I took the drink and sank into the nearest armchair. If I was to get out of the room alive I’d got to convince him that I still thought he was Shirer. ‘Funny thing,’ I said. ‘I only discovered a few days ago that you and Reece were alive. The hospital authorities gave out that you’d both been shot while trying to escape.’.
He laughed. ‘We damn nearly did get shot. The ambulance we got away in broke down and we had to take to the hills. Didn’t you ever come across Reece? I thought you and his sister—’
‘She broke it off.’
His eyebrows lifted. Shirer had never looked like that. This man was considering the mental impact of a thing like that, considering it as a doctor.
‘That was not very kind of her,’ Zina Valle said.
I shrugged my shoulders.
‘I would like my drink, please, Walter.’
He took it across to her and went back to the cabinet for his own. Zina Valle slid her feet to the floor and came across to me. ‘You do not seem to be very lucky in love, signore,’ she said.
I didn’t say anything. She placed her drink on the table where I had placed my own. ‘Perhaps you make a lot of money with the cards?’
‘I don’t play cards,’ I replied.
She laughed. ‘Always I am trying to prove that proverb. I do not think it is a true one.’ She yawned. ‘I am getting sleepy, Walter.’
He looked at his watch. ‘It’s only half-eleven.’
‘Yes, but I must be up early tomorrow.’ She glanced down at me. ‘Perhaps you would see me home, Mr. Farrell?’
It was almost as though she were offering me a means of escape from that room. ‘Of course,’ I said.
Shirer rang the bell and as the door opened behind me, he said,’ Pietro. Order a taxi.’
Zina Valle had moved back to her chair. I reached out for my drink. And then I glanced across at her, for my glass wasn’t where I’d placed it. She had taken mine and left me hers on the far side of the table. I was about to mention it, but something in her expression made me keep silent. Anyway, she had already finished the drink.
The man, Pietro, came in to say that the taxi was waiting. I got up and helped her on with her wrap. ‘How long will you be in Milan, Walter?’ she asked.
‘I can’t say. But don’t worry. I’ll see you get what you want. Farrell. You’ve left your drink.’ He held the glass out to me. ‘Scotch is too valuable these days to be wasted.’ He watched me while I knocked it back. Like a doctor seeing that his patient takes his medicine, I thought. And then I saw that Zina Valle was looking at him with an odd expression in her eyes.
He took the glass and put it down for me on a side table. Then he accompanied us to the lift. ‘It was nice of you to come and see me, Farrell,’ he said. His hand held mine and I felt a tingle run up my spine. The touch of his smooth fingers made me want to jerk him towards me and break him, smash him into little pieces. The hand I held, I knew, had never mined coal. I dropped it as though it was something that was dangerous to touch. ‘I hope this won’t be the last time we meet.’ He smiled. The lift gates closed and we went down. My last sight of him was peering down at us as we descended, the light catching his eyes and making them appear black like sloes.
In the taxi, Zina Valle took my arm and leaned close. ‘You do not like Walter, eh?’
I didn’t answer and she added: ‘You hate him. Why?’
I didn’t know what to say. To change the subject I said jokingly, ‘You took my drink, you know.’
‘But of course. Why do you think I take the trouble to get up when I am very happy sitting in my chair?’
I stared at her. ‘Do you mean you did it purposely? Why?’
She laughed. ‘Because I do not think it is good for you. Tell me, why was Walter so strange to-night? And that name — Sansevino. It frightened him. When he hears that a friend of Dr. Sansevino is wanting to see him, he turns very white. And when you come in — for a moment I think he is afraid of you. Is he afraid of you?’
‘Afraid of me?’ The phrase echoed in my mind like a peal of bells. Afraid of me! Sansevino afraid of me! I felt a sudden surge of power, of exultance. I had him now. I knew his secret. I could play the same game with him that he’d played with me. There was a saltness in my mouth; the taste of revenge.
‘Well? Is he?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Why?’
‘One day, if I get to know you better, I may tell you.’
‘Is it because of something he has done — something he has done to you?’ Her voice was eager, questing, as though she wanted the power that I possessed.
‘Why do you ask?’ I said. ‘Don’t you like him?’
The taxi stopped with a jerk. She was looking straight into my face, her eyes very wide and luminous. ‘I hate him,’ she breathed. Then the door was opened and she got out. ‘Don’t forget — if you come to Napoli I am at the Villa Carlotta.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I won’t forget. Good night.’
‘Buona notte.’ She blew me a kiss and was gone, swallowed by a big modern block of flats.
‘Whereto, signore?’
‘Albergo Excelsior.’
‘Bene.’
The taxi turned into the Corso Buenos Aires, and I sat, watching the street lamps flash by, hugging to myself the thought that I had Sansevino alive and in my power. It was a mood of elation that took me back to my hotel and stayed with me when I reached my room. I was too tensed-up to think of sleep. I paced up and down, my imagination running ahead of time, picturing just how I would handle the situation.
Looking back on it now I think my mood must have been a very queer one. I was excited, fascinated and afraid, all at the same time. For over a year I had lived in daily fear and dread of what this man could do to me. I had thought him dead. And now I knew that he was alive. Unless I were stark, raving mad, the man I had met was Sansevino. It was a frightening thought.
But even whilst my nerves cringed the mood of elation in which I had returned to the hotel still remained with me and I kept on repeating to myself: Sansevino is alive. I’ve got him now. This time he is in my power.
What should I do? Go to the police? No, no. That would be too straightforward. Let him learn what it was like to be afraid. Yes. That was what Zina Valle had said — I think he is afraid of you. Afraid! That was the thought that filled my mind. Sansevino was afraid of me. And he’d go on being afraid. All the rest of his life he’d be afraid.
I laughed out loud at the thought. No, I wouldn’t go to the police. They might not believe me, anyway. I wouldn’t say anything. But I’d keep in touch with him. And from time to time I’d let him know that I was still alive, that I knew who he was. Let him sweat it out through the long nights as I had sweated it out in the heat of summer on Como. Let him know what it was not to sleep for fear — fear of the rope that I could put round his neck.
And then I thought of Tucek. God! Has he anything to do with Jan Tucek’s disappearance? I remember how Sismondi had been waiting for him that night. Was there some connection there? A man who could do what Sansevino had done — who had cold-bloodedly organised….
There was a sudden knock at the door.