The Lonely Skier (15 page)

‘Well, he's not all Welsh, that's why. Don't know what his father was—something dour, probably a Scot. That's what makes him so moody and gives him that dogged seeking after perfection. Two sides of his nature always at war with each other. Makes him difficult to work with. Still, it's his strength as a director.'

I finished my drink and went back to bed. Joe fussed after me like a mother—had my hot-water bottles refilled, put a bottle of cognac beside my bed and saw to it that I had some cigarettes. ‘Want me to kiss you good-night?' he asked with a grin.

‘I think I can get along without that,' I laughed.

‘Okay,' he said and switched out the light. ‘You'll feel fine tomorrow.'

As soon as his footsteps had died away, I got up and locked the door. I was taking no chances.

I had not been in the warmth of my bed more than a few minutes before ski boots clattered along the bare boards of the corridor and there was a knock at the door. ‘Who's there?' I asked.

‘Keramikos,' was the reply.

‘Just a minute,' I said. I slipped out of bed and unlocked the door. Then I put the light on and hopped back into bed. ‘Come in,' I called.

He entered and shut the door. He stood for a moment at the foot of my bed, looking at me. It was difficult to see the expression of his eyes behind those thick lenses. They reflected the light and looked like two round white discs. ‘So,' he said, ‘it was not the
slittovia
, eh?'

‘How do you mean?' I asked. But I understood.

He ignored my question. ‘You lock your door now, hm? You are learning.'

‘You're not surprised that I had an accident whilst out with Mayne, are you?' I said.

‘I am never surprised at anything, my friend,' he replied evasively.

I tried another line. ‘You told me Mayne was a deserter and that he joined the Army in 1942. He says he joined in 1940.'

‘He's probably right, then. I don't know Gilbert Mayne's history. I only know this man's history.'

‘Are you suggesting that this is not the real Gilbert Mayne?' I asked, for I did not know what other interpretation to put on his words.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Perhaps,' he said. ‘But I did not come to discuss Mayne with you. I felt it would be courteous, as a fellow-guest, Mr Blair, to come and offer you my felicitations on your narrow escape. Wesson tells me the director of your film company has arrived. Will he be staying here?'

‘For a few days,' I told him. ‘He should interest you. He was in Greece for a time.'

‘Greece?' He seemed interested. ‘In the Army?'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘Intelligence.'

He gave me a quick look. ‘Then perhaps he and I will have much to talk about?'

He bade me good-night then. But as he reached the door I said, ‘By the way, when you examine what is written on a sheet of typing paper in the machine, you should always see that it is rolled back to the original position.'

‘I do not follow,' he said.

‘You searched my room last night,' I reminded him.

He looked at me hard. Then he said, ‘Whoever searched your room, Mr Blair, it was not me—that I assure you.' And he closed the door. I at once got up and locked it.

WHEN I LOOKED
out of my window next morning it was a different world. There was no sunshine, no sharp contrast between black and white. The sky was grey with falling snow—large flakes that moved slowly downwards in their millions. The ground was a dull blanket of white. The trees were so laden with snow that they scarcely seemed trees at all. The belvedere was no longer a platform of bare boards. It was a square of virgin white, the round table-tops bulging with snow like giant mushrooms.

I felt quite all right—just tired and very stiff. I went downstairs and phoned Emilio at the bottom of the
slittovia
. He told me that the sleigh could make it at the moment, but that if the wind rose and the snow began to drift, it would not be possible. I then phoned the Splendido and left a message for Engles that if he could get through to Tre Croci, the
slittovia
would be able to bring him up to Col da Varda. Then I told Aldo to prepare the remaining room.

I suppose I should now switch straight to Engles' arrival at Col da Varda, for nothing happened until after he had arrived. But, since everything hinged on that event, I must give some account of the strange air of expectancy that pervaded the bar room that morning.

In the case of Joe and myself it was understandable. Joe was mentally preparing himself for a verbal clash with his director. ‘Engles will be full of ideas, damn his eyes,' he grumbled to me. ‘But a film's got to have a focal point, and the focal point, as I see it, is this hut and the
slittovia
. It's a terrific setting. Look at it this morning! Another few hours and we'll be snowbound up here. What a situation for, say, a group of people who hate each other, or whose interests clash!' This was said to me at breakfast, and the others listened to his words with peculiar attention. ‘And the
slittovia
,' he added. ‘I've got some fine shots of it. Rig up a dummy sleigh and have it hurtle down with the cable broken. And a ski chase—I've got a wonderful shot of you, Neil, as you came down that pass and collapsed at our feet. If Engles doesn't agree with me—damn it, I'll resign.'

Joe was strung up and marshalling his points. And for myself, I must admit to a sense of excitement. After all that had happened, I felt certain Engles must tell me why he had sent me out here.

But the others—why were they so silent? Mayne had greeted me cheerfully enough when he came in to breakfast. He asked me how I felt with the quiet solicitude of a friend who was glad to see me none the worse for an unfortunate mishap. He was charming and natural, but quieter than usual. Anna's big eyes smiled at him unanswered as she laid the table. And when Joe came down and began to talk of Engles' arrival, he fell strangely silent.

And Valdini, who could have talked out any bill had he been an American senator, said hardly a word. Joe noticed it and said, ‘What's on your mind, Valdini. In trouble with that contessa of yours?'

‘Always you make the fun of me, Wesson, eh?' snarled the little Sicilian.

‘Well, you looked damned worried when she phoned you last night,' Joe replied.

‘When was that?' I asked.

‘Oh, after you'd finally gone to bed,' Joe answered.

So she had phoned him after Engles had spoken to me. I would have given much to have known what she had said. That it concerned Engles I had no doubt.

And Keramikos. He was always quiet and reserved. But this morning he appeared not so much reserved as watchful. He regarded the breakfast-table with amused detachment. And yet there was a trace of nervousness in his manner. It seems quite natural for him to have been nervous now that I know the whole story. But at the time it was strange, because he always had such an air of confidence.

After breakfast everyone huddled round the stove. And that was strange, too, because normally they all drifted off to their rooms.

Joe talked to me for a time about the film. He wanted my support. He tried to get me to give him a synopsis of the script I was supposed to have planned. Was I using the hut and the
slittovia
? What snow scenes had I planned? And when he found me uncommunicative, he too fell silent. Finally he confirmed my feeling that the atmosphere was tense. ‘Seems this snow has the same effect on people as the
mistral
or the
sirocco.
How long is it likely to last, Mayne?'

‘A day or two maybe,' Mayne replied.

‘My God!' Joe said. ‘Are we going to sit as glum as owls round this stove for several days? For the love of God, Mayne, get on that piano and hammer out something cheerful. Can't say I usually like the row you kick up in the mornings. But anything is better than the five of us brooding over this monstrosity of a stove.'

But Mayne said he did not feel in the mood. And nobody supported Joe in his demand for music. In the end, he went and got a book. But even with one of his inevitable Westerns, his mind did not seem able to settle down. Valdini sat picking his teeth with a match. Mayne and Keramikos seemed lost in thought.

So we waited. And at last, about ten-thirty, the drone of the cable told us that the sleigh was coming up. Nobody moved. But the atmosphere quickened to interest. I got up and went over to the window that looked out on to the sleigh track. ‘Who's coming up—your director?' Mayne asked.

‘Can't see yet,' I told him. Visibility was very poor. The sleigh track lost itself in the grey murk of falling snow.

Mayne came over and stood beside me. The cable jerked clear of the snow. And then, like a ghost ship, the sleigh emerged from the snow. ‘Looks as though there are two passengers on it,' he said. ‘Who else would want to come up on a day like this?' He swung round. ‘Do you know who the other passenger is, Valdini?'

The little man looked up from the contemplation of his fingernails. He was dressed in a suit of sky blue with a dark-blue shirt and a crimson tie. He looked like the leader of a hot rhythm outfit. His rubber face grinned. But the grin did not extend to the eyes, which were watchful and narrowed. He sucked at his teeth. ‘It is possible,' he said.

The sleigh was nearing the top now. It was thick with snow. I recognised the two passengers seated behind Emilio—they were Engles and the Contessa.

The sleigh stopped at the little wooden platform, which was almost under the window. Engles looked up, saw me and nodded a brief greeting. Mayne took a quick breath and then walked casually back to the stove. Carla was talking gaily to Engles as they got their skis off the rack on the sleigh. Anna went out and took Engles' two suitcases.

I turned back into the room. The others were seated exactly as they had been before. Nobody spoke. The ticking of the cuckoo clock was quite loud. I went over to the bar and got out a bottle of cognac and some glasses. There was a clatter of skis being placed against the wooden walls of the hut. Then the door opened and the Contessa came in, followed by Engles. Joe got up and said, ‘Hallo, Engles. Glad to see you. Had a good trip?' That was the only movement from the group by the stove. Mayne and Keramikos were watching Engles, and Valdini was watching the Contessa.

Joe sensed the silence and tried to talk it down. ‘Here, I'll put your coat on the table. Need a drink, I expect, old man. Ah, I see Neil has already had the same idea. Well, better introduce you since you're staying here. We're all present. Can't get out in this damned snow.'

Engles nodded briefly at the group by the stove as Joe introduced him. Then he said, ‘Come and have a drink, Joe. I want to hear what sort of shots you've got for me. You need a drink, too, Carla. What are you having?'

She removed her heavy fur-lined jacket. She was dressed in her scarlet ski-suit. It was a pleasant splash of colour in that drab room. ‘I would like a
strega
, please, Derek.' And she took his arm as though he were the one man in the world.

Engles gave me a quick, secret smile. I poured the drinks. Joe began talking about his focal point. Engles was only half-listening. His attention kept wandering to a battered mirror that hung on the wall at the end of the bar. At first I thought he was checking up on his appearance. He was always meticulous about his toilet when women were around. But then I realised that he could not possibly see himself in it. What he could see was the little group by the fire.

I switched my attention and saw that Mayne, too, was watching that little mirror. Joe rambled on about the importance of the
slittovia
from the camera point of view. Engles did not even pretend to be interested. He was watching Mayne and there was something between amusement and excitement in his dark eyes.

At last Mayne got up and came over to the bar. His movements were casual enough, but it was a deliberate casualness. He and Engles were much of a height when they stood together, though Engles seemed shorter because of the slight stoop of his shoulders. Joe paused for breath and Mayne said, ‘As you're joining us in this hermit's existence up here, Mr Engles, perhaps you will have a drink with me?'

‘I'd like to,' Engles replied.

Mayne poured the drinks, chalked himself up for the round, brought Keramikos and Valdini in and, in short, became a most charming and natural host, talking pleasantly and easily of the advantages of peacetime air travel as compared with conditions in wartime. ‘But peace or war,' he said, ‘I can never reconcile myself to the take-off—that uninsurable half-minute when your eyes won't focus on your book and you feel hot and there is that rattling roar of the engines as the ground rushes past the window faster and faster and then suddenly recedes.'

Joe, who had been content to pause for another drink, now dived back into the original conversation. ‘There's one point at any rate, Engles,' he said, ‘that I'd like to get settled before I take any more shots. Do we or do we not—?'

‘I don't think you'll be doing much camera work for some little time,' Mayne interrupted him. ‘Look at it now!'

He was pointing at the window and we all turned. Outside, it had suddenly become even darker. The snow was lifting up before it reached the ground and swirling round in eddies. Then, suddenly, all those millions of little jostling snowflakes seemed to fall into order of battle and charge against the trees on the far side of the
slittovia
. The whole hut shook with that first gust of wind. It whined and ramped round the gables as though intent upon plucking the hut off Col da Varda and whirling it away into space. It took hold of the trees and shook them like a terrier shakes a rat. The snow fell in great slabs from their whipping branches. A wave of snow swept up from the ground and flung itself across the sleigh track. Then the wind steadied down to a hard blow, driving the snowflakes almost horizontal to the ground.