Dick Francis - The Danger

'I could hum all the other tunes that I don't know the titles of,' she said. 'But frankly I don't want to hear them ever again.' She pushed the list across: Verdi, as before, and modern gentle songs like 'Yesterday' and 'Bring in the Clowns', more British and American in origin than Italian.

'I did think of something else,' she said hesitantly. 'I dreamed it, the night before last. You know how muddled things are in dreams… I was dreaming I was walking out to race. I had silks on, pink and green checks, and I know I was supposed to be going to ride, but I couldn't find the parade ring, and I asked people, but they didn't know, they were all catching trains or something and then someone said, "At least an hour to Viralto," and I woke up. I was sweating and my heart was thumping, but it hadn't been a nightmare, not a bad one anyway. Then I thought that I'd actually heard someone say "at least an hour to Viralto" at that minute, and I was afraid there was someone in the room… It was horrible, really.' She put a hand on her forehead, as if the clamminess still stood there. 'But of course, when I woke up properly, there I was in Popsy's spare bedroom, perfectly safe. But my heart was still thumping.' She paused, then said, 'I think I must have heard one of them say that, when I was almost asleep.'

'This dream,' I asked slowly, considering, 'was it in English… or Italian?'

'Oh.' Her eyes widened. 'I was riding in England. Pink and green checks… one of Mike Noland's horses. I asked the way to the parade ring in English… they were English people, but that voice saying "at least an hour to Viralto", that was Italian.' She frowned. 'How awfully odd. I translated it into English in my mind, when I woke up.'

'Do you often go to Viralto?' I asked.

'No. I don't even know where it is.'

'I'll tell Pucinelli,' I said, and she nodded consent.

'He found the house you were kept in most of the time,' I said neutrally.

'Did he?' It troubled her. 'I… I don't want…'

'You don't want to hear about it?'

'No.'

'All right.'

She sighed with relief. 'You never make me face things. I'm very graceful. I feel… I still feel I could be pushed over a cliff… break down, I suppose… if too much is forced on me. And it's absolutely ridiculous - I didn't cry at all, not once, when I was… in that tent.'

'That's thoroughly normal, and you're doing fine,' I said. 'And you look fabulous on a horse.'

She laughed. 'God knows why it took me so long. But up on the Downs… such a gorgeous morning… I just felt…' She paused. 'I love horses, you know. Most of them, anyway. They're like friends… but they live internal lives, secrets with amazing instincts. They're telepathic… I suppose I'm boring you.'

'No,' I said truthfully, and thought that it was horses, not I, who would lead her finally back to firm ground.

She came out to the car with me when I left and kissed me goodbye, cheek to cheek, as if I'd known her for years.

'Viralto?' Pucinelli said doubtfully. 'It's a village off one of the roads into the mountains. Very small. No roads in the village, just alleyways between houses. Are you sure she said Viralto?'

'Yes,' I said. 'Is it one of those hill-top villages with houses all stuck together with red tiled roofs and blinding white walls without windows? Ail on slopes, shut in and secret?'

'Like that, yes.'

'Would it be an hour's drive from Bologna? From the house where Alessia was kept?

'I suppose so… If you knew the way. It is not on a main road.'

'And… er… would it have a bakery?'

After the faintest of pauses he said smoothly, 'My men will be up there at once, searching thoroughly. But Andrew, it would not be usual to take a kidnapped person there, In these villages everyone knows everyone. There is no room to hide a stranger.'

'Try Viralto on the kidnapper who told you about the first house,' I said.

'You can be sure I will,' he said happily. 'He has now confessed that he was one of the four in masks who abducted Alessia. He also sometimes sat in the house at night to guard her, but he says he never spoke to her, she was always asleep.'

He paused. 'I have asked him several times every day for the name of the man in the drawings. He says the man's name is Giuseppe. He says that's what he called him and he doesn't know any other name for him. This may be true. Maybe not. I keep asking. Perhaps one day he will tell me different.'

'Enrico,' I said diffidently, 'you are an expert investigator. I hesitate to make a suggestion…'

A small laugh travelled by wire from Bologna, 'You don't hesitate very often.'

'Then… before you go to Viralto, shall we get Paolo Cenci to offer a reward for the recovery of any of the ransom money? Then you could take that promise and also the drawings of "Giuseppe" with you… perhaps?'

'I will also take photographs of our kidnappers and of Alessia,' he said. 'Signor Cenci will surely agree to the reward. But… ' he paused, 'Viralto… was only a word in a dream.'

'A word which caused sweating and an accelerated heartbeat,' I said. 'It frightened her.'

'Did it? Hmm. Then don't worry, we'll sweep through the village like the sirocco.'

'Ask the children,' I said.

He laughed. 'Andrew Machiavelli Douglas… every child's mother would prevent us.'

'Pity.'

When we'd finished talking I telephoned to Paolo Cenci, who said 'willingly' to the reward, and then again to Pucinelli to confirm it.

'I am making a leaflet for photocopying,' he said. 'The reward offer and all the pictures. I'll call you if there are any results.'

'Call me anyway.'

'Yes, all right.'

He called me again on the following day, Friday, in the evening, while I happened to be on duty at the switchboard.

'I've been up in that damned village all day,' he said exhaust-edly. 'Those people… they shut their doors and their faces and their minds.'

'Nothing?' I asked with disappointment.

'There's something,' he said, 'but I don't know what. The name of Viralto was a shock to the kidnapper who talks, but he swears it means nothing to him. He swears it on his dead mother's soul, but he sweats while he swears. He is lying.' He paused. 'But in Viralto… we found nothing. We went into the bakery. We threatened the baker, who also keeps the very small grocery store. There is nowhere near his bakehouse that Alessia could have been hidden, and we searched everywhere. He gave us permission. He said he had nothing to hide. He said he would have known if Alessia had been brought to the village; he says he knows everything. He says she was never there.'

'Did you believe him?' I asked.

'I'm afraid so. We asked at every single house. We did even ask one or two children. We found nothing; we heard nothing. But…'

'But…?' I prompted.

'I have looked at a map,' he said, yawning. 'Viralto is up a side road which goes nowhere else. But if when one gets to the turn to Viralto one drives past it, straight on, that road goes on up into the mountains, and although it is not a good road it crosses the Apennines altogether and then descends towards Firenze. Above Viralto there is a place which used to be a castle but is now a hotel. People go there to walk and enjoy the mountains. Perhaps the Signorina didn't hear enough… perhaps it was at least an hour to Viralto, and longer still to wherever they planned to go? Tomorrow,' he paused, sighing, 'tomorrow I am off duty. Tomorrow I expect I will however be on duty after ah". I'll go up to the hotel and blow the sirocco through that.'

'Send some of your men,' I suggested.

After a definite pause he said levelly, 'I have given instructions that no one is to act again in this case in any way without my being there in person.'

'Ah.'