Authors: Malcolm Bradbury
‘Did he explain all about himself?’ I asked. ‘He said he was a very important professor,’ said Ildiko. ‘I bet,’ I said. ‘Also he mentioned Monza,’
said Ildiko, ‘He said he was another very important professor and an old mate colleague.’ ‘So those two are buddies,’ I said. ‘I don’t think buddies,’ she
said. ‘So who received him at the villa?’ I asked, ‘Not Monza, he was at Bellavecchia.’ ‘I think Mrs Magno,’ said Ildiko, ‘They had no room for him but he
had long talk to her, and then she told the servants to find him something. Why do you ask me all these questions?’ ‘Because it’s strange,’ I said, ‘This is a closed
congress, there aren’t supposed to be any extra participants. They warned us people would be turned away if they didn’t get to Milan on the first day. Codicil’s not on any of
the lists. He’s not down to give a paper. The congress is more than halfway finished. Mrs Magno wasn’t expecting him. So what makes him turn up suddenly to a congress where he
hasn’t been invited and no one is expecting him?’ ‘He said he was late because he had been examining his students,’ said Ildiko. ‘Oh, yes?’ I said, ‘If
Codicil ever actually met one of his students, he wouldn’t know him from Schopenhauer. He’s so busy politicking around with the government he never sees his students. That’s why
he has all these assistants, to do what people usually call teaching. No, someone must have tipped him off. Maybe his buddy Monza.’
‘Monza tipped him off what?’ asked Ildiko. ‘I mean, told him that I was here,’ I said, ‘That’s the only reason I can think of for him to come flying all this
way.’ ‘You really think you are so important,’ said Ildiko, laughing, ‘He said he came because it was very proper he should be here. After all, Criminale was the guest of
honour and he had written the great book on Criminale.’ ‘Except we know he didn’t write the great book on Criminale,’ I said, ‘And that’s strange too. Why turn
up and say he had written the book, right in front of the man who actually
had
written it?’ ‘So who do you think wrote it?’ asked Ildiko. ‘Criminale wrote it
himself,’ I said, ‘Then he got it out to Vienna, and it was published under Codicil’s name.’ ‘Who told you all this?’ asked Ildiko. ‘I thought you
knew,’ I said, ‘Sandor Hollo. He took the book to Vienna.’ Ildiko began to laugh. ‘Hollo Sandor?’ she asked, ‘You don’t believe that one, I hope. He never
told the truth in his life. I know him very well.’ ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I rather thought so. But if Criminale didn’t write it, then who did?’ ‘Professor
Codicil,’ said Ildiko. ‘How do you know?’ I asked. ‘He told me last night,’ she said, ‘He tried to make a contract with me to get it published in Hungary. How
could he do that if it was written by Criminale?’ ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘He said the book was a great achievement, and it had made him sweat for many years.’
‘I still think that was the central heating,’ I said, ‘But it’s true he’d hardly come and say he’d written it in the presence of the real author. Unless he knew Criminale had gone already.’
Ildiko put down her coffee cup carefully and then stared hard at me. ‘Criminale has gone already?’ she asked. ‘Yes, he took off again last night, right in the middle of the
concert at Bellavecchia.’ ‘And where is he?’ asked Ildiko. ‘I’ve no idea,’ I said, ‘But probably holed up in some hotel across the lake having a wonderful
time with Miss Belli.’ ‘He is with Belli?’ asked Ildiko, looking very distressed, ‘Then we must find him.’ ‘I know,’ I said, ‘The problem is how. He
seems to have disappeared in a big way this time. Even Monza is worried.’ ‘This is very bad,’ said Ildiko, ‘How did it happen?’ ‘One minute he was sitting there
a few rows in front of me, listening to
The Three Seasons
,’ I said, ‘The next the two of them had gone completely.’ ‘And you went there?’ she asked, ‘You
went to the concert without me?’ ‘Of course I went without you,’ I said, ‘I intended to go with you, but you weren’t there. You were off stripping the shelves bare in
Cano.’
There was an expression of jealousy on Ildiko’s face. ‘And of course you went with someone else?’ she said, ‘Miss Uccello?’ ‘No, I didn’t go with Miss
Uccello,’ I said, ‘Actually I went with Cosima Bruckner.’ ‘Who?’ she asked. ‘The lady from the European Community, beef section,’ I said, ‘Except now
she tells me she’s not from the beef section at all.’ ‘The one in the black trousers?’ asked Ildiko. ‘That’s the one,’ I said. ‘Oh, and do you like
them?’ asked Ildiko bitterly, ‘If you had told me you liked them all that much, I could have bought some.’ ‘I don’t like them,’ I said, ‘And no need to be
jealous.’ ‘I like to be jealous,’ said Ildiko. ‘Look, Cosima Bruckner is a very strange lady,’ I said, ‘I don’t know what she’s up to here, but I
know one thing, she’s been to the opera once too often.’ ‘So, you are not in love with her?’ ‘Definitely not,’ I said. ‘Well, I think she cares for you
very much,’ said Ildiko. ‘I doubt it,’ I said, ‘What makes you think so?’ ‘Because she is over there on the terrace, looking for you,’ said Ildiko, ‘In the black trousers.’ I turned to look; there, standing at the further end of the hotel terrace, gazing out spiritually over the lake, was Cosima
Bruckner.
Cosima noticed my glance and inclined her head just slightly, indicating that I should join her. ‘Excuse me,’ I said to Ildiko, ‘The black trousers are calling.’
‘Pig!’ said Ildiko as I walked across the terrace. Cosima neither turned to look at me nor took her gaze away from the lake as I came to her side. ‘Do not attract any
attention,’ she said, ‘You know your quarry has fled?’ ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘He has definitely debunked,’ said Cosima, ‘He has been absent from the
congress all day. I thought you would like to be informed.’ ‘I knew that,’ I said. ‘And do you also know where he is?’ she asked. ‘Probably in some hotel across
the lake with Miss Belli,’ I said. ‘No,’ said Cosima Bruckner, ‘He crossed the Swiss border early this morning.’ ‘He crossed the border?’ ‘It is only
ten or so kilometres from here, I told you,’ said Cosima, ‘Our people watch it very carefully, of course. The time was logged very precisely. Six thirty-five to be exact.’ I
stared at her in amazement. ‘Your people?’ I asked. ‘Naturally,’ said Cosima. ‘You mean it’s Criminale you’ve been watching?’ ‘Not only
Criminale,’ said Cosima, ‘But we think he is a part of it.’ ‘A part of what?’ I asked. ‘Of course I cannot tell you,’ said Cosima.
‘Tell me,’ I asked, ‘Do you read spy novels at all? Someone said they’d gone right out of fashion since the end of the Cold War.’ ‘I do not have time for
books,’ said Cosima, ‘And do not think international problems have now ended. Many are just beginning. Now here. Do not look at it now.’ After a careful glance round, Cosima had
slipped a piece of paper into my shirt pocket. ‘What’s this?’ I asked. ‘His address in Switzerland,’ said Cosima. ‘And what do I do?’ I asked, ‘Read
it in the toilet and then eat it?’ ‘It will not be necessary,’ said Cosima, ‘He is staying in Lausanne at a well-known hotel. When you track him down, please to keep me
informed. If anyone questions you, I ask you not to implicate me under any circumstances.’ ‘Keep you informed about what?’ I asked. ‘His companions, his movements, his
intentions.’ ‘I don’t see why I should,’ I said, ‘You can’t get me ejaculated from Barolo now. I’ve been ejaculated already.’ ‘I hope you do
not think I was the one who was ejaculating you,’ said Cosima Bruckner, ‘You were far too valuable to us for that. But I hope you are idealist enough to care for the future of our
common Europe.’
‘I say prayers for Jacques Delors every night before I go to bed,’ I said, ‘But if you really think a world-famous philosopher of Criminale’s distinction spends his time
smuggling sides of beef across the Swiss border . . .’ ‘I do not,’ said Cosima, ‘There are enough cows in Switzerland already. These are financial matters. I see you have
found out very little after all.’ ‘I think you could say so,’ I said. ‘But I ask you again what I asked last night. Have you seen anything at all suspicious while you were
at Barolo?’ I suddenly had one useful thought. ‘There is one thing,’ I said, ‘I think you should keep a very close eye on a man called Codicil who has just arrived.’
‘A new arrival, very interesting,’ she said, ‘You think he is a part of it?’ ‘I’m sure he’s a part of it,’ I said, ‘He’s posing as a
professor of philosophy from Vienna.’ ‘My friend, you have been very valuable,’ said Cosima gravely, ‘I will watch him while you watch Criminale. And then we will keep each
other informed.’ ‘We must all do our bit for Europe,’ I said. ‘Exactly,’ said Cosima, ‘Now I must go back to the villa. Remember, this meeting has not taken
place. Call me tomorrow night. And do not follow me when I leave. Just go back to your companion in a natural way.’
Frankly, I really did not know what to make of Cosima Bruckner, who seemed to have strayed into my life from some quite different type of story altogether. But there she was, or at least had
been (I watched her slip away quietly through the potted palms, avoiding the hotel staff), and Paradise seemed to be slipping away from me in quite a big way. There was the mystery of the
appearance of Codicil, which I had thought was enough; and now there was the mystery of the disappearance of Criminale, and just when I had begun to see him as a man above fault, a man of virtue, a
man I seriously admired. I rejoined Ildiko, who had not failed to take full advantage of my absence: she had ordered herself French brandy and the most expensive ice-cream coupe on the menu. ‘I put all this on your
bill,’ she said, looking at me angrily. ‘Why not?’ I asked, ‘I can’t pay for any of this anyway.’ ‘And how was Black Trousers?’ asked Ildiko,
‘Did she tell you she is really crazy for you?’
‘Ildiko, if she’s crazy, it’s not for me,’ I said, ‘She’s interested in Bazlo Criminale. She’s been following him, apparently. She seems to think
he’s involved in some kind of Euro-fraud.’ ‘And what is that, Euro-fraud?’ asked Ildiko. ‘Fraud is doing illegal things with money, smuggling it, breaking laws,
cheating investors and so on,’ I said, ‘And Euro-fraud is when they do it with my taxes, when I pay them.’ ‘And you don’t think Criminale Bazlo does something like
that?’ asked Ildiko. ‘I don’t believe it, it’s absurd,’ I said, ‘But Cosima Bruckner does.’ ‘Then we must find him,’ said Ildiko, grabbing my
arm, ‘It’s important.’ ‘Well, there’s one thing to be said for Cosima,’ I said, ‘She did tell me where he is.’ ‘She told you?’ asked
Ildiko, excitedly, ‘Where?’ ‘He’s in Lausanne in Switzerland.’ ‘Of course in Switzerland,’ said Ildiko obscurely, ‘Now we must go there.’
‘I haven’t any money,’ I said, ‘Remember the shopping?’ ‘But you must get some,’ said Ildiko, looking excited. ‘It all depends on Lavinia,’ I
said, ‘I’ll go upstairs and call her. But please, please, Ildiko, don’t order anything else while I’m away.’
‘This is getting absolutely ridiculous, Francis,’ said Lavinia, when I reached her at her room in Vienna, ‘Criminale has hopped it again? Where’s he gone now? South
America?’ ‘He’s staying at some hotel in Lausanne,’ I said. ‘What’s he doing there?’ asked Lavinia. ‘I’m not sure,’ I said, ‘Except
he seems to have run off with the most beautiful girl at the congress. And maybe half the European beef mountain as well.’ ‘You’re not serious,’ said Lavinia. ‘I think
the beef is probably a matter of mistaken identity,’ I said, ‘But I’m quite serious about the rest. And there’s something else I’m serious about, Lavinia. Money.
I’m stuck, I haven’t any left.’ Lavinia squealed at the other end. ‘Francis, we’ve nearly spent the whole recce budget,’ she said, ‘Have you any idea what opera tickets cost in Vienna?’ ‘Speaking of Vienna,’ I said, ‘Professor Codicil’s turned up here, messing up things.’
‘Actually the word in Vienna is that Codicil is quite a famous prick,’ said Lavinia, ‘Into all sorts of strange Habsburgian arrangements. Masonic lodges, and so on.’
‘Who told you that, Lavinia?’ I asked. ‘Well, you remember Gerstenbacker, the little raver?’ asked Lavinia, ‘I’ve spent an evening or two with him. What he
doesn’t know about Vienna isn’t worth knowing.’
A thought suddenly occurred to me. ‘Lavinia, you didn’t tell him where I was, I hope?’ ‘I could have said something,’ admitted Lavinia, ‘I have been
chatting with him quite a bit.’ ‘Well, better not tell him anything else,’ I said. ‘You don’t think he leaks?’ asked Lavinia. ‘I don’t know,’ I
said, ‘But things are getting very confusing here. When you see him again, try and find out how Codicil got here.’ ‘I could give him a call now,’ said Lavinia. ‘Do,
and cable me some money to the Gran Hotel Barolo,’ I said. There was a short pause at the other end. ‘Gran Hotel?’ asked Lavinia. ‘It’s a very small gran hotel, only
three forks in the book,’ I said, ‘Anyway, it’s the only one here that’s open in the winter.’ ‘But I thought you were staying at a private villa,’ said
Lavinia. ‘I’ve been kicked out of there,’ I said, ‘Thanks to Codicil. So talk to Gerstenbacker, find out what’s going on, and don’t forget the money. I
can’t even pay the hotel bill.’
‘Francis, look, how do I know you’re spending this budget wisely?’ asked Lavinia, ‘You could be going shopping with it. Or spending it on some girl.’ ‘I hope
you know me better than that, Lavinia,’ I said, ‘Do you want me to go after Criminale in Lausanne or not?’ ‘I’m not sure, darling,’ said Lavinia, ‘This is
a very tight-budget show.’ I was beginning to feel desperate; like Ildiko, I could not bear the thought of giving up now, when indeed we seemed, in some obscure way, to be getting nearer the
dangerous truth. ‘Lavinia, look,’ I said, ‘Believe me, this is getting really interesting. Criminale’s disappeared, Codicil’s frightened, and the European fraud squad
are interested. We’ve got to go on.’ ‘I really don’t know, Francis,’ said Lavinia. ‘Look at it, Lavinia,’ I said, ‘Great Thinker of the Age of
Glasnost in Italian Bimbo Scandal?’ ‘Well . . .’ said Lavinia. ‘Heidegger Quarrel Man in Euro Meat Fraud?’ ‘Yes, Francis, it sounds great,’ said Lavinia after a
dreadful moment, ‘Okay, darling, I’ll get back to London and rustle up a bit more out of Eldorado. They’ll love all that. Expect my cable soon.’
*
The cable, thank goodness, came overnight. That meant Ildiko and I were able to settle our bill (surprisingly large) at the hotel desk the next morning and still catch the
hovercraft into Cano. The Villa Barolo faded into the cypresses and ilexes behind us; then, as the boat steered round a promontory, the island itself faded from view, as insubstantial as Criminale
himself. In Cano we boarded a rattling bus, and found ourselves, by mid-morning, back at Milano Central railway station, where our Barolo adventure had begun. Unfortunately our departure in no way
resembled our arrival; this time no marching band was there to play, no battery of cameramen to catch us as we left. Ildiko wore her ‘Up Yours, Delors!’ tee-shirt, her tight Lycra
bicycling pants with the flashes, and her ‘Cleveland Pitchers’ baseball cap; but even so she found, to her intense disappointment, that she was almost invisible in the contemporary
international crowd. We went through a hall of stalls, bought tickets, took the escalator to the train. Soon we were sitting, once again, opposite each other in another great trans-European
express, though this time we were going north and west, to Lausanne.