and he stood with his coat over his arm, his case in one hand. He was smiling. He's always smiling at me, she thought.
The dining-room was large, well and tastefully furnished and had only two businessmen at one table. The head waiter tactfully guided them to a distant corner table where they would have privacy. Paula studied the menu and when the waiter came over she ordered polenta and coffee.