1952 - The Wary Transgressor

by James Hadley Chase

"Wake up, David," Laura said, bending over me. "I have heated some coffee. In a few moments I must go."

  "Why, you're dressed! What's the time?"

  "Just after six. You were sleeping so peacefully I hadn't the heart to wake you. It's going to be a lovely day." She brought a cup of coffee over to me. "It is already a lovely day, isn't it, David?"

  "I hope so," I said, suddenly remembering what I had promised her before I went to sleep. "I hope we're not going to regret this, Laura."

  "There is nothing else we can do." She sat on the bed, looking as neat and as lovely as she always did. "I must go in a moment, but before I go, we must get this straightened out. You will come to the villa on Sunday evening. I shall be in Stresa that evening. I will meet you there and take you across the Lago. There is a train from Milan at six. This morning you must go to Nervini in Via Boccaccio. I have an account with them. Tell them you are going to work for signor Fancino, and you want to be properly kitted out. They will know what you will need."

  "Kitted out?" I said sharply, nearly upsetting my coffee. "What do you mean?"

  "Now please, darling, don't be difficult." She put her hand soothingly on my arm. "Naturally you can't come to the villa in the clothes you wear. You must have the proper things."

  "What things?" I asked, putting my coffee cup on the floor.

  "Why, a white coat, a uniform when you drive the car, overalls . . . you know the kind of thing."

  I felt my throat thicken and blood rush into my face.

  "A uniform? Oh, I see."

  "Now, darling ..."

  "It's all right. I didn't cotton on to the idea. I was being dumb. So I'm to be some kind of lackey, is that it?"

  She spread out her hands helplessly.

  "All right, darling, then let's forget about it. If you can't do this for me when I'm risking so much, then we won't go on with it."

  "It's all right," I said, trying to smile. "It's just that I didn't understand. But it's all right now. Why, damn it, it's a step up being a rich man's lackey after being an unofficial guide at the Duomo. It's promotion."

  She looked steadily at me.

  "It's up to you, David. If you're going to be bitter about it, then don't do it. I just can't plan anymore."

  "Don't get worked up," I said. "Now I understand the setup, I'll do it. Apart from wearing a white coat and a uniform, what are my other duties?"

  "You attend to Bruno in the morning and evening. You look after the car, and you will drive me to Milan or Laveno when I go shopping. You look after the boat. If anyone comes—and very few do—you wait at table and serve drinks. Most of the day is your own. You have two good rooms over the boathouse down by the Lago. You will be very quiet there, and no one will bother you. Whenever I can get away I will come to you. It will be easy and safe at night. Those are your duties, David, and if you don't want to do them, please say so, and we can forget about it."

  I looked at her for a long moment of time. I had never known a woman quite like her. Just by sitting still with her hands folded in her lap, looking at me with her big violet eyes that were as alive and as hot as burning coal, she could set me on fire.

  "For you I guess I'd do anything," I said.

  chapter three

  I walked from the station down the steep cobbled street that led to the waterfront. Although it was after seven o'clock, the sun was still very hot, and the street was crowded with open carriages, taking newly arrived visitors to the hotels.

  I found Laura waiting for me. She was sitting on the harbour wall, her dark glasses hiding her eyes, her face as anonymous as a sheet of blank paper.

  Two peasant women, hatless and in black, standing near Laura, looked curiously at me as I crossed the street to where she was sifting. Every now and then they shot inquisitive glances at her.

  When she saw me, she slid of the wall and moved down the steps to the water's edge. She didn't smile nor wave her hand nor even look pleased to see me.

  I followed her down the steps to where a twenty-foot motorboat, a mass of glittering brass and polished mahogany, was moored.

  She got into the boat and sat on the cushioned seat near the steering wheel.

  The two women in black were still watching us. They had moved nearer now and leaned over the rail that guarded the harbour to stare down at us.

  I put my two new suitcases into the boat and stepped down beside Laura.

  "Can you handle the boat?" she asked impersonally.

  "Yes," I said, and cast of the mooring rope. With the boathook I poled the boat out of the small, crowded harbour until we were in the open water.

  "It starts exactly like a car," Laura said, then under her breath she whispered, "It's lovely to see you, darling. Those old bitches were trying to hear what we were saying."

  I pressed the starter button and the engine sprang into life.

  Then I engaged gear, spun the wheel and let in the hand clutch.

  "Everyone spies on everyone else here," she went on, leaning back against the cushions. "You'll realize why I said it would be too dangerous for you to work anywhere but at the villa when you've been here as long as I have."

  I was feeling uneasy and irritable. I was angry she hadn't given me a better welcome, and now she had justified herself I was angry with myself for being angry.

  "Where do we go?" I asked curtly.

  "Right across the Lago. You can see the villa from here: the white one halfway up the hill."

  I had only once visited the Lago Maggiore since I settled in Italy, but I had been fascinated and captivated by its beauty and magic charm. Now, as I looked around, I felt the old fascination taking hold of me again, and my sour mood went away.

  To my left I could see the Isola Bella and its classic gardens built by a 17th century Borromeo. Sheltering behind it was the Pescatori, another Borromean island. Still further to the left were the white villas of Pallanza about which Hemingway wrote in his Farewell to Arms.

  Ahead of me across the Lago was a row of tree-covered hills; at the foot of them was Arolo, a tiny village of red roofed houses and one small Albergo.

  The villa Laura had pointed out to me was isolated, halfway up a hill that ran straight down to the water's edge. It was a fine looking house with a terrace garden ablaze with flowers, dark green shutters, closed against the sun, and a long verandah shaded by sunblinds.

  "What's wrong, David?" Laura asked suddenly.

  I turned to smile at her.

  "Someone was walking over my grave," I said. "Sorry, and forget it. I'm all right now. This is a pretty fine boat."

  "It's all right. Everything that belongs to Bruno is pretty fine, the best money can buy. That's something we're not short of: money."

  "Now someone's walking over your grave. Should I stop the boat and kiss you?"

  She laughed.

  "You mustn't do that. Someone's bound to be watching us through glasses from one of those villas. That's all they have to do here. Did you get all you want from Nervini?"

  "Far more than I need, but they insisted on selling me the stuff."

  "You'll need it, David. Can you believe this is happening to us? I couldn't sleep last night for thinking of you."

  "I couldn't sleep either," I said, but I didn't tell her it was because I kept thinking of her husband. "Tell me about the villa: who's living there besides you and—and him?"

  "There's Maria, the cook. Be careful of her, David. She has been with Bruno for years: long before I met him. She doesn't approve of me, and she's always watching me. So be careful what you say to her. Don't let her have any suspicions, will you?"

  "Does she sleep at the villa?"

  "Oh, no; if she did, it wouldn't be possible for you to come here. No, she has a cottage in the village. She comes at seven in the morning and leaves just after nine."

  "Who else is there?"

  "Nurse Fleming. She imagines Bruno is going to leave her something in his will, and she acts as if he's her own personal property. She's also inquisitive, and
she would make trouble between Bruno and myself if she has the chance. You'll have to be careful of her too. She has a room next door to Bruno's, and the door's never quite closed. It's her day of today. She doesn't return until Tuesday morning, so I have to do day and night duty on Mondays. Maria is sitting with him until I get back."

  I didn't much like the sound of any of this, but I didn't say so.

  "Is that the lot?"

  "There's Guilip, the gardener. He's old and deaf, and you needn't bother about him. He never comes to the house anyway. Oh, and there's Dr. Perelli. He comes to see Bruno twice a week. He is also Bruno's executor; they are old friends, and he doesn't approve of me. His is one of those narrow minded, dreadful people who believe all beautiful women are born immoral. It'll be safer if you can keep out of his way, David. If he saw you he might jump to conclusions."

  I fumbled for a cigarette, lit it and tossed the match into the water.

  "Sounds as if I'm walking into a snakepit."

  "I've had to live in it for five years. It'll be all right if we are careful; and we must be careful, darling. There's one thing I must tell you. Please understand about this, David. I shall have to treat you like a servant during the day. You can never tell when one or all of them are watching us. Will you try not to mind? When you are alone in your rooms and I can get to you, then it will be very different, but please don't be hurt if I can't always act to you as I want to. You won't, will you?"

  I hadn't expected that, and it came as a shock.

  "That's all right," I said, not at all sure that it was all right. "If we have to be that careful, you play it the safe way."

  "Will it be worth it to you?" she asked anxiously.

  "Of course it will," I said, but again I wasn't so sure that it would.

  "I'll make it up to you," she said, looking at me with her hot, intent eyes. "I'll make it worthwhile, darling."

  She had only to say that and look like that to make it all right.

  I had her in me like a sickness, and there was nothing I could do about it. I knew I was crazy to go through with this. I could get outside myself and see how I was being ravaged by this girl. I could see myself twisting and squirming like an insect pierced by a pin, but I was too far gone to help myself.

  "The harbour's behind those willow trees," she said suddenly. "Look, you can see the boathouse now. Those are your rooms above it."

  Set in the rock was a small two-storey building with a big bay window overlooking the Lago, and below it a wide, swingup door to the entrance of the boathouse. On each side of the building were weeping willow trees that shaded a swimming pool cut out of the rock. A long flight of steep stone steps led from the harbour, up the face of the hill to the garden of the villa.

  "That is the way I shall come to you," she said, pointing to the steps.

  "They could be dangerous in the dark."

  She laughed.

  "Not to me David. I know every inch of them. When I can't bear the atmosphere of the house a second longer, I always come down to the boathouse. I furnished it myself. I'm sure you'll love it."

  I cut the engine and let the boat drift under the willows and into the harbour.

  "I'll leave you to find your way to your rooms, David," she said, jumping onto the harbour wall. "I daren't stay here to show you. When you have changed, will you come up to the villa? You just follow the steps, up the path to the verandah. Maria will give you supper. Then, if you'll come to me, I'll take you to Bruno."

  "I'll do that," I said, getting out of the boat.

  She gave me a key.

  "That's the key to your apartment. And, David, this is very important. Never leave the place unlocked. No one but me and an old woman from the village ever goes there. No one has ever seen inside, and they mustn't or they'll wonder why I have let you have it. Do you think you can look after it yourself?"

  "I looked after my other room," I said, smiling. "Of course I can."

  "The old woman comes once a week to clean it thoroughly. I can trust her not to talk. I'll let you know when she will be coming, and you must keep out of the way."

  "Why all the mystery?"

  She laughed.

  "Wait until you see it."

  She put her hand on my arm, raising her face. I pulled her to me. Her mouth was hot and dry against mine as if she had a fever. Her fingers dug into my shoulders as she leaned heavily against me.

  We stood like that, hidden by the willows, with the quiet water lapping against the harbour wall, for several seconds, then she broke free and went quickly up the harbour steps and out of sight.

  When I had finished putting the boat away and locking up the boathouse, I carried my two suitcases up the narrow stairs that led to the living quarters above the boathouse.

  I unlocked the door, pushed it wide open, and then came to an abrupt standstill.

  I stood looking blankly into a large room with a big bay window overlooking the Lago, and which was so lavishly furnished I immediately thought I had got into the wrong apartment.

  A quick check assured me there was nowhere else for me to go, and I slowly closed the door and set down my bags.

  The room, which was close on thirty feet by twenty, had a mosaic floor on which were three good-sized Bukhara rugs. The walls were covered with a gay white and red patterned silk tapestry. In the big window recess there was an eight-foot square divan bed covered with a white silk coverlet with a red binding.

  Four big lounging chairs and a big settee scarcely dented the space in the room, and a radiogram and cabinet of records were lost against one of the walls.

  There was a fitted cocktail bar, fully equipped, built into one of the corners of the room, and when I examined it I found it revolved at the touch of a finger to bring a bookcase full of books into view and the bar out of sight.

  Opposite to where I stood was another door, and I crossed the room and opened it. It proved to be a small dressing room fitted with two full-length mirrors and two fitted wardrobes that lit up when you opened the doors. Beyond this room, through another door, was the bathroom with a sunken bath and shower, and walled entirely by mirrors set in a frame of black marble.

  I went back to the big room, walked over to the bar and poured myself a big shot of whisky. I felt I needed it. I could understand now why I was to keep the door locked.

  Maria was a fat, elderly woman with a pleasant face and kindly eyes. She was putting on a shawl, preparing to go home, when I walked into the kitchen.

  "Good evening," I said. "I'm David Chisholm. Signora Fancino told me you had supper for me."

  I was immediately aware of her searching, worried scrutiny.

  For about three or four seconds, she studied me, and I could feel suspicion and fear growing in her as her eyes took in every detail of my face.

  "You have come to look after signor Bruno?" she asked.

  "I wouldn't say that. I am only going to lift him."

  "The signora didn't say you were an American."

  "Should she have done?" I said, and moved over to the table that was set for a meal. "Do I sit here?"

  "Your supper is in the oven," she said, and finished adjusting her shawl. "Has the signora arranged where you are to sleep?"

  It was a casual question, but I knew at once it was important to her to know where I was going to sleep.

  "I'm to live in the rooms over the boathouse," I said, not looking at her.

  "The boathouse? Then the other man has gone?"

  I got a dish of veal and spaghetti out of the oven. As I carried it to the table, I said, "That is why I am here."

  She nodded to herself, picked up a bundle wrapped in a shawl, and moved heavily to the door.

  "You will be very careful how you lift signor Bruno?" she said, staring hard at me. "The other man was no good." She made an angry grimace. "Always he was thinking of other things."

  I found her direct, searching look embarrassing.

  "I'll be careful," I said.

  She nodded and open
ed the door. I could see she was reluctant to leave me there, and to get rid of her I said, "Well, good night."

  "You didn't bring your wife with you?" she asked, her hand on the doorknob.

  "I'm not married."

  "It is better for a man like you to be married," she said.

  "I must see if I can do something about it," I said, and smiled at her. "Good night."

  She didn't return my smile.

  "The other man wasn't married either."

  "What other man?"

  "Bellini. He came three months ago. A great, ugly brute of a man. All day long he sat about smoking cigars. He was very rough when he lifted signor Bruno. Dr. Perelli said he had to go."

  "I mustn't keep you. You'll be wanting to get home," I said. "Good night."

  She stood hesitating, then she went out of the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

  I sat still, listening to her heavy plodding footfalls as she went down the path to the road. When they finally died away I drew in a long, slow breath. I found I was sweating slightly, and my nerves were as tight as violin strings.

  I had an instinctive feeling the old woman was more than suspicious: she knew why I was here.

  I found Laura on the verandah, waiting for me. She was leaning against one of the marble pillars that supported the ornate roof of the verandah, looking out over the Lago. She turned her head when she heard my step.

  "Has she gone?"

  "Yes," I said.

  She swung around to face me, smiling up at me.

  "Then we're alone—except for Bruno. I shall have to sit with him now, David, but tomorrow night I'll come to the boathouse. What do you think of it?"

  "It's wonderful, but don't you think it's dangerous to let me use it? If anyone saw me there, wouldn't they guess what I meant to you?"

  "So long as no one gets inside, it doesn't matter," she said.

  "I'm glad you like it, David. I furnished it myself. We'll be happy for a few hours there, won't we?"

  "A little better than a cave."

  She laughed.

  "I meant what I said about the cave. Only I prefer the boathouse. What did you think of Maria?"

  "I think she knows about us already."

  She looked sharply at me.