The Malaspiga Exit (32 page)

She gave a deep sigh, and suddenly put both hands to her face. ‘I do believe you,' she said.

‘If I were mixed up in drugs,' he said gently, ‘I wouldn't have to sell anything else. Since I'm not a murderer or a dealer in heroin—can you forgive me for being a forger?'

He held her close to him; Katharine didn't move, she rested against him for a long moment with her eyes closed. She felt suddenly too drained to think or reason.

‘Whatever Francesca does, whatever happens,' Alessandro di Malaspiga said, ‘I can survive it, so long as you believe in me. Now we're going upstairs.'

‘To wait for the police?' Katharine asked him.

He nodded. ‘I will get something for us to drink,' he said. ‘And while we wait I will tell you how it started.' He put his arm round her shoulder as they walked to the stairs.

‘I can tell that you believe me,' he said calmly. ‘You've lost that look of misery.'

As Carpenter remembered the map, he had reckoned he had less than two kilometres to go. At a bend in the road he saw the massive outline of the Castle, silhouetted against the clear night sky; lights pinpointed from some of the windows. The road wound upward at a steep angle, overhanging the slope of the hill, studded with dark pine forest and patches of olive groves which had been cultivated. Below him the town of Malaspiga was in darkness, the people sleeping. He had driven as fast as the winding streets would allow, and seen no one and not a single light in any house. He drove fast but carefully, hugging the side of the road away from the precipice at the edge. He had no plan clear in his mind, nothing beyond the rescue of Katharine. If he were in time.

There was a sharp bend, even by the standards of mountain roads in Italy, and he had slowed, swinging slightly into the middle to negotiate it better. As he did so a double beam of dazzling light cut across the windscreen from a blind corner. Carpenter shouted and wrenched the wheel to the right, slamming his foot on the brake. His lights were dipped, but equally they must have dazzled the other driver and from the speed with which the oncoming car rushed at him round the corner, the effect could be blinding. He felt the thud and scrape of his car as it hit the rock bank and he came to an emergency stop. And then there was a fearful shriek of tyres and a shattering crash which went on and on, reverberating through the darkness. He leapt out of the car and ran to the side of the road. Below him, three hundred feet down among the pine trees, a burst of yellow flame flickered and then roared up in a cone of orange and crimson into the air. Carpenter stood staring down, numbed by the horror of the accident. The other car, travelling at speed, must have gone out of control and careered over the edge. It was burning furiously; some of the surrounding trees had caught alight. There was nothing he could do for anyone who had been inside it. He wiped his sleeve across his forehead, it was sticky with sweat. Among the tumult of crashing glass and metal, he had imagined for a second that he heard a woman screaming … He got into the car and drove on, holding close to the rock side. A few minutes later he had rounded a curve and saw the offshoot road that led directly to the gateway of Malaspiga Castle.

‘It started a year after I came back from the States,' Alessandro said, ‘By that time I had established a small reputation as a dealer in Renaissance antiques and my business was growing. I had a select clientele. I was making money but not nearly enough. Drink your coffee.'

They were alone in the small sitting room; he had woken his mother's maid Gia and told her to go and see if the old Duchess was asleep. Gia had made them coffee and Alessandro was sipping a glass of brandy. He seemed cool and unconcerned; he had reached out and taken her hand as he talked. When the maid came into the room he resisted Katharine's attempt to draw it away.

‘I was in Florence when this American, Taylor, came to see me. He sent his card and asked for an appointment. I was delighted. I hoped to establish an opening in the United States. He came in the morning. I shall never forget it. We spent some time talking about antiques and he was very knowledgeable; a very precise little man, not quite a homosexual. Then he said he had a proposition to make to me. I was very interested to hear it. He had a shop in Beverly Hills and I thought I might do a lot of business. But it wasn't that kind of proposition. Francesca was visiting her sister in Rome during that week. He took a photograph out of his briefcase and passed it to me.

‘It showed my wife with Elise Bohun. I won't disgust you with details. He informed me that it was taken in a hotel in Rome only a few days earlier, and that Francesca had used her sister as an alibi to resume the relationship which had started in Hollywood. I was stunned. I remember looking at that photograph, and there were others, equally filthy. And then I knew that I was going to be blackmailed. He was very direct, very businesslike. Unless I agreed to his proposition, those photographs would be sent to the police and a formal complaint made. Equally there are several newspapers in Italy who would have welcomed a scandal about one of the old aristocratic families. There was no question of compromise, or paying him off. Money didn't interest him. He wanted me to front, as he put it. To pass through art forgeries and authenticate them as having come from my collection. Nothing very big to start with, some thousands of dollars for a moderate fifteenth-century artist. Not spectacular enough to cause enquiries. He made it clear that there would be profit in it for me and that I need never worry about my wife being exposed after the first deal. This was sensible, because by then I would be personally compromised.'

‘Couldn't you have gone to the police?' Katharine asked him. ‘Why didn't you fight back?'

‘There are many reasons,' Alessandro admitted. ‘The first was my determination to protect my family name. That has always mattered more to me than anything else. I didn't want anyone knowing what the Duchess di Malaspiga really was. No vulgar
carabinieri
in Rome or Florence was going to gloat over those photographs.'

‘How did John Driver come into this?' she asked him.

‘He was sent out to work here. Taylor said that we had proved the market and were due to make substantial sums of money. He was in charge of the American end; he had opened a very smart shop on Park Avenue and he had a lot of very rich clients. It would be simpler if the copyist worked direct from Italy. And so John came. He enrolled at the Academy of Arts here, and we played out the charade of his coming to repair some of the statues at the villa and my becoming his patron. He worked on the forgeries at Malaspiga and a year after he came we sold a fake Domenico Ghirlandaio which was so good that a collector in Canada paid half a million dollars for it. He believed it had been looted from a church in Siena during the German occupation and recovered by an American deserter who hid it for twenty years. As it was the property of the Church, he couldn't put it on public display, but this didn't diminish his enthusiasm. As far as I know it is the pride of his secret collection. We sold him a Fra Angelico fragment, which I thought was Driver's masterpiece, until I saw the Giorgione. I became a rich man, working with Driver and using Taylor as my outlet. But I had no idea that there was any other trade in progress. I didn't think Francesca knew any more about John than what I told her. A talented sculptor working for an exhibition and selling a few commercial pieces. Francesca said they had made a fool of me for years. She and that woman planned it all. Blackmail to get me involved in something illegal, and then the introduction of the smuggler. I liked John; that's ironical, isn't it? I knew he didn't have the talent he really wanted, and that forging other artist's masterpieces was some kind of revenge. I was genuinely sorry for him. When he hid his sculptures and wouldn't let anyone see them until they were finished, I sympathized. I respected his wishes. In fact, thinking back, I did everything to make it easy for them.' He leaned back, still holding her hand. ‘Do you think anyone will believe in my innocence? I can hardly believe in it myself.'

‘I'll tell them what happened,' Katharine said. ‘They'll believe me.'

He looked at her and smiled. ‘As a narcotics agent, your word will carry more weight than anything Francesca says. And I shall need your help,' he said. ‘The only way I can account for John Driver is by admitting that we were forging pictures. And I can never do that. One is certain disgrace and ruin for my family; the other way gives me a good chance. I want you to promise me something, Katerina.'

‘What?' she said, although she knew what he was going to ask.

‘Whatever happens, you won't mention the art forgery,' he said. ‘Even if it looks black for me, you won't think you'll help me by revealing that.'

‘I can't promise anything,' she said. ‘I can't stand by and see you go to jail for life for something like drug smuggling.'

‘The sentence would be nearly as heavy for selling fakes,' he said. ‘We Italians are very sensitive about our reputation in the art market. I would be severely punished, believe me. I will take my chance on the drugs charge. At least I can plead innocent to that and be telling the truth. You're disappointed in me, aren't you?'

‘Yes,' she admitted.

‘Women are very illogical,' he said gently. ‘When you thought I was a murderer and a drug smuggler you still loved me. You could love the black villain, but you are upset because you find that in fact he is a little grey. I can see it in your eyes; they show all your feelings; I remember saying that to you soon after we met. I could have been a hypocrite and pretended that I was forced to sell the pictures. But I love you, my darling, and I want to be honest. I want you to love me for what I am. I saw the chance of doing everything I wanted for my family and for Malaspiga. The sale of the Giorgione copy will double our fortune to what it was before the war. Does that make you unhappy?'

‘Yes,' Katharine said.

‘At least my mother and Uncle Alfredo will have everything they want. As I have no children, I have arranged for the Castle to become the property of the State after my death. So at least our heritage will be preserved.'

Before she could answer, the door opened. It was the old Duchess's maid, Gia. There was a car in the courtyard, she said. Somebody was ringing the bell at the entrance. Alessandro got up, drawing Katharine with him. ‘She has acted very quickly,' he said quietly. ‘I didn't expect them so soon.'

He went out into the hall, still holding Katharine by the hand. They found Frank Carpenter waiting for them.

‘You have no authority here,' Alessandro said. ‘You have no right to invade my house!'

Katharine stood apart, watching them both. Seen together they were symbolic of their different worlds. Carpenter shocked her by his toughness. He stood with one hand in the pocket of his coat, where she knew he held a gun. He looked dangerous and crude. She had refused to stand beside him when he called her. She felt numbed and weary, unprepared for the confrontation which she knew must take place. Her cousin unleashed the force of his arrogance upon the stranger, who had come and taken Katharine by the arm, announcing that he was an officer in the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Carpenter had said briefly to her, ‘Thank God you're safe,' before he turned to the Duke. ‘I can't deal with you,' he said. ‘But there's someone on his way who can. I'm taking Miss Dexter back with me.'

‘You will ask her first,' Alessandro said. ‘You will ask my cousin what she wants to do. And then I will let her go with you. If she chooses.'

He turned to Katharine. ‘You didn't tell me about this man,' he said.

‘There's nothing to tell,' she said. ‘We worked together in New York. Frank, please don't make a scene. You don't understand what's happened.'

She turned away and immediately Alessandro was beside her. She could see Frank's hand coming out of his pocket. She swung back and faced him.

‘He saved my life tonight,' she said. ‘For God's sake put that away!'

‘As you insist on behaving like a policeman out of a bad film,' the Duke said coldly, ‘I suggest you practise your heroics in my sitting room. My servants are not accustomed to guns. I don't want them to be alarmed.'

He moved away, taking Katharine with him, and there was nothing Carpenter could do but follow.

‘Now,' Alessandro said. ‘Perhaps you will explain what you are doing here? American policemen have no authority to act in Italy. As for my cousin, you can see she is in no danger. Therefore I suggest you go away!'

‘I can see one thing,' Carpenter said grimly. ‘I got here in time. Kate, you're coming back with me! I'm taking you to Florence. As for the Italian authorities,' he glared at the Duke, ‘they'll be here with everything they need to put you under arrest.'

‘I'm not leaving,' Katharine said. She felt if she might break down and cry hysterically. Now that Carpenter was there, she knew she was behaving without gratitude, and, in his eyes, without making sense. He had come to save her life; she could see in the looks passing between him and Alessandro that there was much more than the hostility of a policeman and a suspect. Both men sensed that the other was a rival; this gave their personality duel a dimension that increased her distress.

‘Please,' she said. She moved away from the Duke and came to Frank. She put her hand on his arm. ‘Please believe me. The Duke isn't guilty of anything. If it hadn't been for him you wouldn't have found me alive. Sit down and let me tell you what happened. Then you'll see why I can't leave.'

‘Katerina,' the Duke said behind her, ‘if you feel you have to make this man some explanation, then I will allow him to remain in my house. I hope you will persuade him to leave afterwards, and save me the trouble of throwing him out. I shall wait in the hall to see him go.'