Desmond Bagley - The Golden Keel / The Vivero Letter

‘Why don’t you like her?’

‘Oh, she’s one of these stuck-up society bitches – I never did like that kind. We get plenty in Houghton, but they’re worse here. She wouldn’t give me the time of day. Not like her old man. I get on well with him.’

I thought perhaps that on one of his visits to Italy Coertze had made a pass at her and been well and truly slapped down. A pass from Coertze would be clumsy and graceless, like being propositioned by a gorilla.

I said, ‘Was she around often during the times you were in Italy?’

He thought about that, and said, ‘Sometimes. She turned up at least once on every trip.’

‘That’s all she’d need. To locate you, I mean. She seems to have a circle of pretty useful friends and apparently they’re not the crowd you’d think a girl like that would mix with. She picked up Metcalfe’s signals to the Mediterranean ports and interpreted them correctly, so it looks as though she has brains as well as beauty.’

Coertze snorted. ‘Beauty! She’s a skinny bitch.’

She had got under his skin. I said, ‘That may be, but she’s got us cold. We can’t do a damn’ thing while she’s on our necks. To say nothing of Metcalfe, who’ll be on to us next. Funny that he hasn’t shown his hand in Rapallo yet.’

‘I tell you he’s scared off,’ growled Coertze.

I let that pass. ‘Anyway, we can’t do any heavy thinking about it until we find out exactly what she wants. I’m seeing her tomorrow morning, so perhaps I’ll be able to tell you more after that.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Coertze instantly.

‘She wants to see me, not you,’ I said. ‘That was something she specified.’

‘The bloody little bitch,’ exploded Coertze.

‘And for God’s sake, think up another word; I’m tired of that one,’ I said irritably.

He glowered at me. ‘You falling for her?’

I said wearily, ‘I don’t know the woman – I’ve seen her for just fifteen minutes. I’ll be better able to tell you about that tomorrow, too.’

‘Did she say anything about me?’ asked Walker.

‘No,’ I lied. There wasn’t any point in having both of them irritated at her – it was likely that we’d all have to work closely together, and the less friction the better. ‘But I’d better see her alone.’

Coertze growled under his breath, and I said, ‘Don’t worry; neither she nor I know where the gold is. We still need you – she and I and Metcalfe. We mustn’t forget Metcalfe.’

Early next morning I went to find the Three Fishes. It was just an ordinary dockside café, the kind of dump you find on any waterfront. Having marked it, I went for a stroll round the yacht basin, looking at the sleek sailing yachts and motor craft of the European rich. A lot were big boats needing a paid crew to handle them while the owner and his guests took it easy, but some were more to my taste – small, handy sailing cruisers run by their owners who weren’t afraid of a bit of work.

After a pleasant hour I began to feel hungry so I went back to the Three Fishes for a late breakfast and got there on the dot of nine. She wasn’t there, so I ordered breakfast and it turned out better than I expected. I had just started to eat when she slid into the seat opposite.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said.

‘That’s O.K.’

She was wearing slacks and sweater, the kind of clothes you see in the women’s magazines but seldom in real life. The sweater suited her.

She looked at my plate and said, ‘I had an early breakfast, but I think I’ll have another. Do you mind if I join you?’

‘It’s your party.’

‘The food is good here,’ she said, and called a waiter, ordering in rapid Italian. I continued to eat and said nothing. It was up to her to make the first move. As I had said – it was her party.

She didn’t say anything, either; but just watched me eat. When her own breakfast arrived she attacked it as though she hadn’t eaten for a week. She was a healthy girl with a healthy appetite. I finished my breakfast and produced a packet of cigarettes. ‘Do you mind?’ I asked.

I caught her with her mouth full and she shook her head, so I lit a cigarette. At last she pushed her plate aside with a sigh and took the cigarette I offered. ‘Do you know our Espresso ?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I know it.’

She laughed. ‘Oh, yes, I forgot that it must have penetrated even your Darkest Africa. It is supposed to be for after dinner, but I drink it all the time. Would you like some?’

I said that I would, so she called out to the waiter, ‘ Due Espressi ,’ and turned back to me. ‘Well, Mr Halloran, have you thought about our conversation last night?’

I said I had thought about it.

‘And so?’

‘And so,’ I repeated. ‘Or more precisely – so what? I’ll need to know a lot more about you before I start confiding in you, Contessa.’

She seemed put out. ‘Don’t call me Contessa,’ she said pettishly. ‘What do you want to know?’

I flicked ash into the ashtray. ‘For one thing, how did you intercept Metcalfe’s message? It doesn’t seem a likely thing for a Contessa to come across – just like that.’

‘I told you I have friends,’ she said coldly.

‘Who are these friends?’

She sighed. ‘You know that my father and I were rebels against the Fascist Government during the war?’

‘You were with the partisans, I know.’

She gestured with her hand. ‘All right, with the partisans, if you wish. Although do not let my friends hear you say that – the Communists have made it a dirty word. My friends were also partisans and I have never lost contact with them. You see, I was only a little girl at the time and they made me a sort of mascot of the brigade. After the war most of them went back to their work, but some of them had never known any sort of life other than killing Germans. It is a hard thing to forget, you understand?’

I said, ‘You mean they’d had a taste of adventure, and liked it.’

‘That is right. There was plenty of adventure even after the war. Some of them stopped killing Germans and started to kill Communists – Italian Communists. It was dreadful. But the Communists were too strong, anyway. A few turned to other adventures – some are criminals – nothing serious, you understand; some smuggling, some things worse, but nothing very terrible in most cases. Being criminals, they also know other criminals.’

I began to see how it had been worked; it was all very logical, really.

‘There is a big man in Genoa, Torloni; he is a leader of criminals, a very big man in that sort of thing. He sent word to Savona, to Livorno, to Rapallo, to places as far south as Napoli, that he was interested in you and would pay for any information. He gave all your names and the name of your boat.’

That was the sort of pull Metcalfe would have. Probably this Torloni owed him a favour and was paying it off.

Francesca said, ‘My friends heard the name – Coertze. It is very uncommon in Italy, and they knew I was interested in a man of that name, so I was told of this. When I also heard the name of Walker I was sure that something was happening.’ She shrugged. ‘And then there was this Halloran – you. I did not know about you, so I am finding out.’

‘Has Torloni been told about us?’

She shook her head. ‘I told my friends to see that Torloni was not told. My friends are very strong on this coast; during the war all these hills belonged to us – not to the Germans.’

I began to get the picture. Francesca had been the mascot and, besides, she was the daughter of the revered leader. She was the Lady of the Manor, the Young Mistress who could do no wrong.