‘Where?’ I didn’t answer and she said playfully, ‘A girl?’ I still didn’t say anything, but she must have seen the direction of my gaze, for she focused her opera glasses on the centre of the stalls. ‘An English girl — in a white frock?’
‘No — Czech,’ I corrected. ‘Why did you think she was English?’
‘She look so damn’ superior,’ she answered venomously. Then I heard her suck in her breath quickly. ‘What is the name of the man who is with her? I think I have met him before.’
‘ John Maxwell,’ I answered.
She shook her head. ‘No. I do not meet him.’
The lights began to fade as the conductor took his place on the platform. Then they were out and the overture had begun. I was glad to sit back in the darkness and absorb the gaiety of Rossini’s music. But somehow it failed to lift me out of the fit of depression that had enveloped me. Maxwell’s arrival in Naples had shaken me. I had a queer feeling of being trapped and in imagination I felt unseen eyes watching me across the dark pit of the theatre. The knowledge that Maxwell was down there in the body of the theatre stood between me and the music and I got no enjoyment out of it.
‘You are cold?’ Zina’s lips almost touched my ear. Her hand closed over mine.
‘No — I’m quite warm, thank you.’
‘But you are trembling, and your hand is like ice.’ Then her fingers closed violently on mine. ‘What is it you are afraid of?‘she hissed.
‘ Nothing,’ I answered.
‘Is the girl an old love affair?’
‘No,’ I answered frigidly.
‘Then why do you shiver? Or is it the man who frighten you?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I said irritably and got my hand out of the clutch of her fingers.
‘So. I am being ridiculous, am I? But it is you who tremble.’ She leaned suddenly close to me again. ‘What does he want, this Maxwell?’
‘Do you mind dropping the subject, Zina.’ I turned away towards the stage where the curtain was just rising.
‘You are obstinate again.’ Her voice sounded petulant. I found myself thinking of the ridiculous scene at Casamicciola when she had tried to get me to give my leg to the attendant. I was still thinking of this and listening to the music at the same time when a hand came out of the darkness of the box behind me and gripped my shoulder. I spun round to see the gleam of a white shirtfront and Maxwell leaning down towards me.
‘A word with you, Dick.’
I hesitated, glancing at Zina. She’d noticed the interruption and was looking up at Maxwell. He bowed, a slight inclination of the head. ‘Signorina Bestanto, isn’t it?’
She gave a slight nod of assent. ‘That was my name before my marriage. But I do not think I have met you before, signore?’
‘No,’ Maxwell answered. ‘I know your name because I happened to see a photograph of you — at the Questura.’
Zina’s eyes narrowed. Then the lids dropped and she smiled. ‘One day, signore, I hope you are very poor, then perhaps you understand many things that seem strange to you now.’ She turned back towards the stage. Her face looked very white in the glare of the footlights and for an I instant I thought I caught a gleam of intense anger in her eyes. Then Maxwell touched me on the shoulder and nodded towards the door of the box.
I followed him out. He shut the door and produced a packet of cigarettes. ‘You certainly do have a way of picking trouble, Dick,’ he said.
‘How do you mean?’ I asked him.
‘That girl.’ He nodded towards the closed door of the box.
‘Well? What about her?’
‘She’s dynamite. The photograph I saw of her was in a dossier about an inch thick. It was shown to me by one of the AMG police at the Questura in Rome during the war.’
‘You mean she was a German agent?’ I asked.
‘There was no definite proof, but—’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘The Field Security Police kept a close eye on her.’
‘If there was no proof, then—’
He stopped me with a quick movement of his hand. ‘I didn’t come to see you about your girl friend,’ he said. ‘Why did you skip out of Milan like that?’
‘Reece was getting on my nerves,’ I answered quickly.
He drew on his cigarette until the point of it glowed. ‘I don’t think that was the reason,’ he said softly.
‘Then what was the reason, since you know?’ I found it difficult to keep the tremor out of my voice.
In the same quiet tone, he said, ‘I think you were scared.’
‘Scared?’ I tried to laugh it off, but it didn’t sound right and I let it trail away uncertainly.
‘Suppose you tell me,what scared you so badly that you sent a cable to your firm saying you were under doctor’s orders to take a rest?’
I didn’t say anything and after a moment he said, ‘Where does that girl come into it?’
‘How do you mean?’ I asked.
She comes into it somewhere. What’s her name now?’
‘Zina Valle. She’s a contessa.’
‘Valle’s wife? I wonder.’ He stroked his chin. ‘Where did you meet her?’
‘At Sismondi’s flat.’
‘And then?’
‘She came and saw me at the Excelsior. Later I met her again.’
‘Where?’
‘At Shirer’s suite in the Albergo Nazionale.’
‘Was that the night before you left for Naples?’
I nodded.
He frowned. ‘You’re holding something back. Suppose you give me the whole story?’
I hesitated. But I knew it was no use. He and Reece were in the thing together. Reece would never believe it and therefore Maxwell wouldn’t. ‘I’ve nothing to tell you,’ I said.
‘I think you have.’ His voice suddenly had a bite to it. ‘For a start you could tell me what made you leave Milan like that.’
‘Look,’ I said. ‘If I could help you over Tucek’s disappearance I would. Damn it!’ I added angrily. ‘You surely believe that? The man was a friend of mine. He saved my life once during the Battle of Britain. Just leave me out of it, will you.’
‘I wish I could,’ he said ‘But somehow you’re a part of it whether you like it or not. Somehow it’s all connected with you.’
‘What do you mean by—’
‘Don’t ask me why. I don’t know. But—’ He stopped and looked at me. ‘The morning you left Milan you were hinting to Hilda that Shirer had something to do with her father’s disappearance.’
‘That’s not correct,’ I answered. ‘There was a carabinieri captain with her. He was investigating her father’s disappearance. I showed him a photograph I had of Sansevino, the doctor at the Villa d’Este.’
‘You told him to go and interview Shirer.’
‘Yes. Did he go?’
‘I don’t think so. There was an American doctor with you who told them you were balmy. However, Reece went along, but Shirer had left Milan.’ He gripped my arm. ‘What do you know about Shirer? Why did you tell Caselli to interview him?’
I hesitated. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. I had been on the point of telling him that Walter Shirer didn’t exist, that the man he thought was Shirer … But in the moment of putting it into words I was assailed by doubts. He’d only think I was crazy. And here in Naples the reason for my suspicions seemed vague and unreal.
‘You were going to say—?’
‘Nothing,’ I answered quickly.
‘You were going to tell me something. What was it?’ And then, as I remained silent, he said, ‘For God’s sake, Dick, tell me where you come into it. You come into it somewhere. That I’m certain.’
‘I can’t help you,’ I said.
He looked at me for a moment as though testing my mood. ‘All right,’ he said at length. ‘If you won’t talk, I can’t make you — not yet. But watch your step. I think you’re out of your depth. Perhaps you don’t know it. I hope for your sake—’ He ground his cigarette out on the carpet. ‘If you change your mind I’m staying at the Garibaldi.’ He turned quickly and went down the corridor. I went slowly back into the box and sat down again in the seat beside Zina. She didn’t move, but I knew she had seen me. ‘What did he want?’ she whispered.