Authors: Helen Macinnes
He would never question me again about Bill Lammiter. The man was an agent, in Rome on his own business, a man working with lies and hypocrisy, pulling me into suspicion and danger, thinking only of the information he could draw out of me. But forget all that now. Politics and love were two separate worlds. Luigi trusted me, as I must trust him. And now—today—I must rest and sleep and remember I was safe.
He bent down and kissed my cheek, as if I were a child who had wakened from a hideous dream and had to be comforted.
But I felt only numbness in my heart, and my hand lay dead in his. “Sleep, darling,” he said, “sleep some more.” And then he left me.
I didn’t sleep. I kept thinking of Luigi’s words, last night, in Rome. I had listened then, and I had taken the first step into this trap. Or perhaps the first step had been my phone call to Bill. My two phone calls...
For they had brought Luigi to my apartment last night. His friends had been checking up at the hotel to make sure that Bill Lammiter was leaving Rome. And they had discovered I had been trying to get in touch with him. It was as simple as that.
I’ll never forget the distraught look on Luigi’s face as we stood together in the hall of my apartment. He gripped my arm and said, “Eleanor,
why
did you call him?
Why?”
I stared blankly at him. “But what’s
wrong
with a telephone call?”
Luigi was watching my eyes. His grip slackened on my arm. “It linked you with Lammiter.”
“Is that any of your business now?” I walked into the living-room. I had a moment of guilt as I looked at the little table where Bill and I had had supper together. Luigi was jealous; that was all I could think. What would he do if he heard that Bill had been here? Or did he know that, as he knew about the telephone calls?
“Yes,” Luigi said. “It
is
my business. Lammiter is an agent.”
“An agent? What kind of agent?” I began to laugh.
“Stop that! Don’t you see I’m trying to help you? Where are the photographs? I’m burning them. Immediately.”
I found them for him. He examined them carefully, and then set them on fire, one by one, over the large ashtray. Thank God, I thought, I had emptied it of Bill’s cigarette end. And then I felt my sense of guilt, mean guilt deepen. But I was also afraid. Without knowing what all this meant, I was afraid.
“Are there any more?” he asked suddenly.
“Some didn’t come out. The light—” I felt stifled. It was true. But the truth also covered a lie. The longer I didn’t explain about Bill, the more difficult it was to give the full truth.
He had caught the sound of strain in my voice. “I didn’t tell anyone you had taken these photographs, Eleanor,” he said very quietly. “I had to keep you safe. That’s why I broke our engagement. You didn’t think I was serious about that, did you? All I wanted was to get you out of Rome, safely away.”
“Safe from what?”
He looked up suddenly from the last twisting black ashes. “Safe from Lammiter. When he goes back to the hotel for his raincoat, he will find your message. He will come here. Won’t he?”
So he didn’t know that Bill had already been here. I was too relieved to answer.
He said, “There are some people who wouldn’t like that. They would think he was questioning you, finding out what he could about the people you saw at Tivoli. They might even think you have been recruited—to spy on me.”
I stared at him. “You—you
can’t
believe that!” I must have
looked both so startled and so horrified that his last doubt vanished.
He came over to where I stood, and took my hands. “I don’t believe it, but—” He hesitated.
“But some people, do?”
“It’s one of the oldest tricks. They’ve used it often enough themselves.” He was smiling, as if it were a joke, now that he knew it was not being practised against him.
I kept staring at him. “What kind of people are these? What have you got to do with them?”
“That’s a story I’ll tell you later. Now, you must leave.”
“Leave?”
“Yes. I’ve come to get you away from here. Trust me, darling. I trust you. Remember?”
“Are these people your
friends?”
I was still groping for the truth. I knew too little, that was the trouble. Was Luigi an agent, working against them? He couldn’t, surely he couldn’t, be working with them. “It’s all so mad, so completely crazy!” I said aloud.
“Not that. These people are realists. You’ve
got
to leave with me. Now. I’ll take you to my aunt’s villa. Then—” He laughed and didn’t finish. He caught me in his arms and kissed me. “Don’t worry about packing. I’ll send someone to do that for you tomorrow. Leave a note for your maid. We don’t want her running to the police and frightening everyone.” His voice was soothing, unworried, confident. This is the only wise and reasonable thing to do, he seemed to believe. But I still hesitated. There was something wrong, something far wrong somewhere. I couldn’t guess, I didn’t know what to think. This secrecy, this haste, baffled me. I said, searching for a clue, “What if I don’t go?”
“But you must! There’s no other choice. Or else you’ll prove that you
are
working with Lammiter.”
“That’s ridiculous!” I said impatiently. “You know that.”
“Eleanor!” He pulled me round to face him. “I’m trying to keep you safe. Darling, believe me! These men have no time to waste. In a few days—nothing matters; but now—this is the moment of crisis. They cannot afford even a possible doubt. They will act—and act quickly.”
His voice frightened me. Incredulously, I said, “Act? What do you mean?”
“They would have no remorse if you died.”
“You mean, they’d kill me if necessary? Luigi, what
are
they?”
He didn’t answer that directly. “They’re fighting a war,” he said. “Lammiter’s friends are their enemies.”
“If this is a kind of war,” I said slowly, “then I’m on Bill’s side.”
“Because he’s an American? You think that makes him right? But what makes you so sure that he is on the right side?”
I didn’t quite follow. Was he saying that Bill was some kind of traitor? I couldn’t believe that. “I know Bill—”
“Do you?” he asked bitterly. “Does one human being ever know another? Do you even know yourself?”
I looked at him. I shook my head. I knew Luigi least of all, I thought. And yet, watching him, I was sure of one thing: he did love me. And somehow I was also sure that, when he explained everything to me and I was no longer in ignorance, I would find honesty and courage in his story. It is difficult for a woman to admit that she could ever have fallen in love with a man who wasn’t honest and courageous. These are the two qualities we value most, if any man wants to know.
Luigi was certainly honest then. “For God’s sake, Eleanor, listen to me! You are in danger. So is Lammiter. Do you think these men will let either of you ruin months of careful planning?”
No, I had no doubt about that. “If I leave here, what will happen to Bill?”
“Nothing. He will be of no interest to anyone.”
“Not even if he comes here?” For I knew he would come back.
“If he doesn’t see you, how can he get the information he needs? He will be just another agent who failed in his mission.” Then sharply, “Why do you worry about him so much?”
“I don’t want to be responsible for any man’s death,” I said, as easily as I could. “After all, I did make the telephone calls.” Then I searched for a piece of paper and a pencil, and I wrote a message for the maid. There didn’t seem to be much else I could do.
Later, I was thinking, we’ll be able to talk at the villa. I’ll learn the full truth then. (Yes, that’s how stupid I was.)
At the villa, I learned nothing. I wasn’t even allowed to talk to the princess alone. Poor old thing, she was as bewildered as I was. Her face enamel couldn’t cover the misgivings in her eyes. Her clever-cruel tongue was silenced for once. She was kind to me, she had never been kinder, but she was just as helpless.
Then I knew I should never have come with Luigi to the villa. I knew too late what I ought to have done in the first place. Leave the apartment—yes, that had been right—and after that, I ought to have gone to the Embassy: I ought to have had them telephone the police, send out a warning to Bill, wherever he was. Only, would Luigi have allowed me to go to the Embassy?
I didn’t know the answer to that question until a car came right up to the door of the villa. The two men, who had been standing outside the little sitting-room where I was waiting for Luigi and the princess to come back, urged me to leave. “Leave? But I’m supposed to stay
here.
Leave for where?”
I went outside. I tried to run. I tried to scream to the princess, to anyone who might be passing along that quiet peaceful street. But the two men were beside me, holding my mouth, my waist, my wrists.
And there they are now—the two men, crossing the courtyard. Old Alberto is opening the gate...
Eleanor at the window of her room, watching the two men walk out of her life as abruptly as they had entered it. Within a few minutes, the red-haired stranger had followed them. Old Alberto locked the gate, with Luigi standing beside him. The massive doors became a solid wall once more.
Luigi had not enjoyed the guide’s visit. Eleanor could tell that by the way he stood down there in the courtyard, feet apart, hands on hips, face still turned to the locked gate as though his eyes could follow the red-haired man’s progress along the road.
Then he swung round on his heel, caught sight of Alberto, who had been hovering uncertainly nearby, and said angrily, “Bring down my suitcases and put them in the Lancia.”
The old man—he was very fond of Luigi, Rosana had said— didn’t move.
“At once!” Luigi’s voice rose.
Still Alberto didn’t move. Instead, he began talking. All day, he had been morose and silent; whenever Eleanor had caught a glimpse of him from her window, he had been going about his tasks, his head bent, answering no one, paying no attention to anything. But now the words poured out of him. She couldn’t understand much of them—they came too quickly,
in an accent new to her ear. He was saying something about the principessa: the principessa had given orders, the principessa had commanded... His recital goaded Luigi. “My aunt is a fool.” And Luigi turned angrily on his heel and left. Alberto followed him, talking, talking, his voice rising in anger, too. Perhaps no one, not even Luigi, could call the princess a fool.
Behind Eleanor, the room door opened. It was Rosana at last. She brought the key inside with her and turned it in the lock.
“Why
didn’t you come back and let me out?” Eleanor asked. “The gate was open for a few moments; we could have—”
“We could have done nothing,” Rosana said, coming slowly away from the door. “Not with Sabatini here.” She sat down on the edge of a chair as if her strength had suddenly been drained away. “We’ve lost,” she said dully. Her hands were trembling. She stared down at them and burst into tears. “Everything has gone wrong, everything. And everything will go more wrong.” She brushed at her tears savagely with her knuckles. “And I couldn’t wait to open your door. I
had
to get to the little gallery above the chapel before they entered. I
had
to find out why Sabatini came here. The man’s a murderer. Don’t you know that? And he is the man who is deciding about you—and me. He—” She caught hold of herself. The tears had gone but her hands still trembled.
Eleanor searched for a cigarette, lit it for her. She poured out the last of the water from the San Pellegrino bottle and handed the glass to Rosana. She said, not without respect, “You ran a terrible risk!”
“I got back, didn’t I?” Rosana asked, almost fiercely. She took a deep shuddering breath. “Sabatini—he makes me feel
sick, that man. Even to be in the same place as he is makes me feel—” Her whole body shuddered this time. “And Luigi—” she said contemptuously, “Luigi looking so noble, listening, never objecting. I kept thinking, he can’t, he won’t, ever agree to that. But he did, he did!”
She’s near breaking point, Eleanor thought. More calmly than she felt, she said, “All right, all right... What’s the bad news? Just how lost are we?” She even managed a smile.
“The meeting is today. I told Joe it was tomorrow. But it is
today.
This afternoon. At three o’clock. Three! And it’s almost two now. An hour, that’s all we have...an hour!”
We’d better keep the exclamation marks out of our voices, Eleanor thought. She said, “So we’ll find Joe and tell him.”
“But
where
is he? I don’t know. He was coming here this evening to check up. This
evening!”
Rosana made a gesture of despair. “And that’s not all my bad news,” she said quickly. “Luigi’s orders have been changed. He isn’t to attend the meeting. Oh, he is going to Perugia, all right. But he isn’t to attend the meeting. Sabatini says there has been too much trouble—Luigi may be followed.”
“Why send him to Perugia at all?”
“Because Sabatini is
clever
—didn’t I tell you?”
“Yes, yes. I’m sorry. Go on. About Luigi.”
“Luigi will drive to Perugia without any luggage, in his own car. He is to leave it at the Piazza Italia, but on no account must he go near the Corso Vanucci. That’s the main street, where people walk and sit at the cafés.”
“Yes, yes,” Eleanor said again, her impatience growing.
“Don’t you see—the Corso Vanucci is the last place you’d expect a group of conspirators to gather? It’s so open, so
innocent. But that’s where the meeting is going to be held. Luigi is to avoid it, to lead anyone following him
away
from it. Don’t you see? He’s a—a—”
“Decoy?”
Rosana nodded. “He is to walk down by the market, choose a little café there—any café, it doesn’t matter—go inside, sit at the back, look as though he were waiting. After an hour, he can leave. Go back to his car, drive over one of the hill roads to Gubbio. There are so many small roads. He will lose anyone following him.”
“What about the other car, the Lancia—and the suitcases?”
“These arrangements have not been changed,” Rosana said, avoiding Eleanor’s eyes. “The mechanic will take you in the Lancia, by the main route to Gubbio. And then Luigi will drive you across the Apennines, to—” She paused. “To Venice.” She stared down at her hands.