City of Devils: A Novel by Diana Bretherick Page B

think of her like that? And yet standing so close to her meant that any self-control he might have had was completely lost. He could not resist her, try as he might. He put his hand up to touch her cheek. She put her hand over his, all the time looking into his eyes and he was lost.
    ‘Not here . . . not now . . . There are things I must tell you—’
    Suddenly she stopped. Someone had come into the kitchen.
    ‘Sofia?’ It was the maid.
    She drew away from him and placed her finger on his lips. ‘Wait,’ she breathed. She lifted a tray of food and made her way past him out of the larder.
    ‘Would you take this upstairs, Gisella? I will follow with some more wine.’
    James peeped round the door and saw the girl leave. Sofia turned and looked intensely at him. ‘Another time . . . soon.’ She picked up a tray of glasses and a carafe of wine and went upstairs.
    James leaned against the larder door for a moment, his eyes closed, not wanting to release the memory of her touch.
    When he returned upstairs Ottolenghi came over and pulled him to one side. ‘You’ve been a long time,’ he whispered. ‘What were you doing?’
    James looked at him and shrugged as if he did not know what he meant. Ottolenghi shook his head at him. ‘Take care, Murray, take care.’
    Before James could say anything Horton sauntered over to them. ‘You’re both coming to the debate?’
    ‘Wouldn’t dream of missing it,’ replied Ottolenghi. ‘Tell me, Horton, do you really believe that the professor is wrong about the criminal type?’
    Horton chomped noisily on his cigar, occasionally baring his sharp little teeth. ‘Well, put it like this . . . No one’s right all of the time, are they?’
    ‘What does that mean?’ James asked.
    Horton smirked. ‘You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you. One thing I can assure you of – the debate won’t be dull!’ He moved away, still smirking.
    Ottolenghi looked concerned.
    ‘What’s the matter?’
    ‘I don’t know. There’s just something about that man. He’s not to be trusted. I wonder what he’s got up his sleeve. Whatever it is, the professor won’t like it. We’d better be ready for him. One false move and the academic vultures will descend!’
    James looked over to Lombroso. He was holding forth to a small crowd of admirers. Borelli stood behind him, a faint smile on his face. Horton stood beside him looking bored. Ottolenghi grinned. ‘He’s telling his skull story again.’
    ‘What’s that?’
    ‘He’ll tell you himself soon enough, probably more than once. It is rather a favourite of the professor’s. It’s an account of how he was inspired to develop his theory of the born criminal being a throwback to primitive man.’
    James looked over again with fresh interest, listening to the performance.
    ‘As I looked at this scoundrel’s skull I could see the explanation for the enormous jaws, high cheekbones, prominent superciliary arches, solitary lines in the palms, extreme size of the orbits, handle-shaped ears found in criminals, savages and apes –’ Lombroso used his hands to illustrate his words like an old-fashioned actor miming a performance – insensibility to pain, extremely acute sight, tattooing, excessive idleness, love of orgies, and the irresponsible craving of evil for its own sake, the desire not only to extinguish life in the victim, but to mutilate the corpse, tear its flesh and drink its own blood.’
    Then Lombroso stopped and paused, evidently waiting for a reaction. There was a ripple of polite applause led by Madame Tarnovsky and he acknowledged it graciously, although James could see from his expression that he had been hoping for something more. Horton gave one of his audible yawns and Lombroso turned to glare at him. Madame Tarnovsky hastily asked a question and others followed her example and the moment had passed.
    James wandered over to Reiner who had been listening to Lombroso’s story from a distance, a wry smile on his face.