The Thing Itself

FORTY-ONE

Victor Tempest exercise book five cont.

The Allies bypassed Chiusi, whilst keeping it hemmed in, so the bombardment stopped. Our unreal existence continued. Mostly the count loitered, seething with unfocused jealousy. Listening in doorways, whispering in quiet corners with his fascist cronies.

I’d been moved to a bedroom on the first floor. One afternoon I lay on the bed wondering if I was behaving improperly in the villa. Was I collaborating in some way? I couldn’t see how. Although I might find the activities of the Italian fascists towards internal opposition before and during the war distasteful, I had been clearly instructed to safeguard the count against any post-war settling of scores.

I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep until the music woke me. I opened my eyes and thought for a moment I was out in the country. Stars in a turquoise sky shone above my head on the bed’s painted canopy. After splashing my face at the sink, I went out into the corridor to locate the others. I took a wrong turn and found myself in an unfamiliar part of the house. I could not hear the music here and I was about to retrace my steps when a sliver of light shot out from beneath a door a few yards to my left.

I made my way cautiously to the door. I knew what I’d find even before I pushed it open. The soft candlelight. The black woollen dress discarded on the floor beside the man’s dark trousers and jacket. The contessa, coiled on the bed with Knowles, asleep in his arms.

As I turned away from the tableau, I saw Knowles smile. He opened his eyes and looked at me, still smiling. I pulled the door closed.

The next day I found Knowles in the library. He was examining some ancient book. He looked up.

‘I didn’t know you were such an academic,’ I said, sitting down opposite him.

‘Why would you?’

‘You don’t remember me, do you?’

Knowles put the book down.

‘Should I?’

‘I briefly ran the north-west branch of the BUF in 1935.’

He narrowed his eyes.

‘That’s ringing a bell. A Blackburn lad?’

‘Born but not bred.’

‘A bobby in Brighton?’

‘I am that man.’

‘Well, well. Yes, I do vaguely remember. Last time I saw you was when we gave you the north-west job.’

‘Last time I saw you was in a members’ billiards club in Wardour Street. Meeting the manager — an Italian gangster who was later hanged for murdering a Jewish one.’

He looked sharply at me.

‘I vaguely recall that club. We were trying to get the kike gangsters out of London — the small Jews. It was a Sabini brothers club. Those gangsters and the BUF had the same goals in that instance.’

‘The manager had the same name as one of the Brighton Trunk Murderers. Tony Mancini.’

Knowles frowned.

‘And was it him?’

‘No — seemed Mancini the Brighton man had stolen his name. You know the cases?’

‘Doesn’t everyone of our generation?’

I sat down opposite him.

‘Tell me about you and the contessa.’

‘It means nothing.’

‘Does Alfonso know?

‘Are you mad? He would kill anyone he thought was her lover. He has always said that and I have no reason to doubt him.’

‘Why does she tolerate him?’

‘She is from a poor family. He has a position and money. He gave her a life of ease. Parlaying sex for a life of ease is not unknown. .’

‘So why does she jeopardize her position by taking a lover?’

Knowles laughed ruefully.

‘Alfonso’s mother encourages it. Alfonso is the last of the line but he is infertile. They cannot have a child. His mother advises her to take a lover from outside the family but to tell no one.’ Knowles shrugged. ‘She told me.’

‘Does he know he is infertile?’ I said.

Knowles looked up at the ceiling.

‘To the count, manliness — virility — is everything. It is the core of Italian fascism. That is why he despises me because I do not exhibit manly qualities.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I do not get drunk and belch in other men’s faces. I do not wrestle with them after dinner. I do not go into the hills to shoot boar and birds. I am thoughtful, so I must be homosexual.’

‘The perfect cover. And you are going to give the contessa a child?’

Knowles just looked at me.

That evening, after dinner, the count took me aside.

‘The German commander has been ordered to pull out tonight. Kesselring has finally persuaded the High Command that redeploying the weaponry from here after an orderly retreat makes more sense than leaving it exposed whilst this futile search for a tomb goes on. They will leave the town in your hands.’

‘He will disobey Hitler’s direct command?’

‘Hitler is already doubtless obsessed with some new nonsense his astrologers have brought to his attention, even as his thousand-year Reich crumbles around him.’

When the Germans left, Knowles left too. The count’s fascist friends melted away. The count and contessa packed in preparation for their move to Rome.

‘Under your escort, Major Tempest,’ the count said, an ingratiating smile on his face. ‘I think it advisable until feelings here have died down a little.’

I did not hide my distaste for the count. I had been in radio contact with the Allies as soon as the Germans had left. I had asked if my orders to protect the count still stood. The answer had been in the affirmative. On no account should I allow the count to be subjected to any unfavourable word or act. Investigation of his wartime activities was to be discouraged.

In the hospital I found Allied prisoners of war, captured during our failed attack on the town. They had been well looked after. I armed those who had recovered from their injuries and went to the cathedral square to announce that the Allies had formally liberated the town. Then I returned to the villa with them to await the arrival of the partisans.

Six came out of the hills the next day. Fabbio Cortone led them. When they came to the villa to arrest the count, I showed them the safe-conduct passes for the count and contessa. I insisted that they were under Allied protection. I stood firm when Cortone declared that the count had committed atrocities against the partisans during the war.

All the partisans were armed and angry. I showed no emotion even when Cortone showed me the injuries the fascists, at the count’s behest, had done to two of his men. As I closed the door on them, I saw the disgust in Cortone’s face. It scarcely compared with the disgust I felt for myself.