“Good morning again, Miss Lyndon.”
He began speaking to Zampini in Italian that was far too fluent for me to follow. I got the impression he was asking for help or advice. Zampini’s genial smile tightened noticeably, the effort behind it showing.
After his formally polite greeting, Philip hadn’t looked at me once.
At last Zampini lumbered to his feet with obvious reluctance. “My regrets, signorina, but this young man asks me to look at his automobile. He cannot make the engine work.”
The Italian threw his hands upwards, expressing helplessness. “It is of no avail that I tell him I know little about mechanical matters. He should telephone the garage from which he hired the machine...” He backed away, bowing.
Philip flickered his eyes towards me, but before I could read their expression he was taking Zampini’s arm in the matiest way, spouting some more unintelligible Italian.
They went off together and I was left alone. What was I to make of Philip’s sudden appearance? I couldn’t believe that he genuinely needed Zampini’s assistance with his car. Had that been merely a blind—an excuse to talk urgently with his confederate? Or could it have been for my benefit? To save me from Zampini’s nauseating pleasantries?
I had no means of knowing. Listlessly I got up and wandered back to the villa, quite forgetting the flowers I had come out to collect.
I drifted through the rest of the morning. Between us Luciana and I had to do Carlo’s work, but with so few guests left it didn’t amount to much. I laid the tables for lunch, and afterwards carried a bucket of ice into the salon in case anybody wanted drinks. Philip was in there, reading. He barely glanced up at me.
As I went across the hall, Zampini was coming out of the telephone room. I thought again of that mysterious phone call from New York which had sparked off his sudden raging outburst in the night. And yet, looking around the place now, a stranger might well have imagined that everything at the Villa Stella d’Oro was peacefully normal.
And so it was, perhaps. As peacefully normal as a doomed town on the countdown to an earthquake. As peacefully normal as Mount Etna, smoking wispily under the rearing Sicilian sun. And like Etna, the Stella d’Oro might storm into eruption at any moment. Violence had already touched the lives of those living here. Next time it might strike right inside the villa itself.
Was I being a fool not to clear out now?
About noon Giles came wandering in. He grabbed me cheerily, but underneath he was in a queer mood. He seemed to be treading warily, like he wasn’t too sure of himself.
It hit me that maybe he was here under orders. Zampini had used the phone this morning. Was it to instruct Giles to come to the villa and butter up this nuisance of a girl who knew too much?
I decided to challenge him straight out.
Cunningly I worked it so that Giles and I were alone on the loggia. But before I got a chance to speak, Zampini came bouncing out, full of his new hard-sweating palliness. And Philip followed close on Zampini’s heels. From then on I didn’t get a single minute alone with Giles.
I was sure it wasn’t mere chance. I was deliberately being prevented from talking to him. It was as if they were dancing around me in a tight cluster—Zampini, Adeline, Giles... and Philip. They knew that I knew all about them. But they also knew there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.
After all, what could I do? I always came back to that. What the devil could I do? I had no proof. Nothing that I could say would carry any weight against the fierce denials of these four. And if I became too troublesome... With a shudder I remembered what had happened to Carlo.
Get out of here—that was the only thing. Get out and stay out. And if more suckers came here begging on their knees to be rooked—well then, who was I to play guardian angel?
I caught Adeline just coming down from her siesta.
“Can I talk to you please, Miss Harcourt?”
She gave me a swift, cool, serious look. “Very well, darling.” She threw open the dining-room door. “There is nobody in here.”
Inside, not sitting down, I faced her. “I think I’d better go, Miss Harcourt. Back to London.”
She was silent, watching me gravely. If she had pressed me to stay, I might have weakened. I believe that if I had seen fear in her eyes again, as I had seen it before, I would have yielded.
At last Adeline nodded. “Perhaps it would be for the best. You have been unhappy here...”
“It’s not that, Miss Harcourt,” I protested.
But she didn’t want to know what it was. She accepted my decision, and rushed on to planning my departure.
“We must book a flight for you. When do you want to go?"
Somehow, now that I had definitely decided on going, it seemed undignified to hustle off at once.
“I... I don’t want to let you down,” I stammered. “Perhaps the day after tomorrow.”
“Leave it to me, Kerry darling. I will arrange it.” Suddenly Adeline switched on her most radiant smile. An irresistible smile. “You must enjoy yourself while you remain here. I want you to have some happy memories of Sicily. It is a beautiful island.”
“Yes. I could have enjoyed it so much if only...”
“I understand.” Her voice was wistful now, heavy with a sort of yearning. “I did think that perhaps with you here... But there it is—you are going.”
“What were you about to say, Miss Harcourt?”
I don’t think she heard me. Her eyes were far away. Was she looking to the past, or to the future?
She snapped back to the present with a voice that was full of harsh self-condemnation. “I have not your courage...”
I hesitated. Then, watching her face, I said simply: “But I am running away, Miss Harcourt.”
“Perhaps that is what I must do too, my dear. I have been so happy here, but...”
Was she telling me she wanted to break with Zampini? Was leaving Sicily the only way she dared break with him?
“Will you return to England, do you think?” I asked her.
She was smiling again, but sadly now. A slow smile that accepted the crueller facts of this world. “I think not. A long life has taught me never to go back. But then, I believe I could be contented anywhere as long as I have people around me.”
Where was the great actress now? This was an old woman speaking from the heart.
* * *
Adeline had recovered her usual composure by teatime. She presided, a hostess in absolute command.
“I have sad news for you all,” she announced, pouring tea delicately. “Our dear Kerry is to leave us.”
Zampini looked up sharply. He uttered just a single word.
“When?”
“The day after tomorrow. She is quite adamant.”
He nodded, eyes narrowed, thoughtful. He didn’t ask why I was going.
Nor did Philip. He looked at me and then looked at Adeline. He was clearly surprised, but also...? Relieved perhaps; glad to see the back of me? Or was he planning to go himself, now that Rosalind Blunt had departed?
The Austrian honeymooners were there, too. They nodded and smiled, only half understanding what had been said about me.
Foolishly, I felt sorry for myself. Who minded if Kerry Lyndon went or stayed? Who cared so much as a twopenny damn? Ridiculous tears pricked behind my eyelids. Opening my bag, I searched for a handkerchief as an excuse to keep my eyes down, away from them all. I blinked hard.
The scrap of pale blue paper in the mirror pocket caught my eye at once. The printing stood out, black and clear; an advertisement for the Greek Theatre at Syracuse. Adeline had talked of taking me there. But how had the leaflet found its way into my handbag?
There was writing on the reverse side, and my eyes took in the first few words. Hastily, I thrust the paper underneath the general debris and snapped my bag closed. Through my lashes I glanced round at the others. Had I been observed?
Philip was watching me. Zampini and Adeline were laughingly trying to explain
to the little Austrian couple about my going away. They were off too, tomorrow.
I had read enough of the note to make me want to get out of this room. I needed to be alone to read the rest of the message.
The words I’d seen were heavily underscored. ‘Destroy this immediately you have read it.'
I sat there gripping the clasp of my handbag, unable to keep it shut tight enough for my comfort. It was just as if that piece of paper had come to life, writhing to get out and show itself.
How to escape from one of Adeline’s formal teatime sessions? How to slip away without arousing suspicion? I couldn’t wait. I had to see the rest of the note. I had to know at once who had written it.
Philip? Could it be Philip? I glanced at him again, quickly. His eyes skipped away as soon as they met mine.
I stood up, handbag clutched hard to my chest. “Please forgive me, but suddenly I’ve got quite a bad headache...” It sounded so lame, so horribly obvious. Like a guilty couple at a hotel desk having no better name than ‘Smith' to give the reception clerk.
But they all showed concern for me. Philip jumped up. Zampini muttered sympathetically about the oppressive heat. Adeline asked if I had aspirin.
“Why don’t you go and lie down, darling?”
The very second my bedroom door had closed behind me, I snatched the note out of my bag. My eyes flew to the bottom...
Giles!
I read so fast that the words jumbled, making no sort of sense. I had to go back and take it more slowly.
The situation is very serious. If I don’t get help, my life is in danger. You and Rainsby can save me. Please meet me at noon tomorrow in the hills at Savigo, where the two roads meet. Rainsby will find it on the map. I beg you not to fail me. Do not tell anybody else.
Thrusting through my fear, racing alongside my urge to help Giles, was a tremendous joy. You and Rainsby! So Philip wasn’t one of the gang. Giles’ letter made it clear that Philip was on my side.
Impulsively, I wanted to go to him and start making plans right away. But I had to be cautious. Zampini would be full of suspicion if he saw us putting our heads together. Philip and I had always shown a marked coolness towards one another and it was vital to keep this up.
I had to preserve the letter until I’d shown it to Philip, so we could work out the meeting place on the map. And for another reason, too. Just as I’d not trusted Philip until now, it was pretty obvious he hadn’t trusted me either. To go to him with a story about getting a secret appeal from Giles would hardly invite belief. I needed that letter to convince Philip I was speaking the truth.
I didn’t dare keep it in my handbag any longer. That was too vulnerable a place. Feeling rather absurd I folded the letter up small and tucked it firmly into my bra.
It was well after dinner before I was given a chance to speak to Philip alone. As earlier when Giles was here, everybody seemed to be clinging together. I was beginning to get desperate.
At last Zampini suggested to Adeline that they play a hand of Bezique outside in the evening cool. He turned to Philip and me with an apologetic smile. “You will not object. I know you young people do not care for card playing.”
“Please carry on,” said Philip affably.
Adeline and Zampini settled themselves down at one of the little round tables on the loggia and within a few minutes appeared to be engrossed in their game. But both Philip and I were still in full view if they chanced to look up. I had to box it cleverly.
Discreetly, I fished for Giles’ letter, and held the tight folded paper concealed in my palm. Then I lolled back comfortably on the sofa and flicked through a glossy magazine, waiting for my chance.
The magazine itself gave me a lead. Across the centre-spread was a colour splash of Etna in full eruption.
In a voice designed to carry clearly to the pair outside, I said casually: “This would interest you, Mr. Rainsby. A marvellous photograph of Etna...”
Plastering over his surprise with an expression of polite enquiry, Philip came across to me. I held the magazine up, with Giles’ letter opened out and pinned under my thumb for him to see.
Philip caught on immediately. “Oh yes, may I look?” Smoothly, he took the magazine from me, his thumb replacing mine as a clamp.
He stood above me, intent. Grabbing myself another glossy from the table, I flipped over a few pages. From the corner of my eye I watched Philip screw up the letter into a ball and slip it into his side pocket.
Hitching his trousers he sat down beside me, still holding the magazine open. “I hope I’m not around the next time Etna blows her top like that.” He dropped his voice to a friendly murmur. “How did you get the letter?”
I explained, briefly.
He reflected. “Has Adeline told you any more since last night?”
“You believe me now? You believe Adeline did tell me all those things?”
“Never mind that for the moment.” He turned a page of the magazine, keeping up the act. “Do you want to go to meet Giles?”
That took me by surprise. “Of course I do,” I hissed under my breath. “He needs help.”
“You don’t know what you’d be involving yourself in.”
“I don’t care. If Giles’ life is in danger, then we’ve got to do everything we can.”
I’d said ‘we’. I’d been taking Philip’s agreement for granted. He wasn’t over fond of Giles, I knew, but surely he couldn’t refuse to help him in these circumstances?
I realised I’d only been thinking as far as this point—of getting Philip alone and showing him the letter. I hadn’t considered the problem beyond that. Now I could see the difficulties.
My face was stiff with the effort of forced smiling.
“Won’t it look suspicious if we go off together?”
“Why should it? What more natural than for me to ask you out? They’ve probably been wondering why I didn’t get around to it sooner.” He flashed a quick grin at me. “Don’t worry, I’ll fix it.”
But there was still one thing I’d kept back and without knowing that, Philip couldn’t appreciate the possible dangers of the situation. It was only fair to tell him now, before he got involved any deeper.
“Adeline said something else, Philip. Something I didn’t tell you...”
“What is it?”
“About Carlo.”
“What about him?”
“She thinks it wasn’t a vendetta killing, like the police said. She thinks Zampini had him killed.”
The skin around Philip’s eyes was still crinkled in a friendly smile, but I could see a cold glint way back in the dark pupils.
“She’s not the only one to think that, Kerry,” he said slowly. “I do, as well.”
Chapter Fourteen
Etna smoked sullenly into the brassy morning sky.
For a while we had edged our way around the volcano’s skirt before striking north into wild secret hills. I was glad to turn my back upon Etna.
The lesser mountains lay before us like stiff crumpled paper, roughly smoothed, burned to pale straw by the savage sun heat.
Philip had worked out our route in advance. He soon found the minor road, little more than a dusty track, that struck off to the right. We climbed steadily, winding through a scrub-filled valley, a brooding, baking wasteland.
Getting away from the villa had been surprisingly easy. At breakfast Philip had strolled across to our table on the loggia. He gave Adeline a winning smile.
“I wonder whether Miss Lyndon would care to come for a bit of a drive with me? That is, if you can spare her.”
“How nice!” Adeline glanced at me with an exaggerated head-on-one-side archness. But I was glad to see this reaction. If she imagined Philip was merely inviting me out because he found me attractive, then so much the better.
“You’re sure you don’t mind, Miss Harcourt?”
“I’m delighted for you to have fun, Kerry darling. And for goodness’ sake don’t hurry back—not in this heat.”
&n
bsp; The moment we were alone together in the car I’d asked Philip the question that had refused to leave my mind all night.
“What makes you suspect Zampini was responsible for Carlo’s death?”
“Just a hunch.”
But I knew he was being evasive.
“It’s more than that,” I pressed. “You’ve got a good reason for thinking so, haven’t you?”
The rear wheels scrabbled loosely on the dusty surface for a moment as we took a bend that was sharper than it looked.
“I don’t know anything for sure, Kerry.”
“But you do know more than you’ve admitted to me,” I said sharply. We were in this thing together now, and I didn’t see why he shouldn’t come clean. “When you tried to make out I was talking nonsense yesterday morning— you knew it was all true, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“So why...?”
He didn’t answer, as if he needed to give all his attention to the narrow winding road.
“I asked you a question, Philip.”
Reluctantly, he said at last: “I wanted to protect you.”
“But I knew what they were up to. How were you protecting me by refusing to believe me? By pretending I’d got it all wrong?”
His answer, if it could be called an answer at all, was very oblique. “Yorke is obviously pretty scared. Look at the care he’s taken to stop them discovering that he’s contacted us.”
“What’s it all about, Philip? Why did Carlo have to be killed? And why is Giles so scared? It isn’t as though they were involved in something really serious...”
“Don’t you think art forgery is serious?”
“Oh, of course I do! But... well, as Adeline herself pointed out, the buyers ask for it, really. It only works because they all think they are cheating her, instead of the other way round...”
I dried up. Philip was looking so grim. “You’re on dangerous ground, Kerry. If you really believe what you’re saying, then you could justify every confidence trick that’s ever been pulled.”
“I know you’re right in a way, but it isn’t exactly the end of the world. There’s a lot worse crimes perpetrated every day. I still can’t see why they’re so... desperate about it.”
Kiss of Hot Sun Page 12
