A Dead Man in Naples (12 page)

How the hell he would manage in the army in Libya she couldn’t think. Perhaps that was what everyone else thought, too. Certainly the Marchesa, who, for all her faults, seemed to be a sharp judge of people. Perhaps that was why she refused to let him go out there? Got her husband, who seemed able to pull plenty of strings, to intervene?

A sharp judge, but possibly a soft heart? She seemed to have taken Scampion’s measure; but hadn’t she intervened when he had proposed to volunteer for Libya? From all that Chantale had heard, she had been completely right about that.

‘Ah!’ said Chantale, now brightly. ‘Here is my fiancé!’

And waited.

But Vincente did not go.

‘We’re just about to go back to the
pensione
,’ said Chantale firmly.

‘Are we?’ said Seymour, puzzled.

Really, he was rather obtuse at times, thought Chantale.

‘Yes,’ she said firmly; and took her fiancé by the arm and started off.

Vincente followed.

And, what was worse, Seymour started talking to him!

‘I expect you’re very busy just at the moment. With the race coming off at the weekend.’

‘Oh, I am, I am!’

‘But then I expect you always are. Handling things on the bicycle side, I mean.’

‘Well, that’s true.’

‘There are always problems, I expect.’

‘Well . . .’

‘Like that package a few weeks ago.’

‘Package?’

‘Of bicycle parts. Fortunately, Signor Scampion spotted it in time.’

‘Oh, yes. That package. He got very excited about it. Said I ought to do something. They had been misdirected, you see. They weren’t meant for us at all. “Does it matter?” I said. “Yes,” he said. “It matters a lot!” And he kept on at me. Saying I ought to do something. He seemed quite angry. I was puzzled, because – well – it didn’t seem that important. “Stores are always doing that kind of thing,” I said. “Oh, are they?” he said. “Then that’s all the more reason to do something about it.”

‘He went on and on and in the end I thought I
had
better do something about it. Of course, I’m not Stores but I am, in a way, Bicycles, and this was bicycles, so I sent a message back to the factory.

‘And the next moment all hell broke loose. There was my cousin, Alessandro, on the phone to me, saying what the hell did I think I was doing? What did I know about it? “Nothing,” I said hastily. “Nothing!” “Then shut up!” he said. “Or the next time you really will go to Libya.” So I shut up.

‘Next week, the package had gone. That’s good, I said to myself. They’ve done something about it. Taken it back in for checking. But then I learned that it had been sent on to Libya!

‘They’ve cocked it up
again
, I thought. And I rang the factory and told them so. And then Alessandro came down on me again like a ton of bricks. This time he was
really
cross. “Haven’t you got any sense at all?” he demanded. He was really unpleasantly rude. I complained to Luisa. “Just forget about it,” she said. “I always do when it’s Alessandro.” “Yes, but he’s been really rude!” I said. “Very probably,” she said, “knowing my husband.

‘“But, darling, aren’t you being just the tiniest bit dumb? This is obviously something you’re meant to keep out of. It’s over your head. I know, sweetie, that most things are, and on the whole it doesn’t matter. But if Alessandro is anything to do with it, it
does
matter. So keep out of it, dumbo. You’ve had the warning. Now just keep out of it.”

‘So I did. But Scampion kept on at me. And in the end I told him there was no longer anything I could do about it, it had been sent on to Libya. “Jesus!” he cried. “But that’s Arabs! They’re your enemy!”

‘“I don’t see anything wrong with them getting bicycle parts,” I said. “Enemy or no. I mean, it might do some good. If they’re all bicycling and not fighting. Better bicycle than shoot, especially when they might be shooting us.”

‘“But these are
not
bicycle parts!” he cried.

‘“Well, if they’ve got it wrong again, that’s their lookout,” I said. “I’m sorry about them not being able to bicycle, but I’ve done what I can.”

‘“For Christ’s sake!” he said. “Can’t you understand? These are
not
bicycle parts.”

‘“Well, are you sure?” I said. “I’ve seen the labelling, and they definitely came from Dion.”

‘“But Dion makes other things besides bicycles!” he said.

‘“I’m sure they do,” I said. “But, look –”

‘But he had gone off in a fury.’

‘And then another consignment arrived. I was going to do nothing about it but Scampion was on the lookout and he saw it.

‘“It’s still going on!” he cried. “This is wrong! This is immoral!”

‘He seemed to me to be making a fuss about nothing, so I just tut-tutted, and shook my head, and said “Dear, dear!”

‘“This time you really have got to do something,” he said.

‘“I could go direct to Alessandro, I suppose,” I said, rather doubtfully.

‘“A waste of time,” he said. “I’m going to go to the Ministry.”

‘“I know I’m not very bright,” I said, “and I don’t know much about these things, or, indeed, about anything: but I do know this. That really
would
be a waste of time!”

‘He looked at me thoughtfully. “You’re probably right,” he said.

‘“They’re sure to be in Dion’s pocket,” I said.

‘“Maybe I’d better go to the newspapers,” he said.

‘“They’ll be in Dion’s pocket, too,” I said.

‘“Not all of them,” he said. “Not all of them.”

‘I suddenly knew what he was thinking. There are two camps, you see, in the bicycle world. Dion’s – he publishes
Auto-Vélo
– and Gifford’s – he publishes
Vélo
. And they’re deadly rivals. I knew that what Scampion was thinking of was going to the
Vélo
. It would publish anything bad about Dion.

‘Well, the more I thought about this, the less I liked the sound of it. I thought it might come back on us, and on me especially, because I was the one who had raised the questions about the package in the first place. I thought and thought and in the end I decided the best thing I could do was go straight to Alessandro and make a clean breast of it. It would be awful, I knew. He would be
really
unpleasant to me. But at least it would be over and done with. And, besides, I told myself, he would certainly find out about it anyway, and he already knew my connection with it. So I went to Alessandro.

‘But, of course, I didn’t want to land Scampion in it so I didn’t tell him about Scampion at all. I just said that a little bird had told me that something about the package might be about to appear in the
Vélo
.

‘Of course, he was on to me in a flash. “How do you know about this?” he asked. “A little bird told me,” I said. Well, he pressed me and pressed me – really bullied me, it was most unpleasant. But I stuck to my guns. “I’ve just heard it,” I said.

‘He wouldn’t give up. “You’re sure you don’t know the name of this little bird, Vincente?” he said.

‘But I stood firm. “I’m sure I don’t know it,” I said.

‘“You see, Vincente,” he said, “this is Italy, and in Italy little birds get caught in a net, and then they have their necks wrung.”

‘The way he said it made me feel quite cold. But I didn’t give way. “If I knew the name, I wouldn’t tell you,” I said.

‘He just sat there and looked at me. For quite a long time. And then he smiled. “Well, thanks for telling me, anyway,” he said. “I won’t forget this, Vincente. You’re a good boy, and I think you could go far. Just come and talk to me whenever you’re in trouble. I’ll see you’re all right. You’re a cousin, after all, and blood is thicker than water. I promised your mother that I would look after you and I will. So don’t worry. I’ll take care of this. The only thing is this, and this I absolutely insist on, you mustn’t say anything about this to anyone. You see, there are commercial interests involved, and not just mine, I must say. If anything got out it could do a lot of damage. And that would have repercussions. They’re a cut-throat lot, you see, businessmen, and have to be handled with care. So just keep quiet about all this, will you, Vincente? There’s a good fellow.”

‘“I certainly will,” I said. “The less I have to do with business, the better.”

‘“Quite right, my boy. Quite right. Leave it to the experts,” he said.

‘“Although I have to say that they cannot be that expert,” I said. “To get a simple matter like sending a package wrong!”

‘“Well, there you are!” sighed Alessandro.

‘“Especially when it’s something really important. Like bicycle parts.”

‘“Bicycle parts?” said Alessandro. He seemed quite lost for the moment. Then – “Bicycle parts,” he said thoughtfully. And smiled.’

Chapter Twelve

Suddenly, that evening, the
pensione
became for some reason very agitated. Maria and Giuseppi went around with perturbed faces and even Francesca was untypically subdued.

In the kitchen Maria and Giuseppi were talking in low voices.

‘I
told
you!’ Maria said. ‘I
told
you to have nothing to do with them.’

‘I’ve
had
nothing to do with them!’

‘Yes, you have!’

‘Not directly,’ Giuseppi qualified.

‘It amounts to the same thing.’

‘Look, how was I to know? It seemed a good idea at the time.’

‘You shouldn’t have involved them.’

‘We didn’t really involve them. It was just that Rinaldo thought it would clinch it.’

‘Mentioning their name?’

‘Yes. They were being a bit slow in the office, you know, and –’

‘You fools!’ said Maria passionately.

‘It might never have come through otherwise. You know what they are –’

‘And I know what Our Friends are. How could you do it, Giuseppi? How could you do it?’

‘Look, you wanted it for her, didn’t you? You told me to get down to the office. You even suggested – yes, you’re the one who suggested it – taking Rinaldo and Pietro.’

‘I thought it would lend weight.’

‘It did, it did!’

‘But not enough, evidently! You had to try and lend it more!’

‘It was Rinaldo’s idea,’ said Giuseppi feebly.

‘To use their name?’

‘Well, it wasn’t exactly using their name –’

‘Oh, wasn’t it? What do you think got the office moving then?’

‘It was a sort of casual reference. And Rinaldo went along afterwards to make it right with them.’

‘Well, he doesn’t seem to have succeeded, does he?’

‘I don’t understand it. He doesn’t understand it. It seemed all right. They didn’t make anything of it – at the time.’

‘Well, they have now, haven’t they?’

Rinaldo had come along earlier in the evening, very much perturbed, even shaken. He had gone straight into the kitchen and had remained closeted there with Maria and Giuseppi for quite some time. Francesca had had to serve the meal on her own and she had done it with tight lips and a pale face.

Rinaldo had just left, hurriedly, and with head bowed.

‘Giuseppi, what have you done?’

‘I can’t understand it! It seemed all right!’

‘And now it’s not all right!’

‘Something has changed. It must have! This sort of thing is nothing to them. A pension for someone? They’re doing it all the time. And for the widow of an Italian soldier? There’s usually no bother. They’re glad to do it. It makes them look good. Why is there this sudden change?’

‘Could it be that she’s an Arab?’ said Maria.

‘Well, that sort of thing doesn’t normally bother them. It’s enough that she’s the widow of an Italian soldier from Naples –’

‘It’s enough for you, Giuseppi. But is it enough for them?’

‘It
was
enough. Christ, if it hadn’t been, they would have said something at the time.’

Maria was silent. Then she said: ‘You’re probably right. Something has changed. Since Rinaldo spoke to them. And I wonder what it can be?’ she said thoughtfully.

‘They’ve got it in for Jalila,’ said Giuseppi.

‘They’ve got it in for
us
. That’s what’s worrying me,’ said Maria.

‘If they try anything on me, I’ll shoot their balls off,’ said Giuseppi. ‘I’ve still got my gun.’

‘Your gun is even older than you are, Giuseppi. Don’t be foolish!’

‘I’m not giving in. I’ve seen others give in. It gets you nowhere.’

‘Jalila will have to leave,’ said Maria, with decision.

‘Where can she go to?’

‘We’ll find somewhere. I’ve got a cousin up in the mountains. She’ll be out of the way there.’

‘We ought to speak to Bruno. Where the hell
is
Bruno?’

Where the hell
was
Bruno? Giorgio was sent out to find him. He was not at home and not on any of his usual beats. His mother said he had gone to Rome.

But, then, his mother’s mind was a little askew these days. And was it likely? To the best of everyone’s knowledge Bruno had rarely set foot outside Naples. And what would have led him to take such a step now, suddenly, and without telling anyone? It seemed unlikely.

But then came a report that Bruno had been seen near the railway station the day before.

This, however, was not conclusive. For if Bruno had rarely set foot outside Naples before, even more rarely had he ever stepped into a train. Like many decent Neapolitans, and all poor Neapolitans, he had a distrust for the new, and that still included trains.

And, again, was it likely?

But if he had not left the city, then where was he?

As time went by there was an increasing foreboding that he was where people who disappeared in Naples usually were: in some back alley, dead.

* * *

But the probability of this, too, seemed less after something that happened later on in the evening. Seymour and Chantale were sitting out on the patio in the soft, warm darkness of the Italian evening – it was still too hot to go indoors – when there was an eruption of noise at the front of the
pensione
. Voices were raised.

‘Why come to me?’ said Giuseppi.

‘Don’t answer us back. Just tell us where he is!’ said a rough voice.

‘You’re more likely to know that than we are,’ said Giuseppi.

‘We don’t know,’ said Maria less belligerently.

‘No?’ said the man threateningly.

‘No,’ said Giuseppi. ‘And if we did, we wouldn’t tell you.’

Seymour got up and went to the door. Not for the first time he wished he had a gun, but he hadn’t. The police in London never carried guns and he certainly wasn’t carrying one now.

‘Don’t push your luck, old man!’ said the man warningly.

‘And don’t push yours,’ retorted Giuseppi. ‘I’ve met your sort before.’

‘Oh, we know all about you on the barricades!’ sneered the man.

‘Well, you weren’t on them, that’s for sure!’ said Giuseppi sturdily.

‘I wasn’t born then!’

‘Leave it!’ commanded a fresh voice. ‘We’ve no quarrel with you, old man. Just tell us where Bruno is.’

‘We don’t know,’ said Maria. ‘That’s the truth of it. We haven’t seen him for a day or two. We’ve been looking for him. Some say he’s gone to Rome.’

‘Yes, we’ve heard that, too,’ said the man who seemed to be their leader.

‘Is he with that Arab bitch?’ demanded the other man.

‘I don’t know anyone of that description,’ said Maria coldly.

‘If you’re talking about the widow of an Italian soldier –’ began Giuseppi.

‘Yes, yes, we know all about that, too. Tonio’s wife,’ said the leader impatiently.

‘Is Bruno with her?’ demanded the other man.

‘Not as far as we know. He’s not with her that often.’

‘No?’

‘No. He’s much more likely to be with his mother, and don’t you go bothering her!’ said Maria hastily. ‘She’s an old lady and frail.’

‘We just want to know where he is,’ said the leader.

‘Why?’ said Maria.

‘We want to talk to him. That’s all. We don’t intend him any harm. In fact,’ he said, ‘we want to offer him a job.’

The other man laughed.

‘That’s right,’ he said.

‘You must have plenty of other people you could get to do it,’ said Maria.

‘Oh, yes, but this is a special job. And we think it’s one for Bruno to do.’

The other man laughed again.

‘That’s right,’ he agreed. ‘One for him.’

‘Well, we don’t know where he is,’ said Maria. ‘And he’s certainly not with Jalila, so you can leave her alone.’

‘Try Rome,’ said Giuseppi. ‘And you can go there on a bicycle as far as I’m concerned.’

The leader laughed.

‘You’ve still got plenty of spirit, old man. I like that. Just don’t let it carry you too far, that’s all. Look after him, Mother,’ he said to Maria. ‘Keep him out of this.’

‘That’s just what I’ve been trying to do,’ said Maria.

‘Come on,’ the man said to the men with him. There appeared to be at least two of them. ‘Let’s go! And if you see Bruno,’ he said to Maria, ‘tell him we want to see him. Tell him it’s all right. He’s got nothing to worry about. It’s just that we want to see him and talk to him.’

‘And offer him a job,’ said one of the other men, laughing.

They went out of the other door. Seymour was glad it had not come to anything. If it had, he would have felt obliged to step in, and he didn’t fancy his chances against three of them. They were probably armed, too. In the East End it would very likely have been enough just to show himself. The presence of a policeman, or even just of a witness, was usually enough to do the trick. Here he was not quite so sure.

‘I wonder if he really has gone to Rome?’ the leader was saying, as he went through the door. ‘What the hell would he want to go there for?’

The problem – or at least the problem of Bruno’s disappearance – seemed to have been resolved the next day, for Bruno reappeared.

‘Where have you been, Bruno?’ cried Francesca. ‘Everyone’s been looking for you.’

‘Rome,’ said Bruno shortly. ‘I need to talk to Maria. Where is she?’

‘Making the beds,’ said Francesca. ‘I’ll go and fetch her.’

Bruno stood fidgeting in the doorway. He replied to Seymour’s greeting politely but briefly.

‘Is Giuseppi around?’ he asked Giorgio, who was polishing shoes. This appeared to be another of his jobs.

‘He’s around somewhere,’ said Giorgio. ‘Do you want me to go and look for him?’

‘Maria’s the one I want to see.’

Giorgio returned to his polishing.

‘What’s Rome like?’ he asked curiously.

‘Big,’ said Bruno. ‘And everyone’s rushing. It’s not like Naples.’

‘They say that Rome is where it all happens.’

Bruno gave a short laugh.

‘They may be right,’ he said.

‘You didn’t stay long,’ said Giorgio, after a moment.

‘Long enough,’ said Bruno.

Giorgio waited, but he didn’t say any more. Giorgio shrugged and got on with his polishing.

Maria came down the stairs at that moment.

‘Why, Bruno,’ she said, with some relief, ‘it is good to see you.’

‘I need to talk to you, Maria,’ he said.

‘Come in.’

She led him into the kitchen and shut the door. This was unusual. Doors in the
pensione
were usually left open to create a through draught. Francesca, however, carrying things to and fro, opened it a little later and Seymour heard the tail-end of the conversation inside.

‘You’ll see to it, then,’ said Bruno.

‘I’ll write to my cousin today,’ Maria promised.

‘That’s no good,’ said Bruno. ‘It will take too long. You’ve got to get her out of here
immediately
.’

‘I’ll send her to Simone. She’s at San Sebastian. You know, where Father Pepe used to live. Then she can go from there to my cousin.’

‘It will be all right, will it?’ said Bruno. ‘We don’t want anyone talking, and you know what they are in a village.’

‘I’ll get Pepe to take her over there and he can talk to them. They’ll listen to him.’

‘It would be better if no one knew about it.’

‘I’ll say that to Pepe too. He’s an intelligent man.’

‘Right, then,’ said Bruno, and came to the door.

‘You’ll be all right yourself, Bruno?’ said Maria anxiously. ‘You know what they are.’

‘I will be all right,’ said Bruno.

‘They’ll know you’ve been to Rome.’

‘I’ll tell them I went to see a woman,’ said Bruno.

‘It’s a long way to go to see a woman. They’ll wonder.’

‘I’ll work out a story.’

‘Just be careful, that’s all. They came here looking for you, you know.’

‘For me?’ said Bruno. ‘Or for her?’

‘For you first. Then they thought you might be with her.’

‘Bastards!’ said Bruno.

‘Just be careful, that’s all.’

‘I’ll be careful.’

Maria came to the door with him.

‘It may be all right,’she said. ‘They told me to tell you that you were not to worry. It was just they had a job for you.’

‘A job for me?’ Bruno laughed bitterly. ‘I can guess what that job is. That’s why I went to Rome.’

As Seymour and Chantale were going along a back street, full of
bassi
and children, there came suddenly a strong smell of goats. A herd appeared around a corner, filling the street completely and blocking the way. A woman leaned out of a window above and shouted. The man with the goats said something and the lead goat stopped. It probably would have done so anyway on hearing the woman’s voice. The herd stopped too.

‘A moment, Signora,’ said the man.

The woman let fall a small pail on a rope. The man caught it and took it over to one of the goats. Then he bent down beside it and milked it into the pail. Then he took the pail and tied it to the rope again and the woman hauled it up.

‘How much?’ she called.

The man said something but his dialect was so rough that Seymour could not understand him. The woman could, however, and put some coins in the pail and lowered it again.

‘At least it stays the same!’ she called down.

‘Everything in Naples stays the same!’ said the man, and this time Seymour could understand him.

The herd parted and let Seymour and Chantale through and then continued on its way.

The woman leaned out of the window again and started a conversation with a woman on the other side of the street who was hanging out some washing. She appeared to have some arrangement with a house on the other side for a clothes line stretched between the houses. The woman pulled it in, pegged out her washing, and then ran it out again so that the washing hung out over the street. There were men’s drawers, a woman’s petticoat, and a string of nappies.

‘Babies!’ said a voice. ‘In Naples. Always babies!’

It was the Marchesa, on one of her lonely patrols.

‘And what about you, Signora?’ she said to Chantale. ‘Have you thought about making babies yet?’

‘Not really,’ said Chantale, startled.

‘There’s time enough,’ said the Marchesa. ‘For you, if not for me.’ She glanced up at the clothes line overhead. ‘And, looking at that lot,’ she said, ‘I don’t know whether to be glad or sorry!’