The phone clattered as I put it back onto the stand. My hands were shaking.
‘Poopsie?’ Luigi repeated incredulously.
The principessa stirred.
‘It is the name given to him by his intimates,’ she said.
It took me a minute to realize what she had said, and what it meant. She met my surprised stare with a slight shake of her head. Her back was to Luigi. Her lips silently shaped a word.
I put a hand to my forehead.
‘Oh,’ I said weakly. ‘I feel so strange. I think I’m going to faint.’
It wasn’t all an act. My knees were getting very shaky. I couldn’t see what good this was going to do, but at least Bianca was on our side. Maybe she had something in mind. Mine was an absolute blank.
I fluttered lithesomely onto the sofa, and Bianca bent over me.
‘She is ill,’ she exclaimed. ‘My smelling salts, Luigi – in my bathroom cabinet. And fetch a blanket from the closet, she is in shock, I think.’
‘Bruno – ’ Luigi began uncertainly.
‘No, I will not have that ape touching my things! Give him your gun, if you don’t trust me.’
I didn’t dare open my eyes, but my ears were tuned to their highest pitch. After a suspenseful moment Luigi trotted out of the room; his light, athletic footsteps could not be mistaken for anyone else’s. As soon as he was gone, the principessa began to speak soothingly, as if she were trying to bring me out of my faint. But she spoke German.
‘There is only one hope. We must fetch the count here. He is at the palazzo, in Rome. Think.’
I groaned artistically, and muttered in the same language,
‘The boy hates his father. What good – ’
‘These thugs – there is another man, in the hall – they will obey their master. All this happened last night after I had drugged Pietro. It was a mistake, I admit it; but they were willing to take orders from me until the boy defied me. It is a feudal feeling, you understand. He is the heir. If we can reach Pietro, he will not – ’
In her distress she slipped, and mentioned a name.
‘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 Fernsprecher, you bloody idiot,’ he said tenderly. ‘Mio tesoro, mein Liebchen. . .’
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.