‘Nothing,’ I said.
Her lips were compressed into a thin line and for a moment she looked almost haggard.
When the curtain came down on the first act and the lights went up I saw there were two empty seats in the centre of the stalls. ‘Your friends have left?’ Zina’s eyes were narrowed and watchful. I didn’t reply and she said, ‘Let us go and get a drink.’ When we were seated in the bar she said, ‘Are you shocked to learn that I work for the Germans?’
‘No,‘I said.
She looked down at her drink. ‘I was in cabaret then. My father had been injured in the bombing of Napoli. My mother was dying of tuberculosis. I had a brother prisoner of war in Kenya and two sisters, one ten, the other twelve. They gave me the choice of working for them or going to the campo di concentramento. If I had refused then my sisters would have become prostitutes in the bordellos off the Via Roma. I do not think I have much choice, Dick.’ She looked up at me and smiled. ‘But now everything is all right. The war is over and I am married to a conte. Only, you see, I do not like to be reminded of the past, by people who do not understand. This Maxwell, he was a British police officer?’
‘No. R.A.F. Intelligence.’
‘And what does he do now?’
‘I don’t know,‘I said.
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘What does it matter anyway. Who cares what he does? He has ruined the evening, that is all I know.’ She finished her drink and got to her feet. ‘I wish to go home now, Dick. You are not good company any more and I am upset.’
I followed her out of the bar and down the wide staircase to the crowded foyer. The car was parked in the Piazza. Trieste, but there was no sign of Roberto. I found him in a cafe in the Galleria Umberto. As we drove down to the waterfront Zina slipped her hand over mine. ‘Dick. I do not think this Maxwell is very good for you. Why not come away with me for a little? I have a friend who has a villa on the other side of Vesuvio. It is very quiet there among the vineyards. You can rest and relax, and nobody will know you are there. That is what you want, isn’t it?’ I could feel the warmth of her body very close to mine. I felt my nerves begin to relax as though they were being gently, subtly caressed. It was exactly what I wanted. If I could get right away, so that Maxwell, nobody knew where I was. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’s exactly what I want. But there is your husband.’
‘It does not matter about my husband,’ she murmured. ‘He is in Roma. He will be there for several weeks yet. I often go out to this villa. He can ring me there as easily as at Posillipo. What do you think?’
‘Can I ring you in the morning?’
‘No. Come and see me between eleven and twelve. I will be ready to leave if you want to go. Roberto can drive us.’
The car had stopped at my hotel. ‘Good night,’ I said. ‘And thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Buona notte.’
I watched the red tail-light of the Fiat disappear round the bend by the entrance to the Castello dell’Ovo and then I went into the hotel and straight up to my room. But when I’d gone to bed I couldn’t sleep. Something Maxwell had said kept running through my mind — Somehow you’re a part of it whether you like it or not. At length I got up, put my dressing-gown on and went out on to the balcony. The night air was cool after the warmth of the room. A rippled path of silver ran to meet the moon and I could hear the water lapping at the stone breakwater of Santa Lucia. Away to the left a red glow showed for an instant in the night sky and was gone. I watched and it came again, high up, a reflected glow against the underbelly of a cloud. But the stars shone brightly and there wasn’t a sign of any cloud.
Footsteps sounded on the pavement below and I heard an American voice say, ‘It’s just the same as it was in 1944.’ Just the same as in 1944! I knew then what that glow was. It was Vesuvius. The molten lava tumbling about inside the crater was being reflected on the cloud of gases each time she blew off. I lit a cigarette and stood watching it, wondering how it would look from a villa on the slopes of the mountain itself. At the moment it was only a faint flash of red in the sky, no brighter than the glowing tip of my cigarette, far less bright than the moon’s path. I shivered and went back into my room. Tomorrow I would leave Naples. Tomorrow I would go with Zina to this villa. Maxwell wouldn’t find me there. And in a week’s time I’d go back to Milan and start work again.
CHAPTER FIVE
In the morning I told myself I was a fool to be driven out of Naples by Maxwell. Why should I go up to a hot, dusty villa on the slopes of Vesuvius when I could stay down in Naples and lounge by the sea? Better to go over to Capri or Ischia or down the coast to Amalfi and Positano. The fact that Maxwell seemed to think I was in some way connected with Tucek’s disappearance didn’t seem so important as I sat on the balcony having breakfast in the sunshine.
It was a very close day. The sky overhead was blue, but cotton-wool banks of cumulus were piled up over Sorrento. Vesuvius looked remote and misty as though the air round it were curtained with dust. The red flashes of fire I’d seen the night before were no longer visible. The mountain looked serene and entirely dormant.
A thing that puzzled me was why Zina should want to go up to a villa on the slopes of Vesuvius. She seemed so much a creature of the popular bathing beaches. Not that it mattered. She would be exciting wherever we went. Lying back in my chair with a cigarette between my lips and the warmth of the sun seeping through the silk of my dressing-gown my mind conjured a picture of her body that was so clear I felt I could stretch out my hand and caress it.
The sound of a taxi stopping in the street below broke the spell and I leaned curiously over the balcony. It had stopped at the entrance to the hotel and a girl got out. Her titian hair glinted in the sunlight as she paid off the driver. It was Hilda Tucek. I turned quickly back into my room and grabbed the telephone. But by the time I got through to the hall porter it was too late — she was on her way up to my room.
As I put down the receiver there was a knock at the door.’ Signer Farrell.’
‘Yes?’
‘C’e una signorina che la cerca, signore.’
I tightened the belt of my dressing-gown and went to the door. When I opened it I was shocked to find how tired she looked. She seemed to have got no benefit from the sunshine of the past few days. Her skin was pale, almost transparent, and the freckles were more noticeable. ‘May I come in, please?’ Her voice was low and hesitant.
‘Of course.’ I held the door open. ‘Come through on to the balcony. Would you like something to drink?’
‘Please. A lemonade. It’s so hot.’
I sent the boy for it and took her through to the balcony. She stood quite still with her hands on the railing looking out across the bay.
‘Won’t you sit down?’ I suggested.
She nodded and sank into my chair. I brought out another. An awkward silence developed. I was waiting for her to tell me why she had come and she seemed to find it difficult. At length she said, ‘It is so beautiful.’ Her voice sounded wistful.
The boy brought her the drink and she sipped at it. I offered her a cigarette. When I had lit it for her, she said, ‘I am afraid I was rather rude to you that morning at the Excelsior.’
I waited for her to go on, but she was gazing out towards Capri again. ‘Did Maxwell tell you to come and see me?’ I asked.
She glanced at me quickly and then dropped her eyes to the handkerchief she was slowly twisting round her fingers. ‘Yes.’ She looked up suddenly and I realised how tensed-up she was inside. ‘He thinks you know something. He thinks you’re connected with it in some way. Please, Mr. Farrell, you must help me.’ There was desperation in her voice and somehow it hurt me.