The Malaspiga Exit (16 page)

He had begun to speed up as he drove. If Nathan was taking money from Taylor, then he was also working for the Malaspiga organization.

If he got into Harper's office he would look in that file. Nathan had been friends with Firelli too. His foot flattened on the accelerator. There was a siren fixed to his car, to be used only in an emergency. He stabbed at the button and it began to scream as he cut through the traffic.

Ben Harper's secretary was a talkative girl; she lived with two friends over on the East Side in a small apartment which was too expensive but located in a relatively safe area; she was twenty-seven and unmarried, and the agents who came in to see Ben Harper were apt to be waylaid and talked at for as long as she could pin them down. She liked Jim Nathan; the tough types appealed to her. She gave him coffee from the machine and settled down to entertain him.

Nathan was playing his part because he had to; the insides of his hands were sticky and the coffee tasted like cough mixture, but he kept on smiling and let the flow run over him. She laughed and preened a little, enjoying herself in an innocent way; she wasn't aware of his tension or the brevity of his answers as time passed. Twenty minutes; Nathan used some ugly words in his mind to describe her as she powdered her face and put on lipstick, watching him flirtatiously as she did so. He made up his mind. There was only one way to do it. Otherwise she'd sit on till it was time to close the office and he'd never get into Ben Harper's private room.

‘Betty,' he leaned over the desk, ‘how about coming out for a drink?' She stared at him in delight.

‘Why, that would be lovely! You mean right now? It's not six o'clock yet—but I guess I could lock up and go. Mr. Harper won't be back till Monday morning.'

‘I'll go inside and leave a message on his tape recorder,' Nathan said. ‘While you pretty yourself up. I won't be long.'

‘Oh, Jim, you can use my machine—nobody's supposed to go in there …'

‘Too confidential,' Nathan said, as he turned Harper's door handle. ‘I can't record in front of anyone. Not even you. I'll be through in a minute.' He went inside and shut the door.

‘You know,' Sandro di Malaspiga leaned across the table towards her, ‘I missed Florence while I was at home. That's strange, because I prefer the Castle.'

They were having dinner in a restaurant high up in the hills at Fiesole, seated outside in the garden with a view over the city below them that was one of the most beautiful Katharine had seen. He had arrived at her hotel to collect her, and she had forgotten how handsome he was; thinking about him in his absence had made him appear even more sinister. He had seemed very pleased to see her; she had to fight against her fear and pretend to reciprocate.

‘Don't you like Florence? I think it's wonderful.'

‘I love it,' he said, ‘but I like Malaspiga better. I grew up there, it's my home. Perhaps I was missing you, and that's why I wanted to come back.'

The very dark eyes were watching her; there was an expression in them which was intense and frightening; for a moment the easy charm had slipped, showing a man of strong passions, of dominant will.

‘Perhaps,' Katharine said. She looked away from him. The hand lying across the table, the gold signet ring gleaming on the little finger, moved towards hers.

‘You don't like me to say things like that, do you?'

‘No,' she said. ‘It makes me uncomfortable.'

‘You talked about my wife last time—is that the reason?'

‘Yes, of course it is.' She forced herself to turn away from the glittering panorama of Florence at night and look at him. He laid his hand over hers and held it.

‘You're making a mistake, Katharine,' he said. ‘There is nothing between us any more; there hasn't been for years.'

‘Is that her fault?' She remembered John Driver's description: ‘She's miserable—I can't forgive the way he treats her.' He could be so cruel, she could see that, so cutting and indifferent. She had heard it for herself on the tape. If she had been his wife and he had taunted her with his desire for someone else …

‘It is entirely her fault,' he said quietly. ‘I don't expect you to believe that; you're a true American liberated woman, always on the side of your own sex against the male. This time you shouldn't be. I don't owe Francesca anything.'

‘We're cousins,' Katharine said. ‘Can't we just leave it like that? I don't want complications. I've very little time left before I have to go home.'

‘I know,' he said. ‘That's why I can't afford to be patient. Normally I'm more subtle.'

‘Normally?' Katharine asked. Her tone was cool; the word irritated her with its arrogant assumptions. She longed to be able to walk out of the restaurant, away from him, away from the whole pervasive atmosphere of his desire. She had hated him in the abstract because of her brother and what he was doing to the innocent; now she hated him because of what he was trying to do to her.

‘I don't live with Francesca,' he answered. ‘And I certainly don't live like a monk. Does that answer your question?'

‘I don't think I asked one.' She spoke quickly; nervousness made her angry.

Suddenly he laughed. ‘Do you realize we are nearly quarrelling? Maybe that's a hopeful sign—come, I'm sorry. I won't embarrass you and spoil our evening. I brought you here to enjoy the best view in Tuscany. Drink your coffee, Katerina, and don't be angry with me.'

It was the first time he had Italianized her name. She felt herself change colour. You bastard, she said inwardly, you know all the tricks.

‘I am enjoying myself,' she said. She smiled, with a tremendous effort, thinking of Raphael and what she had to do. ‘You must make allowance for my American prudery. We take things a little slower at home than you do here.'

‘When are you leaving?' He had taken his hand away from hers.

‘I should go at the end of next week,' she said. ‘There's something I wanted to ask you—as a favour.'

‘Please,' he said, and he made his voice very gentle. ‘I would love to do something for you.'

‘Can I come to Malaspiga before I go? I'd love to see the Castle.'

‘But of course! I have wanted to show it to you since you arrived. When do you want to come?'

‘It should be early next week. Are you sure it wouldn't be a nuisance?'

‘You have a delightful diffidence,' he said. ‘You're full of contrasts, did you know that? Very independent, very quick to take offence, and then you ask for something like a shy little girl. We will go to Malaspiga tomorrow. All of us, so you will feel chaperoned—and I shall show you everything. Including a relation that you haven't met. Uncle Alfredo.'

‘You've never mentioned him—does he live there?'

‘Yes,' Alessandro said. ‘Now he does. But when things were difficult for us after the war he was put in a home, outside Massa. It was one of those places run by nuns. There aren't many of them in Italy. We haven't adopted the Anglo-Saxon habit of sending our old people out to die with strangers.' He lit a cigarette.

‘I brought him back to Malaspiga,' he said. ‘I'll never forget the day I took him out of that place. He was crying, just like a child. And laughing, at the same time. I think you'll like him. He's very eccentric, but quite harmless. I know he will fall in love with you.'

She tried not to look at him, because while he was speaking he had taken her hand again and she couldn't draw it away.

‘Is he your father's brother?'

‘Yes. He was always a little strange; childlike. The war upset him. He hated the Germans. My mother was always terrified he would go and do something to provoke them. One of the first things Francesca suggested before we married was sending him back to the convent. I wouldn't hear of it. But he knew, and he never forgave her. You're looking anxious—you needn't worry about meeting him. He's a sweet-natured old man who loves people who are kind to him. You will be kind. I know that.'

‘He must love you,' Katharine said slowly. ‘For what you did for him.'

‘He does,' Alessandro said. ‘He told me he'd be happy to die for me, and I believe he meant it. Even in senility we're a passionate family.' He smiled and squeezed her hand. She tried hard not to imagine the old man, weeping with gratitude and joy, as his nephew brought him home.

‘He's known as the Prince of the Hats by everyone in Malaspiga. You'll know why when you meet him. But you'll love the Castle. I have so many things to show you, so much history to tell you! Your history as much as mine. And some beautiful treasures. Some of the finest pictures in Italy. My father sold everything, but I have bought most of it back. I can't imagine what their value is now. Bronzino, a Giorgione … that was hidden in the cellars, rolled up in sacking. My mother wanted to sell it, but I wouldn't. I knew I'd make money some other way and that when it was gone we'd regret it for ever.'

Make money some other way
. Katharine said casually, ‘What about the antiques you went home to sort out? I'm fascinated to see what you sell so successfully.'

‘Yes, you can see them. They are sorted and ready for packing, but that won't be done yet. They're going to the States. I have a magnificent Louis XV poudreuse which was discovered in a private house in Sienna. It was used for storing records; nobody even knew what it was. That's the prize piece. And you'll see some of John's work too. Did he look after you properly?'

‘Yes, he was very kind,' Katharine said. ‘We had a most interesting day going round the galleries. He's very dedicated, isn't he?'

‘Completely,' the Duke said. ‘But he doesn't believe in himself, that's the trouble. He is always dissatisfied with what he does. I suppose that is common to all great artists; only the mediocre think they've succeeded.'

Katharine was glad to keep the conversation on John Driver; it served as a barrier between her and Malaspiga and all the things which she knew he would say if she gave him the chance. And the consignment of furniture was not packed up. She would be taken to see it, shown everything. And then she could come back to Florence, and leave for home immediately.

‘You'll love Malaspiga,' he said. ‘The little town is very beautiful, almost untouched by the present day. It's like going back in time to live there.'

‘And you like that, don't you? John said you were born centuries too late.' He smiled; the idea pleased him. She could see that he saw himself the same way.

‘I'm not in much sympathy with our modern world,' he said. ‘I find its way of life is very artificial. It's the age of hypocrisy too. Everybody talks about morality when what they mean is politics. Man doesn't change all that much; he is cruel and greedy and afraid. The only thing which matters is beauty. It's the link between God and man, the imprint of Divinity upon the soul. Otherwise we're just beasts. You're very beautiful. But not in the modern way. You have an old face, Katerina. Bronzino could have painted you, with your hair in a gold net, and a dress embroidered with pearls. The more I look at you, the more I see what a true Malaspiga you are. And I'm not trying to pay you compliments now. When you come home with me you'll see for yourself.'

Home. ‘It's a cold and gloomy place, you wouldn't like it.' Firelli had gone to Malaspiga Castle and disappeared. ‘They murdered him. We'll never find his body.'

‘Are you cold? I thought you shivered …' He was pushing back the chair, calling for their bill.

‘A little cold; we should go anyway, it's getting late.'

He drove her back to her hotel, and stopped the car. She sensed that he was going to put his arm around her and she opened the door and slid out quickly. He joined her, and for a moment took her arm as they walked up to the entrance.

‘I wasn't going to touch you,' he said. ‘I promised I wouldn't spoil the evening for you.'

‘I didn't mean it like that,' she said. She wanted to get inside the hotel, to get away from him. He was much taller than she was and she had to look up. ‘I loved Fiesole—it was a perfect evening.'

‘Then you should look happier than you do,' he said quietly. ‘I think a change will be good for you. I'm glad I'm taking you to Malaspiga. The car will collect you tomorrow at five. Good night.'

He took her hand and kissed it, before she could stop him he had turned it over and pressed her palm against his mouth. She ran upstairs to her room, not waiting for the lift. The reception was closed and the lighting was reduced. Inside, the ugly little hotel bedroom seemed the safest, warmest place she could imagine.

When she got into bed and tried to go to sleep she began to cry.

Carpenter came out of the elevator and down the corridor at a run. There had been a maddening delay while he showed his ID pass at the entrance; then both the elevators were on a different floor and he had to wait. Outside the door of Ben Harper's offices he unbuttoned his coat. It was an instinctive gesture, before facing the enemy. That way he could reach the gun in his shoulder holster. He didn't stop to answer Harper's secretary; he had an impression of her half standing up behind her desk, saying something in protest, and then he was wrenching at the door of the inner office. The light was on and he could see a shadow behind it. He knew that Nathan was inside.

‘Jim!' he yelled, finding the door locked. ‘Jim—open up!' On the other side, Nathan slammed the file drawer shut.

Katharine Dexter. And she had been gone almost three weeks.

He moved very quickly, grabbed the recording machine and switched it on. ‘Jim—open this door!'

Nathan unlatched it and came face to face with Carpenter. He looked surprised to see him, and he gave his usual friendly grin. ‘Hi, Frank—what's the panic?'