At that moment, Ferucci, who had no love for me, but knew that I was a particular protégé of Il Duce, came over to murmur that our Chief would like to see me when I could slip away. I made it my business to drop Seryozha, telling him I would meet him later at the party.
As soon as I could I got to Il Duce’s side. He was making ready to leave, shaking hands with Vech, the elegant Spanish military attaché. They seemed on excellent terms. Mussolini still refused to smile in public, but there was a hint of a curve to his firm, ruthless mouth and when he saw me he was clearly pleased. My Chief did not want me to meet the Spaniard, however, and in fact almost pushed Vech away as he came to talk to me. Il Duce was in a particularly good mood. I think the admiration of the German contingent was far greater than anticipated. His old confident, ebullient manner had returned. ‘Professor, we have some urgent business to discuss.’
I was mystified. He took me by the arm and began to lead me back towards his private room, divided from the main hall by a velvet curtain. Here all the guards were squadristi and sprang to attention when we entered. I was particularly proud to be treated in this way. Many of Il Duce’s other ministers there that night would have been envious. I appreciated this public confirmation of my status. In the room was a table laid with exotic food and drink. Il Duce brought his special guests here, either to honour them or to speak with them confidentially. ‘That was Colonel Vech. He has been authorised to approach us concerning our secret project.’ Il Duce explained that the Spanish had seen the sensational reports of our Land Leviathan in the papers. I think their own secret service had also done some research. My guess was that they had had no luck in stealing our plans so had approached Il Duce directly, to ask if the machines were in production. No doubt they could use a number for their own purposes in North Africa.
‘This is good news!’ Mussolini’s dark eyes twinkled. ‘Such a sale will help finance our own production. Of course I told him we could not possibly discuss such things. I did not even admit that we had a “secret weapon”. Have you said anything tonight?’
I was somewhat stunned. ‘You have sworn me to secrecy, my Duce.’
Mussolini approved of my loyalty. However, he argued, if we could convince them to give 100 per cent financial backing to our project, without their knowing it we should be able to begin production all the sooner. ‘We need to show them a couple of small plans, a simple picture or two. Have you got a little something to whet their appetites?’
I was still rather baffled by this change of attitude. I was silent.
‘He will have to see something tonight,’ my Chief continued. Vech was leaving first thing in the morning.
I was by now breathless with astonishment. Until now only Il Duce and myself had been privy to my inventions. Tonight there was talk of Spanish involvement. Mussolini himself had sworn me to secrecy. For mysterious reasons of his own he was prepared to admit that we were building a war ziggurat. His lightning mind sometimes understood situations and helped him make long-ranging decisions, rather as a first-rate chess player sees a whole range of moves open up for him. So I had learned to trust him. But it was impossible for me to guess the reason for this radical change of policy. I assumed he would eventually illuminate me.
Meanwhile, I stammered something about not having the keys to my document chest. He gestured expansively. He would drive me round to my house in his own car. There I could pick up my keys, he would take me to the ministry, I could find the plans, and his chauffeur could relay them directly to the Spanish Consulate. Typically he was in a hurry to put all this in hand instantly. I suspected he had a further liaison that night. Il Duce liked to get things done immediately or not at all.
I stammered something. He accepted this as acquiescence. Clapping me on the shoulder as if sensing my confusion, he promised we would not sell out Italy for a handful of Spanish doubloons. Certain specifications would, of course, be held back. Only a cruder version of the giant tank would be presented. He had not forgotten about naming it after me. Imagine what this would mean! Hundreds of Peters Leviathans guarding the frontiers of the free world against the combined Red and Yellow threat! My name would become a permanent addition to the military vocabulary.
He again sought to console me with promises of my coming public status. He failed to realise how used I was to my name appearing before the public. I was all for a speedier move towards full production of my machines, but I believed the entire project a secret shared only between myself and Mussolini. I could not readily readjust to this new development.
‘And, of course, there will be material benefits,’ he said. ‘Part of the Spanish money should rightfully go to you.’
I did not work for money, I reminded him. I had no more interest in it than did he. We had a common vision.
That was the closest I ever came to rebuking my Chief and he accepted it.
We left the hall by the special exit. Il Duce’s car was waiting, its engine running. Passing the main entrance of the villa, I saw a man and a woman leaving. I did not recognise the woman. I was surprised not to have noticed the man while at the reception. Surely it was the mutual friend Mrs Cornelius had mentioned earlier. A tall, slender Englishman, not in uniform on this occasion. He had once been romantically involved with Mrs Cornelius. I knew him as Major Nye, a British agent! Then I realised the importance of that reception. Now I knew that several crucial conversations had taken place that night. Political decisions had been made which would change the face of Europe for ever.
His chauffeur beside him, Mussolini himself had taken the car’s wheel. I was by now used to his wild, extravagant driving. Tonight he seemed determined to shake off the fleet of secret service cars which began to follow us. Indeed, he was successful with most of them. He liked to entertain himself in that way sometimes. Particularly as he had almost given up the violin. Like Sherlock Holmes he had once played it every single evening for his own solace.
Il Duce knew exactly where he was going. ‘Professor, I was thinking about your house. You need a bigger one. That place is far too cramped for you.’
Although he had never spoken of it before, I remembered that this was where he had once met and made love to the woman who these days preferred to satisfy her lusts on the leather furniture at the Villa Valentino. I was still uneasy about that situation. Obviously my association with La Sarfatti had made me more enemies than friends. She was not liked by the old Fascists and her influence over the Chief was thought to be excessive. She was sensitive to such things. Clearly, from her recent moods, things were not going wholly her way. Voices at court were raised against her. Ferucci was her sworn enemy. Some old affair between them, I guessed. Had someone told Mussolini about us?
In spite of the little house being only a short distance from the reception, it took us over an hour to get there. So obsessed had Mussolini become with outrunning his own guards that he was thoroughly lost. He did not have a native’s knowledge of Rome and her maze of streets. Eventually, he told me, most of the old, medieval mess would be torn down. He was tired of these fusty labyrinths. He would show me a model of the city that had been built a year or two before. Because of problems with land ownership, some of the building plans had been put back. The new understanding with the Vatican City was going to help that situation. He would leave behind him a Rome that would make the ancient capital seem only a sketch for the glories to come.