Cell

14

Paula never forgot their creep through the sinister alleys. Like herself, Beaurain also wore rubber-soled shoes, so they made no sound as they advanced slowly like ghosts amid the long shadowed areas between infrequent lanterns hung from ancient stone walls.

They passed alcoves inside which heavy doors closed off the entrances. High up, at first floor level, square windows, showing no lights, were set well back. Every now and again even narrower passages led off the main alley. Beaurain continued straight ahead, pausing at every corner where the alley curved. He had Paula behind him, where he wanted her, would hold up a hand to stop her while he peered round a curve.

The cold was intense, like walking through a refrigerator. Frequently she took off her gloves to rub her frozen hands together. Much good that it did. Beaurain had paused once more as he checked what lay beyond a curve. He whispered: 'I think there's a hotel. I'll check it and you keep out of sight

A red neon light over the entrance was flashing on and off. He reached the entrance steps and a blonde girl smiled at him invitingly. A cheap fur hat was perched on her head at a jaunty angle and the fur coat she wore was short, exposing long slim legs.

'You're home, darling,' she said in Italian. 'Come on in and I'll warm you up…'

Beaurain shook his head, gestured for Paula to follow him along the alley. The blonde sniggered when she saw Paula, called out something in Italian to Beaurain.

'What did she say?' Paula asked him as they continued walking.

'Nothing you'd want to hear. Wrong sort of hotel…'

They emerged from the maze of alleys suddenly into a main street. Still no one about. No traffic. Across the street a large building glowed with lights. Albergo Pisa. Inside the main entrance stood a doorman in a blue uniform, a gold cap. A Bugatti pulled up. A well-dressed couple hurried into the hotel and the car, with a chauffeur at the wheel, drove off.

'That's the place,' Beaurain said, taking Paula by her arm. 'Are you OK after all that?'

'I'm starving.'

After an excellent dinner with Beaurain Paula expected to fall into a deep sleep. Beaurain had booked two rooms and they had placed him in the next room to hers. Before she said good night to him at her bedroom door he had warned her: 'This should be safe, but we cannot assume that. If you are frightened by something bang on my wall. We can test it before I go to bed. Two hard knocks.'

When he had gone she had used her hairbrush to bang twice on the adjoining wall. Within seconds she heard his hard raps, acknowledging he had heard her. She climbed into bed, closed her eyes, opened them after only a few minutes. A vivid picture had entered her mind of Mario, smiling as he first greeted them. Taking a handkerchief from under the pillow she dabbed at her eyes, determined not to cry. She lay awake for a long time.

She was woken by rapping on the adjoining wall. Jumping out of bed, blinking, she threw on her dressing-gown, took the Browning from under her pillow, slipped it into her pocket. As she passed a wall mirror she paused briefly, dealt with her hair, then opened the door on the chain. Beaurain stood outside, wearing a smart blue English suit, a spotless white shirt and a matching blue tie. She was struck by his freshness.

'It's only ten in the morning,' she protested.

'I was up at seven o'clock,' he said with his engaging smile. 'You will want a good leisurely breakfast and then we have to take a taxi to the station – Centrale. Knowing Milan, the taxi will take ages to arrive.'

'Give me half an hour to shower, dress and pack.'

'I gather you didn't sleep well. Make it an hour. I checked and they serve breakfast all morning…'

She needed a fresh handkerchief and dived into the pocket of her coat hanging in the wardrobe. She felt something strange, took it out. One of Mario's biscuits she had slipped into the pocket before leaving his home. Her eyes began to water.

She dived into the shower. The water was just the right temperature. She stood under the shower, sobbing. Then she stiffened herself, held her face up to the shower for several minutes. Drying herself with a large towel, she peered again into the wall mirror. Thank God, her eyes were not puffy.

Three-quarters of an hour later she left her room, carrying her case, rapped on Beaurain's door. It was opened instantly and he stood with his coat over his arm, his case in one hand. He was smiling. He's always smiling at me, she thought.

The dining-room was large, well and tastefully furnished and had only two businessmen at one table. The head waiter tactfully guided them to a distant corner table where they would have privacy. Paula studied the menu and when the waiter came over she ordered polenta and coffee.

'Polenta!' Beaurain exclaimed when the waiter had gone. 'You'll never get through the huge helping they'll serve.'

'Oh yes, I will. I'm starved again. Probably put on a few pounds but I don't care.'

'What does it matter? You are as slim as a sylph.'

'Thank you, Jules. Now, I've been meaning to ask you. How does that protective paper wrapped round our hand guns work?'

'It was invented by a top chemist friend of mine at Louvain University. It is very special paper – I don't know exactly what it is. He soaks it in some chemical, dries it. It has the effect of rejecting any metal detector's attempt to spot metal. The Americans keep bidding up the price to get it but my friend refuses. He feels there is the risk it might fall into the hands of terrorists.'

'A second question. Who do you think murdered poor Mario?'

'My guess is the Mafia eventually discovered he was playing a double game.'

'I'm not so sure. They wore balaclava helmets but one of them – who stood in the background – had let his helmet slip up to his nose. It exposed a large jet black beard. That could suggest al-Qa'eda?'

'Possibly.' Beaurain paused as breakfast arrived. 'I was not going to mention this,' he went on when they were alone, 'but there was that vicious attack on you when you left the Ivy restaurant in London. I suspect you are the prime target. Maybe because during your investigations you talked to the wrong person. While we are in Italy you must never leave my side.'

'I won't.'

Paula was ladling large scoops of polenta, feeling better as it seeped into her system. In a few minutes she had cleaned her plate, then accepted a second helping. Also the very strong coffee helped. By the end of the meal she felt she was ready for anything.

Beaurain asked the waiter to order a taxi. When asked for their destination he simply replied, 'The Pirelli building.'

'When do you expect us to reach Verona?' Paula asked in a quiet voice.

'By late afternoon. I want to see the meeting place before dark. The express stops at two places before Verona. First Brescia, then a small port on Lake Garda called Descenzano.'

'You expect trouble?'

'I expect trouble all the time we are in Italy.'

'In Verona too?'

'Especially in Verona. I sense our enemy controls a vast organization. I'm beginning to think you are right. Our enemy may well be al-Qa'eda.'