Iain Pears - The Last Judgement

She nodded, and he trotted next door to oblige while she searched the little fridge in the corner for something restoring.

‘I’ve been on mineral water all evening,’ she complained. ‘I thought I’d better keep my wits about me.’

When the bath was run, she dropped in with a loud sigh of relief, while Argyll perched on the toilet and pressed for an account of the evening’s entertainment.

To begin with, she began, it went like a dream, if an extended one. She’d gone to Besson’s street, checked he was at home, and waited. He’d emerged at nine and gone, alone, to a restaurant near by. She hadn’t anticipated such a golden opportunity arising quite so soon, but who was she to throw it away? So she’d gone in, made sure Besson was eating on his own, and bribed the waiter to give her an adjoining table.

She’d given him a long sultry look from over the top of her aperitif and, within ten minutes, bingo. She was sitting at his table and the evening was off to a roaring start.

‘Not only did he pay for the meal,’ she said parenthetically, ‘but he was quite delightful company. I’ve never had so many compliments thrust upon me in such a short space of time in my life.’

Argyll grunted non-committally.

‘You should try it some time,’ she said. ‘It works wonders.’

Another grunt. ‘I have been,’ he pointed out. ‘The only response I get is warning about spilling my soup.’

‘And,’ she went on, ‘if I may say so, I gave pretty good value for money as well. I laughed. I simpered. He told his little stories about the art world, and I smiled, looked grave and appalled in all the right places, and occasionally rested my hand appreciatively on his arm at particularly well-delivered anecdotes. I told him how wonderful it must be to have beautiful objects in his arms all the time, and gave him a lustful look. Such fun.’

Argyll was beginning to feel uncomfortable, so he crossed his arms and listened.

‘I really laid it on with a trowel. I was fascinated by his stories and, in short, behaved like a complete moron. And he fell for it. Hook, line and sinker. Really. It’s amazing how gullible men can be. At least you would never be that easily taken in.’

‘I should hope not, indeed,’ Argyll said, crossing his legs for the sake of symmetry.

‘The important point was that he did have this painting on his hands — he didn’t say where he’d got it.’

‘That’s not so great. We knew that.’

‘Patience. The only touchy moment was after the meal, when he suggested going back to his apartment. I had this horrible vision of running around the sofa protesting my virtue. And, as you point out, I still hadn’t found out much. Fortunately, I remembered about the club. So I suggested we go dancing instead. I was sure someone like him knew all the best places. Can’t say I was in the mood, but duty calls and all that.’

‘And so you did?’

‘And so I did.’

‘So that’s why you’re so tired.’

‘Certainly not. I’m in my prime. Men may start going downhill in their thirties, but women are at their peak. I could dance all night if need be. Not that I get the opportunity with you. Besson, however, is a wonderful dancer, if a little touchy-feely.’

Argyll restrained himself. He had a feeling Flavia was enjoying this. ‘So why the dishevelled, exhausted look?’

‘I’m coming to that,’ she said. ‘I decided things were going a bit too slowly, so I did the hard-to-get act. He redoubled his efforts to impress me. And when I asked him how lucrative art dealing was, in a gold-digging fashion, he said enough, if you play it right, but of course it had other uses.

‘So of course I asked what that meant. He looked all secretive and said it was a useful front.’

‘A front?’

‘Yes. Absurd, isn’t it? Anyway, so I said, don’t tell me I’m dancing with a drug-dealer, and he looked upset and said, no, of course not, he was on the right side of the law.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘That’s right. I squeaked with excitement — you would have been appalled if you’d been there—’

‘I’m appalled enough already.’

‘— and said, ‘So you’re a spy . I knew there was something special about you.’ All round-eyed with amazement. So he said not exactly. But he did help the Authorities — just like that, with a distinct capital A — occasionally. They knew he could be trusted.

‘“Ooh, tell me, tell me,” I said. Then, damn him, he came over all coy. He wasn’t at liberty to disclose...’

‘God almighty,’ Argyll said.

‘Yeah, I know. In his defence I must say he was getting a little drunk by this stage, and my flattery had addled his brain. But I managed to get some hints. He’d recently played an important part in an operation. Matters of State, he said. He couldn’t tell me the details even if he’d wanted to. He was just a small part and didn’t know everything.

‘Anyway, that’s when I made my discovery. And my mistake. He was talking about his relations with the Authorities, so I took a gamble. ‘What about your being arrested by the art police?’ I said. ‘How did you know about that?’ he said. I smiled, and said I thought he’d said it. He gave me a very suspicious look and said he had to go to the toilet. I saw him on the phone, and I wasn’t going to get caught like that. So I grabbed my coat and made a dash for it.

‘Unfortunately — and this is where we get to the dishevelled part — his friends were rather quick. They caught up with me as I was getting close to the Métro. Jumped out of the car and grabbed me.’

‘But here you are.’

‘Of course. I haven’t lived in Rome for years without learning how to deal with little things like that. I screamed bloody murder. Help, Rape, Save me. There were half a dozen winos drinking themselves into a stupor round the corner, and they picked up their bottles and ran to my rescue.’

Argyll had given up making comments by this stage. He just looked at her in amazement.

‘It was like the cavalry: Sir Lancelot of the Wine Lake. They charged into action, swinging their bottles round their heads and beat the very hell out of them. It only took a couple of minutes, and there they were, lying on the pavement, out cold. Everybody was very jolly about it, for a while.

‘And,’ she went on, ‘one of them had a little scar above his left eyebrow.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. Absolutely. Of course, his face was a bit mussed up by then. But that scar, you know. Seemed a bit much of a coincidence.’

‘So who is he?’

‘I didn’t have time to find out. A police car came round the corner; my gallant defenders picked up their bottles, shook my hand, and melted into the background. I decided I ought to do likewise.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it stinks to high heaven. Janet was lying; at least I found that out. So, I thought, if I’ve just beaten up a copper, I’m in real trouble here.’

‘Stop,’ said Argyll, thinking that this had gone on for too long. ‘This is getting absurd. Three days ago I was a humble art dealer, doing my best to earn a modest living. Now, thanks to you, I’m associated with people who push bottles into policemen’s faces.’

‘What do you mean, thanks to me?’

‘I didn’t hit him, did I?’

Flavia looked at him appalled. ‘How ungrateful can you get?’ she asked. ‘I’m not doing this for my benefit, you know.’

‘Whose, then?’

‘You were the one who started all this with that picture.’

‘I didn’t do any of the rest, though. Besides, it’s all over.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve been thinking. This is getting too complicated and dangerous. If Janet is going out of his way to obstruct us, we’re wasting our time. Go home, hand it all over to Bottando and let him deal with it. This needs a higher authority.’