‘Farrell.’ I lay back against the pillows, feeling utterly drained of energy. It was no good trying to explain to him. He just wouldn’t believe me. Probably no one would believe me. I wasn’t sure I believed myself. It all seemed so vague now as though it were part of that nightmare. There had been a mouse and an operating table and that lift descending slowly as Sansevino peered down at me. Perhaps I’d dreamed it all.
The American was talking again. He was asking me something. ‘I’m sorry,’ I murmured. ‘What did you say?’
‘ I asked what you were during the war.’
‘I was a flier.’
‘Are you still flying?’
‘No. This leg—’
‘What are you doing in Milan then?’
‘I represent a firm of machine tool manufacturers.’
‘When did you last have a holiday?’
‘A holiday? I don’t know. I was looking around for a job for a long time and then I joined this firm. That was about fourteen months ago.’
‘And you haven’t had a holiday?’
‘Not since I’ve been with them. I can take one when I like now. The managing director said so in his last letter. But I don’t need a holiday. What happened just now has got nothing to do—’
‘Just a minute. Answer me one more question first. Have you ever had a nervous breakdown?’
‘No. I — don’t think so.’
‘Never been in hospital because you were upset mentally?’
‘I had a couple of months in hospital before I left Italy. That was after the war ended and I was released from the Villa d’Este, the German hospital where they amputated my leg.’
He nodded. ‘I thought so. And now you’re all wound up like a clock that’s ready to burst its mainspring. If you don’t take a holiday you’re going to have a nervous breakdown.’
I stared at him angrily. ‘You’re suggesting there’s something wrong with my mind. That’s what you’re suggesting, isn’t it? My mind’s all right, I tell you. There’s nothing wrong with it. You think I imagined all this to-night. But it happened just as I told you. He was here in this room. It wasn’t a nightmare. It was real.’
‘Reality and nightmare sometimes get confused, you know. Your mind—’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my mind,’ I snapped.
He pushed his hand through the tousled mop of his white hair and sighed. ‘Do you remember me knocking on your door earlier to-night?’
I nodded.
‘Would it surprise you to know that you had been talking to yourself for two solid hours?’
‘But I was—’ I lay back then, a wave of exhaustion sweeping over me. What was the good? How could I possibly explain to this stolid, practical American the mood of elation I’d been in? It would be as difficult to convince him of that as it was to convince him that Shirer was Sansevino. Perhaps he was right anyway. Perhaps my mind was getting out of control. They say it’s possible to believe anything, if you want to. Perhaps I’d wanted to believe that Shirer was Sansevino. No, that didn’t make sense. Perhaps the shock of meeting Shirer suddenly like that had been too much for me.
‘See here, Farrell.’ The American was talking again. ‘I’m over here on a vacation. Tomorrow I’m flying down to Naples. Why don’t you come, too? Just wire your outfit that you’re under doctors’ orders to take a rest. No need to actually go and see a doctor. They’ll never check up. You come down to Naples with me and take a week or so lying out in the sun. What do you say?’
Naples! The blue peace of the Bay came to my mind like a sunny picture postcard. We’d sailed out between Sorrento and the Isle of Capri. We’d been homeward bound then. Perhaps he was right. At least I’d be right away from it all then — from Shirer and Reece and that business of Jan Tucek’s disappearance. Lying in the sun I could forget it all. And then I began to think of Hilda Tucek. Her freckled, determined little face was suddenly there in my mind, desperate and unhappy, accusing me of running away. But I couldn’t help her. There was nothing I could really do to help her. ‘I’ll think it over,’ I said.
But he shook his head. ‘No. You make the decision now. Thinking it over is the worst possible thing. You decide now. Then you’ll sleep.’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll come.’
He nodded and got to his feet. ‘That’s fine. I’ll fix your passage for the same flight first thing in the morning. Now you just relax and go to sleep. I’ll leave the balcony window open, and mine, too. If you want me, just call out.’
‘It’s very kind of you,’ I muttered.
He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s nearly four. It’ll be light in an hour. Shall I leave the light on?’
I nodded. I’d be happier with the light on. I watched him go out through the windows. For an instant his pyjamas were a scarlet patch against the velvet darkness of the night outside. Then he was gone and I was alone. I felt exhausted and strangely relaxed. I think I was asleep almost before he’d reached his room.
I must have slept like a log because I don’t remember anything until Hacket woke me. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Fine,’ I murmured.
‘Good. I booked your passage on the plane. It leaves at eleven-thirty. It’s now just after nine, so you’d better hustle. Shall I tell them to send some breakfast up?’
‘Thank you.’ It was slowly coming back to me, all that had happened during the night. It seemed vague and unreal with the sun streaming in through the windows. ‘I’m afraid I gave you a rather disturbed night,’ I murmured.
‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘It was lucky I was in the next room. I know a bit about this sort of thing. You’ll be all right when you’ve nothing to do but lie in the sun and watch the girls.’
When he had gone I lay back, trying to sort the whole thing out. Had Sansevino really been in this room or had I dreamed it? But whether it was a nightmare or not didn’t seem to matter. It was real enough to me and I was glad I was going to Naples, glad the decision had been taken out of my hands. Hacket was so solid, so reasonable. I felt like a kid running away from something seen in the dark, but I didn’t care. Lying there, waiting for my breakfast, I knew that I was scared. There had been a moment early on in the night when I’d been exultant with the thought of revenge. But that was gone now. The touch of those hands had swept all sense of mastery away as though I had been plunged back five years in time to the hospital bed in the Villa d’Este.
I was still going over in my mind the events of the night when my breakfast arrived. I had some toast and coffee and then dressed and packed my things. Then I went down to the entrance-hall and cancelled my room. As I drew out the lire to pay my bill the photograph of Sansevino fell to the floor. I bent down to pick it up and a voice said, ‘Mr. Farrell.’ It was Hilda Tucek. ‘I must speak to you, please.’
I straightened up. Facing her in the act of settling my bill I felt as though I had been caught doing something I shouldn’t. ‘What is it?’ I asked. She had someone with her; an Italian in a wide-brimmed American hat.
‘This is Captain Caselli. He is investigating the disappearance of my father. Alec Reece thought you might be able to help him.’
‘Why?’ My tone was automatically defensive. I didn’t want to get involved in this — not now.
‘ 93 ‘I do not understand you.’ She was staring at me with a puzzled, frustrated look. ‘The other day you are willing to help and then—’ She hesitated and I could see she didn’t know what line to take. ‘What happened when you go to see this man, Sismondi?’
I couldn’t face the look of helplessness in her eyes and my gaze fell. I saw then that I was holding the picture of Sansevino in my hand.
Caselli was talking now. He said, ‘We have spoken with Signor Sismondi. He said you behaved very strangely. The only persons present were the Contessa Valle and Signor Shirer, an American. Perhaps you can tell us why you behave so strangely, yes?’