Desmond Bagley - The Golden Keel / The Vivero Letter

There seemed to be a concession there, so I said, ‘And if I don’t tell you to jump over the side, then we will get the stuff out of the country, is that it?’

‘Some of it,’ she compromised. ‘But without my cooperation you will spend a long time in an Italian prison.’

That was certainly something to think about and when I had time. I said, ‘All right; who are you, and what do you know?’

‘I knew that the news was out on the waterfront to watch for the yacht Sanford. I knew that the yacht was owned by Mr Halloran and that Mr Coertze and Mr Walker were his companions. That was enough for me.’

‘And what has the Contessa di Estrenoli got to do with waterfront rumours? What has an Italian aristocrat got to do with the jailbirds that news was intended for?’

She smiled and said, ‘I have strange friends, Mr Halloran. I learn all that is interesting on the waterfront. I realize now that perhaps your Mr Metcalfe was responsible for the circulation of those instructions.’

‘So you learned that a yacht and three men were coming to Rapallo, and you said to yourself, “Ah, these three men are coming to take something out of Italy illegally,”’ I said with heavy irony. ‘You’ll have to do better than that, Contessa.’

‘But you see, I know Mr Coertze and Mr Walker,’ she said. ‘The heavy and clumsy Mr Coertze has been to Italy quite often. I have always known about him and I always had him watched.’ She smiled. ‘He was like a dog at a rabbit hole who yelps because it is too small and he cannot get in. He always left Italy empty-handed.’

That did it. Coertze must have shown his hand on one of his periodic trips to Italy. But how the devil did she know Walker? He hadn’t been to Italy recently – or had he?

She continued. ‘So when I heard that Mr Coertze was returning with Mr Walker and the unknown Mr Halloran, then I knew that something big was going to happen. That you were ready to take away whatever was buried, Mr Halloran.’

‘So you don’t know exactly what we’re after?’

‘I know that it is very valuable,’ she said simply.

‘I might be an archaeologist,’ I said.

She laughed. ‘No, you are not an archaeologist, Mr Halloran; you are a boat-builder.’ She saw the surprise in my eyes, and added, ‘I know a lot about you.’

I said, ‘Let’s quit fencing; how do you know about whatever it is?’

She said slowly, ‘A man called Alberto Corso had been writing a letter to my father. He was killed before the letter was finished, so there was not all the information that could be desired. But there was enough for me to know that Mr Coertze must be watched.’

I snapped my fingers. ‘You’re the Count’s little daughter. You’re … er … Francesca.’

She inclined her head. ‘I am the daughter of a count.’

‘Not so little now,’ I said. ‘So the Count is after the loot.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, no. My father knows nothing about it. Nothing at all.’

I thought that could do with a bit of explanation and was just going to query the statement when someone jumped on deck. ‘Who is that?’ asked the Contessa.

‘Probably the others coming back,’ I said, and waited. Perhaps there were to be some more surprises before the evening was out.

Walker came down the companionway and stopped when he saw her. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I hope I’m not butting in.’

I said, ‘This is the Contessa di Estrenoli – Mr Walker.’ I watched him to see if he recognized her, but he didn’t. He looked at her as one looks at a beautiful woman and said, in Italian, ‘A pleasure, signora.’

She smiled at him and said, ‘Don’t you know me, Mr Walker? I bandaged your leg when you were brought into the hill camp during the war.’

He looked at her closely and said incredulously, ‘Francesca!’

‘That’s right; I’m Francesca.’

‘You’ve changed,’ he said. ‘You’ve grown up. I mean … er …’ he was confused.

She looked at him. ‘Yes, we’ve all changed,’ she said. I thought I detected a note of regret. They chatted for a few minutes and then she picked up her shoes. ‘I must go,’ she said.

Walker said, ‘But you’ve only just got here.’

‘No, I have an appointment in twenty minutes.’ She rose and went to the companionway and I escorted her on deck.

She said, ‘I can understand Coertze, and now I can understand Walker; but I cannot understand you, Mr Halloran. Why are you doing this? You are a successful man, you have made a name in an honourable profession. Why should you do this?’

I sighed and said, ‘I had a reason in the beginning; maybe I still have it – I don’t know. But having come this far I must go on.’

She nodded, then said, ‘There is a café on the waterfront called the Three Fishes. Meet me there at nine tomorrow morning. Come alone; don’t bring Coertze or Walker. I never liked Coertze, and now I don’t think I like Walker any more. I would prefer not to talk to them.’

‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll be there.’

She jumped lightly on to the jetty and swayed a little as she put her shoes on. I watched her go away, hearing the sharp click of her heels long after the darkness had swallowed her. Then I went below.

Walker said, ‘Where did she come from? How did she know we were here?’

‘The gaff has been blown with a loud trumpeting noise,’ I said. ‘She knows all – or practically all – and she’s putting the screws on.’

Walker’s jaw dropped. ‘She knows about the gold?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But I’m not going to talk about it till Coertze comes. No point in going over it twice.’

Walker protested, but swallowed his impatience when I made it clear that I wasn’t going to talk, and sat wriggling on the settee. After half an hour we heard Coertze come on board.

He was affable – full of someone else’s cooking for a change, and he’d had a few drinks. ‘Man,’ he said, ‘these Italians can cook.’

‘Francesca was here,’ I said.

He looked at me, startled. ‘The Count’s daughter?’

‘Yes.’

Walker said, ‘I want to know how she found us.’

‘What did the stuck-up bitch want?’ asked Coertze.

I raised my eyebrows at that. Apparently the dislike between these two was mutual. ‘She wants a cut of the treasure,’ I said bluntly.

Coertze swore. ‘How the hell did she get to know about it?’

‘Alberto wrote a letter before he was killed.’

Coertze and Walker exchanged looks, and after a pregnant silence, Coertze said, ‘So Alberto was going to give us away, after all.’

I said, ‘He did give you away.’

‘Then why is the gold still there?’ demanded Coertze.

‘The letter was incomplete,’ I said. ‘It didn’t say exactly where the gold is.’

Coertze sighed windily. ‘Well, there’s not too much damage done.’

I fretted at his stupidity. ‘How do you suppose we’re going to get it out with half of Italy watching us?’ I asked. ‘She’s been on to you all the time – she’s watched you every time you’ve been in Italy and she’s been laughing at you. And she knows there’s something big under way now.’

‘That bitch would laugh at me,’ said Coertze viciously. ‘She always treated me like dirt. I suppose the Count has been laughing like hell, too.’

I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. ‘She says the Count knows nothing about it. Tell me about him.’

‘The Count? Oh, he’s an old no-good now. He didn’t get his estates back after the war – I don’t know why – and he’s as poor as a church mouse. He lives in a poky flat in Milan with hardly enough room to swing a cat.’

‘Who supports him?’

Coertze shrugged. ‘I dunno. Maybe she does – she can afford it. She married a Roman count; I heard he was stinking rich, so I suppose she passes on some of the housekeeping money to the old boy.’