Fault Line - Retail (21 page)

Francis listened to me in an ever louder silence. He moved to his desk and sat down in his studded leather chair as I spoke. From there he eyed me rather as Mr Brinkworth, my old headmaster at St Austell Grammar, might have done while I tried to justify some gross disciplinary infraction: ire and disappointment mixed in a baleful frown.

‘I’m very sorry,’ I concluded lamely. ‘I should never have tried to do a deal with Strake. It was … stupid of me.’

‘
Stupid?
’ Francis’s tone made it obvious he thought this fell a
long
way short of an adequate description of my behaviour. ‘No, no, Jonathan. Let’s not write it off as mere stupidity. Callous. Ungrateful.
Unfeeling
. We could say you’ve been those and still not capture the inexcusable deceitfulness of your conduct.’ He struggled to his feet and glared at me, his face colouring deeply. ‘What in God’s name did you think you were doing?’

‘I … I thought Strake would tell me the truth … about Oliver.’

‘The truth? The truth is that the poor boy filled his head with fantastical theories to explain his father’s suicide and ended up drowning himself when those theories turned to dust. Strake knows that as well as I do, and evidently much better than you do, which is why he was able to take you for an utter bloody fool. This truth you were after, this secret that doesn’t exist, this key to an empty box – that’s what you made Vivien your unwitting accomplice in the hope of gaining, was it? And why? To impress her, perhaps? Was that the ultimate object of the exercise?’

‘I suppose …’

‘We welcomed you to our home, Jonathan. We trusted you not to abuse our hospitality.’

‘I know. I’m terribly sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. Maybe I was trying to impress Vivien. But I … really thought Strake was going to give me some valuable information.’

‘Instead he’s given you nothing. Except a lesson in knowing when you’re out of your league.’ He sighed and rubbed his forehead. ‘A lesson it seems I’ll have to pay for.’

‘If there’s anything I can—’

‘You’ve done enough.’ He flapped a hand at me dismissively. ‘Get out of my sight. I need to think.’

‘I’m awfully sorry, Francis.’

‘Yes, yes. So you said.’ He slumped back down in his chair, propped one elbow on the blotter in front of him and sunk his chin into his palm.

He was no longer looking at me. I doubted, if I said any more, that he’d even be listening to me. There seemed nothing to do but to leave. I turned and took a step towards the door.

‘
Wait
,’ came his imperious instruction.

I stopped and turned back to face him. There was a marginal softening of his expression. Already his anger was ebbing and with it the redness of his face.

‘What you’ve done, Jonathan,’ he growled, ‘is unpardonable. However, I give you some credit for coming forward in this fashion. It must have taken a deal of facing up to. And it’s decent of you to have absolved Vivien of blame. Nevertheless, I’d be inclined to send you packing if it weren’t for the fact that I don’t want to alarm Luisa. I’ve no doubt Strake will contact me soon enough with whatever demands he has it in mind to make. I’ll deal with him as I think best. But
I’ll
deal with him. I’d be obliged if you conducted yourself as normal in the meantime. I prefer Luisa to know nothing of the matter. You understand?’

‘Yes. Of course.’

‘Likewise Vivien.’

‘I won’t breathe a word.’

‘Good.’ He nodded, grimly satisfied. ‘That’s all for now. You can go.’

I went for a walk to clear my head and repair my nerves. I wasn’t sure, on reflection, that confessing what I’d done had achieved anything beyond clearing my conscience. Francis hadn’t given much sign that forewarned was forearmed where Strake was concerned. Nor had he revealed whether he had any idea what kind of threat Strake could bring to bear. But at least the secret was out. At least I’d done the little I could to limit the damage I’d caused.

I ended up in Marina Grande, watching the ferries come in from Naples and Sorrento. Vivien had to be on one of them. When she came ashore, I could tell her Francis had believed me: she was in the clear. That would surely count for something.

But the ferries kept on coming. And she never appeared.

I slunk back to the Villa Orchis with the evening well advanced, baffled and confused. The hours I’d spent at Marina Grande had been in vain. My best guess now was that Vivien had returned to
Capri
on the ferry she’d left on, without ever disembarking in Sorrento. I expected her to be waiting for me at the villa.

But she wasn’t. Instead, Luisa greeted me with news I could never have predicted. ‘Vivien telephoned an hour ago, Jonathan. She met some friends from Cambridge at Pompeii today.
Un caso fortuito
. She decided to go with them to Rome. So, she will be away … a few days, I think. She said to tell you sorry.’

Friends from Cambridge? A chance meeting at Pompeii? I didn’t believe it for a moment. I remembered something she’d said to me that morning. ‘We must take our passports with us today, Jonathan. You’re supposed to carry one with you at all times in Italy. According to Luisa, the police on the mainland can be quite pernickety about it.’ Police pernicketiness, I now realized, had nothing to do with it. Vivien had planned to make herself scarce. She’d obviously reckoned on persuading me to go with her. And why not? A few days in
la città eterna
seemed vastly preferable to me right now than sitting out events at the Villa Orchis. Maybe I’d have gone along with the plan when it came to it. Except that I hadn’t left Capri. I’d stayed. And she’d gone.

Francis kept up an impressively unruffled front over dinner, filling the silences created by Vivien’s absence and my tongue-tied fretfulness with amusing reflections on island life that I did my pitiful best to suggest I was entertained by. Luisa looked unconvinced. I sensed she thought Vivien and I had had some kind of tiff. As in a sense we had. Though what kind Luisa could hardly have imagined.

Francis didn’t need to imagine, of course. He knew. An invitation to join him for his ritualistic brandy and cigar when Luisa retired to bed came, therefore, as a surprise. It was an invitation I’d have preferred to decline. But in the circumstances I didn’t feel able to.

I feared a further, more considered dressing-down. It was nothing less than I deserved. But it soon became clear Francis had something else in mind for me.

‘I seem to have misjudged you, my boy,’ he smilingly remarked as he proffered the cigar-box.

His geniality threw me. ‘I … I’m sorry?’

‘This message we’ve had from Vivien. These friends of hers from Cambridge? Her impulsive decision to accompany them to Rome? Tommy-rot, I’m sure you’ll agree. You weren’t being quite straight with me earlier, were you?’

‘Everything I told you was—’

‘No, no. Let’s have no more of that.’ He peered at me along the barrel of his cigar. ‘You gallantly insisted on taking the blame, whereas Vivien favoured cutting and running. That’s how it is, isn’t it? Her determination to root out the secret she believes lies behind poor Oliver’s death made her keener than you on the deal with Strake and less wary of the pitfalls. You could be with her in Rome now, whispering sweet nothings into her ear in some trattoria on the Via Veneto. Instead, you’re here, facing the music.’

I was tempted for a moment to admit he was right and bask in the approbation he seemed to be offering. But that would have defeated the purpose I’d set myself. ‘Francis,’ I said as earnestly as I could, ‘I can assure you Vivien knew nothing about my meeting with Strake.’

‘Fine. Let’s stick to that line, by all means. Vivien knew nothing about it.’ He poured me a larger measure of brandy than usual and then did the same for himself. ‘My advice to you, my boy, is to go after her. She shouldn’t be hard to find. Greville pays her a generous allowance and, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, she doesn’t like to slum it. So it really shouldn’t be difficult to track her down in Rome. Try the Hassler. Or the Inghilterra. She’ll be in one of the top hotels, I guarantee it. Without a friend from Cambridge in sight. In need of company, in fact. Company … and consolation.
Salute
.’ He took a sip of brandy. ‘Vivien’s had more to cope with than any girl of her age should have been asked to, so I’m not going to wax censorious over this unhappy episode. We’ll regard it as water under the bridge, shall we?’

‘Well, I …’

‘I should tell you that Strake’s been in touch. He’s not one to sit on a money-making opportunity. He claims that, armed with the sample of Luisa’s handwriting you supplied, he can prove she was the authoress of a series of anonymous love letters sent to a junior member of Mussolini’s government. How he came by the letters I don’t know and whether the claim’s true I don’t even care. The newspapers would undoubtedly make a small but embarrassing fuss about it, however. So, to spare Luisa any distress, I’m willing to pay Strake the figure he’s demanding. It’ll be done through an intermediary, naturally. I don’t intend to give him the satisfaction of a face-to-face meeting. I’m confident that will be the end of the matter. In fact, I propose this conversation be the last we have on the subject.’ He took another sip from his glass. ‘Well, Jonathan? Can I say fairer than that?’ He smiled. ‘I rather think not.’

Francis’s outpouring of goodwill was irresistible. He was convinced his interpretation of events was correct and I knew there was nothing I could say to dissuade him, so, in the end, I didn’t even try. ‘Least said, soonest mended,’ were, I think, his very last words on the subject, before he launched off on assorted brandy-fuelled wartime reminiscences.

By the time I stumbled up to bed, I was convinced all would be well. Strake would be quietly bought off by Francis, while I caught up with Vivien in Rome and assured her she had nothing to fear from returning to Capri. Everything was going to be as it was before. The harsh things we’d said and the foolish things we’d done were going to be forgotten. Life would revert for the remainder of our stay to its happy norm.

Then, as I was undressing, there came a tapping at the French windows leading on to the balcony. In my tipsy state, I had some idea Vivien had secretly returned and was eager to see me. But when I opened the door, I saw Paolo standing outside, the light from the bedside lamp behind me casting shadows on the tight frown-lines of his face.

‘What are you doing out there?’ I asked, surprised by how slurred my voice sounded.

‘I must speak to you,’ he answered, in a low, urgent tone.

‘What about?’

‘I fear something very bad is going to happen. Something …
molto terribile
.’

EIGHTEEN

PAOLO STEPPED INTO
the room and padded softly across to the door from the landing, where he listened intently for a moment, then nodded in evident satisfaction. ‘
Tutto bene
,’ he murmured.

‘Paolo, what—’

‘
Sta’ zitto
.’ He put a finger to his lips and padded back to where I was standing. ‘Keep your voice down, Jonathan.
Il Colonnello
must not hear us.’ (He always referred to Francis as the Colonel, though whether respectfully or satirically it was sometimes hard to tell.) ‘I am worried about him. How did he seem to you this evening?’

‘Fine. Cheery, in fact.’

‘More cheery than usual?’

‘Yes. I suppose so.’

‘
Si
. That is it. An act. He is a good actor.’

‘Well, I—’

‘There is no one else I can ask to do this, Jonathan. I would do it myself if I could. But it has to be you.’

I stared at him, confused and thoroughly discombobulated. The groomed and preening Paolo normally treated me with a mixture of wariness and contempt, albeit veiled by the deference due to me as a guest of his employers. He had to be very worried indeed, if not desperate, to be asking for my help. ‘What … is this all about, Paolo?’

‘You were gone all day, so you would not know.’ (Paolo had of
course
been absent, driving Luisa somewhere, during my interview with Francis that morning, an interview I naturally had no intention of mentioning.) ‘
Il Colonnello
was in his study making phone calls most of the afternoon. He did not join
la signora
for lunch or tea. And later … he shouted at her. There was … an argument. They never argue. It is … a thing that does not happen.’

‘What were they arguing about?’

‘I do not know. I could not … make out the words.’

It struck me that, if he really didn’t know what the row was about, he had absolutely no business confiding in me. A marital spat, however unprecedented, wasn’t a subject he should be discussing with someone he barely knew. Besides, there was an obvious explanation for friction between Francis and Luisa: Paolo himself. ‘Why haven’t you asked Luisa what it was about?’ I ventured.

‘I cannot do that.’

I hadn’t the nerve to press the point. ‘People argue. It’s … no big deal.’

‘I think it is a very big deal. There is something wrong with
il Colonnello
. I need your help.’

‘What d’you expect me to do?’

‘He has told me he wants me to drive him to Marina Grande very early tomorrow morning. He is taking the six-thirty ferry to Napoli. He never goes to Napoli without
la signora
and the first ferry of the day … it makes no sense. We must find out where he is going and why he is going there.’

We?
Clearly he didn’t intend to allow the improbability of our alliance to stand in his way. ‘I don’t see—’

‘You must be on the ferry, Jonathan. Get to the dock early and board before we arrive. I will make sure
il Colonnello
is one of the last passengers. He must not see you. When you reach Napoli, follow him. See where he goes. Then … telephone me here.’

‘He’s probably going to see his solicitor – or his doctor.’

‘On the six-thirty ferry? No. It is for something else.’

‘Yeah. Something that’s none of our concern.’

‘It is my concern if there is danger he will get into trouble.
La signora
would
want me to stop that happening. I cannot follow him. There is no one else to do it except you.’