Madrigal for Charlie Muffin

17

Clarissa sensed Charlie’s mood. She didn’t speak in the lift, but outside the hotel on the Via Sistina she looped both hands through his arm and hugged against him. Charlie glanced towards the Spanish Steps and isolated the unmarked police car with its boot-mounted aerial. He moved off in the opposite direction.

‘Why are we walking?’ she said.

‘Good for us,’ said Charlie. When the moment had come in the hotel room he’d ducked it, like a bloody fool. It wasn’t going to get any easier.

She pulled closer to him but didn’t say anything.

The Via Sistina is a street of small shops, none very fashionable, but Charlie went through the charade of stopping and staring and quickly identified the man following them in the reflection of a boutique window. He was small, in a double-breasted suit and a wide-brimmed hat, which was identifiable and made him an amateur at surveillance.

For positive confirmation Charlie crossed suddenly near the road junction by the theatre, as if he wanted to check the programme. The man darted after them. Clarissa was curious but said nothing.

With all the determination of the committed sightseer, which is what he wanted to appear in the subsequent reports to Moro, Charlie set a course for the Trevi fountain, the nearest landmark he could think of. There was the usual throng of tourists around the base of the monument when they arrived in the square. Clarissa immediately demanded a coin.

‘To make a wish work you’ve got to stand with your back to the fountain,’ Charlie said.

She did as she was instructed, closed her eyes and tossed the coin awkwardly over her head. Quickly glancing sideways Charlie saw the blue-suited man at the side parapet where the horse-drawn carriages were parked waiting for tourist fares.

‘Now you,’ said Clarissa.

‘Can’t afford it,’ said Charlie. Irritated with himself, he took her arm, guiding her through the crowd up to the higher balustrade. As they walked, Charlie saw one of the carriage horses start to urinate in a sudden, steaming burst, and from the way the policeman jumped Charlie guessed he hadn’t been able to get his feet out of the way in time.

There was a small cafe, with three tables wedged onto the pavement, but they were all occupied. It was cramped in the dark interior and smelled of yesterday’s garlic. Charlie ordered cognac with his coffee but predictably Clarissa refused alcohol. They sat unspeaking until the drinks were served and then Clarissa said, ‘Why not say it?’

‘I don’t want you to stay.’

‘I know.’

‘You could be in Menton by tonight.’

‘I don’t want to go to Menton.’

‘I’m working.’

‘And I’m in the way.’

Charlie swirled the liquor around the tiny balloon glass. ‘Something isn’t right,’ he said.

‘What do you mean.’

‘The robbery isn’t right. I don’t know what it is…’

‘You aren’t making sense.’

‘Nothing makes sense at the moment.’

‘I still don’t see why I can’t stay with you.’

‘I don’t think it’s safe.’

‘That sounds dramatic’

‘We were followed here. By the police.’

Clarissa stared wildly around the cafe. ‘Good Lord!’

‘What happens if they check with Rupert in London?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Of course you bloody know.’

‘Don’t shout.’

‘I’m sorry. Just go. Please.’

‘Slam, bam, thank you, ma’am?’

‘Your rules.’

‘You played.’

‘And now the game is over?’

‘It isn’t just that, is it?’ She put her hand on his arm.

Charlie could not hold the stare from the clear blue eyes.

‘Unless we’re sensible this is going to end up a real mess,’ he said.

‘So what?’

‘I don’t want it. For Rupert. Or for you.’

‘So what are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You ran away after America.’

‘Yes.’ There was no doubt he had a talent for it.

‘Don’t run away this time.’

‘I’d like you to leave,’ he said doggedly.

Clarissa sighed. ‘I’m disappointed, Charlie.’

‘I didn’t make any promises.’

‘It wasn’t promises I wanted.’

‘What then?’

She considered an answer and then appeared to change her mind. ‘Don’t come back to the hotel with me,’ she said.

‘All right.’

‘See you in London,’ she said and Charlie knew she meant it. He said nothing.

He followed her as far as the cafe door. As she walked away, Charlie watched men’s heads turn and he felt pride, not jealousy. The blue-suited detective shifted and then relaxed again against the balustrade overlooking the fountain. Charlie saw someone else move away from the crowd. It could have been coincidence, because there was a constant flow of people along the approach roads, but he didn’t think it was. The man was wearing a grey suit and Charlie had the feeling he had seen him before.

The meal began in frigid silence, like all the others. After a few moments Semingford pushed his plate away, food untouched.

‘Something wrong?’

‘No.’

‘What then?’ Ann Semingford was an angular, sharp-featured woman who had responded to her husband’s neglect by neglecting herself. The smock dress was the one she had been wearing for most of the week and her hair hung lankly around a face that was shiny without make-up.

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Love!’

‘I want to talk.’

‘That’ll make a change.’

‘I want a divorce, Ann.’

She stopped eating. ‘The moment of truth!’ she said, striking a pose.

‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘Isn’t it you who’s being stupid?’

‘What’s the point of either of us bothering?’

‘You know how I feel about divorce.’

‘That’s hypocritical, in the circumstances. Do you want me just to walk out?’

‘I don’t think you’d do that, Richard. It would hardly help your career, would it?’

‘Bugger my career.’

‘Since when?’

‘It isn’t important any more.’

‘What is?’

‘Finding a way to be with Jane.’