Nightwork

'I sense a certain resentment on your part, Douglas.' He frowned at a cashmere sweater he was folding. 'I don't think I'll need this, do you?'

'Not in Palm Beach, you won't.'

'You make it sound as though I'm going on this trip for pleasure.' Again I heard a mild reproach, 'I assure you I'd much rather go down to Italy with you. As a matter of fact, there's something I'd like you to do for me - for us - after you get to Rome. I've been in touch with a charming Italian gentleman. Name of Quadrocelli. Italians have all the luck when it comes to choosing names, don't they? I'll send the Dottore a wire to expect you. A nice little enterprise that's waiting to be wrapped up.'

'What's that?'

'Don't sound so suspicious.'

'You must admit your last enterprise was hardly a howling success.'

'It worked out all right in the end, didn't it?' Fabian said cheerfully.

'I don't think we can count on everybody we do business with dropping dead on payday.'

Fabian laughed, showing his excellent teeth beneath the neat mustache. 'Who can tell? I myself am now approaching the crucial age.'

'It would take an axe to do you in. Miles,' I said. 'And you know it.'

He laughed again. 'Anyway, you can explain the circumstances to Dottore Quadrocelli. Why I couldn't come in person. You'll find him in Porto Ercole. That's just about two hours north of Rome. It's a delightful place. I had hoped to spend at least two weeks there. There's a first-class small hotel overlooking the Med. It's called the Pellicano. An ideal place to hide out with a girl.' He sighed, regretting the first-class small hotel overlooking the Med. 'Lily adores it. Later in the year, perhaps. Ask for the room with the big terrace. The good Dottore has a villa not far from there.'

'What have you got going this time?'

I wish you wouldn't sound so surly, old man. I like contented partners.'

'My nerves aren't as strong as yours.'

'No, I suppose they're not. Wine.'

'What?'

'You asked me what I had going this time. What t have going is wine. With the way the world's drinking these days, being in wine is like having a license to steal. Have you noticed how the prices for any kind of bottle have been going up? Especially in America.'

'I can't say I have.'

Trust me, they have. Quadrocelli has a small estate outside Florence. He makes a delicious Chianti. So far, on a very small scale. Just for himself and his friends. He's surrounded by a lot of small farmers who also grow wine of the same quality. We played with the idea last summer of contracting to buy the crop of his neighbors, having a pretty label drawn up, and bottling it under his name and selling it in the States directly to restaurant chains. Eliminate all the middlemen. You can imagine the advantages.'

I can't really,' I said. 'I've never eliminated a middleman in my life. But I suppose it's enough if you can.'

'Believe me,' he said. 'It would take a little capital, of course. Mr Quadrocelli doesn't have the necessary and last summer, as you can imagine, neither did I.'

'And now you have.'

'We have. First person plural, old man.' He patted my arm in a brotherly gesture. 'Forever and a day. I've been in touch with Mr Quadrocelli and he's working out a set of figures. I'd appreciate it if you'd look them over and call me in New York so we can discuss it. In fact, I think it would be a good idea if you called me every few days, say at ten o'clock New York time. There's always something coming up.' 'That's no lie,' I said.

'Keeps the blood circulating,' he said airily. 'Tell Mr Quadrocelli that on my side I'll be lining up restaurants in the States. Luckily, I have some dear friends who are in the business. Very much in the business. In fact, they've been after me to come in with them as vice-president in charge of public relations. But it would mean going to an office every day. Unthinkable. No matter what the money is. It would also mean smiling all the time. Not my cup of tea, at all. But they'd absorb a lot of wine.'

'Miles,' I said, 'how many other schemes have you got at the back of your head that you're going to spring on me one at a time?'

He laughed. I don't like to worry you about projects until they ripen. Gentle Heart. You should thank me.' I thank you,' I said.

'After dinner,' he said, 'I'll give you Quadrocelli's address and telephone number. Also the address of my tailor in Rome. Tell him you're a friend of mine. I suggest a complete wardrobe. I'll also give you the address of a very good shirt-maker. I also suggest throwing away your present wardrobe. It does nothing for our mutual image, if you get what I mean. I hope I'm not hurting your feelings.'

'On the contrary,' I said. I understand. By the time you see me again, I'll be a credit to you.'

"That's better,' he said. 'Would you like the telephone numbers of some lovely Italian girls?'

'No. I'll do it alone, thank you, if you don't mind.'

'I just thought you might like to save a little time.'

'I'm in no hurry.'

'Finally,' he said, 'we'll have to try to uproot the old Puritan in you. Meanwhile I suppose I'll have to take you as you come.'

'The way I take you.'

He had been going in and out of the bedroom through all this, coming out with various articles of clothing that he stowed in one bag or another. Now he emerged with the pretty blue Tyrolean jacket. This would look very good on you, Douglas,' he said. 'It's a little large for me. Would you like it?'

'No, thanks. I've had my skiing for the year,' I said.

He nodded soberly. 'I understand. What happened today took the edge off Alpine joys a bit.'

'I never wanted to come here in the first place.'

'Sometimes you have to do things to please the ladies,' Fabian said. 'Apropos of that. Do you want to tell me why Eunice decamped?'

'Not particularly.'

'I regret you didn't see fit to take my advice,' Fabian said. 'It was good advice.'

'Oh, come on, now. Miles! Enough is enough. She told me everything.' Somehow, the sight of this handsome, completely composed man, every hair in place, his trousers and shirt fitting him perfectly, his shoes with a high mahogany shine, deftly packing his array of bags, the perfect traveler for the jet age, suddenly infuriated me. 'All about you. Or at least enough about you.'

'I haven't the faintest notion of what you're talking about, old man.’ He tucked a half-dozen pairs of socks neatly into a| comer of a suitcase. 'What in the world would there be to about me?' 'She's in love with you.'

'Oh, dear,' he said.

'You had an affair with her. I'm not in the business of accepting hand-me-downs.'

'Oh, dear,' he said again. 'She said that?’

'And more.'

'Ever since I've met you,' he said. 'I've worried about your innocence. You have a terribly low threshold of shock. People have affairs. It's a fact of life. People you're associated with. More or less permanently. Good God, man, have you ever been to a wedding at which the bride hasn't had an affair with at least one of the guests?'

'You might have told me,' I said, knowing it sounded foolish.

'What good would that have done? Be reasonable. I suggested her to you with the best intentions in the world. For both you and her. I can vouch for the fact that she's a marvelous girl. In bed and out, not to put too fine a point on it.'

'She wanted to marry you.'

'A passing whim. I'm much too old for her, for one thing.'

'Oh, come now, Miles. Fifty's not all that old.'

'I'm not fifty. I'm long past that, if you must know.'

I looked at him incredulously. If he hadn't told me when we first met that he was fifty, I'd have found it hard to believe that he was much over forty. I knew he found it easy to lie, but I couldn't see why he would pretend to be older than he was. 'How much past?' I asked.