said Maurice, “is nothing to do with the police. It is on my property and in my observatory.”
“But leased to the Trust,” I said quickly. “And if it all came out anyhow, think of the row. Why not take a half measure? Leave the man in the safe, and give us two more days to make some inquiries. If we can’t do it by then, Jacko will make his dramatic discovery of the body. How’s that?”
“All right,” said Jacko. Everyone nodded. Jacko added, “So who goes with Johnson this morning? All of us?”
“It’s an interesting thought,” Maurice said. “I take it you are trying to
avoid
the attention of the police?”
“Actually,” said Johnson, “I’m going alone. Don’t worry. I have on my tearproof mascara.”
There was the grinding noise of a number of people changing their minds. Then Jacko said, “Well, if you want to. I’ve got film to develop anyway. But Charles could go. You’ve forgotten, Ruth. He doesn’t need to retake all his photographs.”
“Why?” said Charles. He looked, poor darling, as if he could have done with some of our coffee.
“Because we found the film on the body,” Jacko said. “The film he took out of your camera, Charles, before he smashed it and ran out and got shot. He’d shoved it into his sock but it was rolled up and properly sealed. Ruth has it.”
An elegant howl left Charles’s lips. “Madder music,” he said, “and stronger wine: this is my birthday, love, today.” I delved in my handbag, found the roll of film and tossed it to him.
Johnson, rising between us, thoughtfully fielded it. “I’m terribly happy for you,” he said, “but let’s keep our heads. If we have to call in the police, this is evidence. You know what’s in it, Charles. You don’t have to take these pictures again. I vote we leave the roll here with Maurice. I’ll sign it” (he did so), “and put it out of sight… there.”
There was a clink as he dropped the film inside an Attic vase rampant with satyrs and maenads intent on creative play projects which ought to have cost Maurice half the proceeds from his last West End run but probably didn’t. It seemed the right spot for Diana, if only in the negative, and Charles was perfectly complaisant. He turned in the doorway as we were leaving and, sinking his chin on his chest, delivered himself, I remember, of one of the gems of his collection:
“
Sweet Mem’ry’s Chord
Was Touched Today
They Came and Took
Your Teeth Away
Your Wig has Gone
Your Gas Limb Too
The Plastic Joints
That Rivet You
Your Contact Lenses They Removed
And All About You that We Looved.
”
I went back and had breakfast with him, and then left him to go and finish my work in the Dome.
But I didn’t go to the Dome. I waited at the gates of the villa and made Johnson take me to Rome to see Mr. Paladrini.
----
Chapter 7
« ^ »
I slept most of the way into Rome, curled up on the passenger seat beside Johnson. He drove fast and steadily and when I finally awoke we were through the Porta San Lorenzo and into our first bout of traffic jams. There was a rug over me which hadn’t been there before, and my cheeks were wet.
I dried them, and Johnson said, “He’s in the Via Margutta, behind the Via del Babuino. But I think we deserve a drink at Renati’s first.” He had made no fuss, to my surprise and relief, about taking me with him. He had not, come to think of it, even appeared amazed to see me. He was, of course, one of your homespun types, invincibly phlegmatic. Like me.
It had begun to rain when we got to Renati’s. Johnson parked the car, presumably on somebody’s doormat, and joined me at a pink table. I had a gin fizz, and said, “I thought we were in a hurry. I thought you were going to rush to the Via Margutta, fling open the door and say, ‘Ha!’ ”
“You can’t say, ‘Ha!’ in Italian,” Johnson pointed out patiently. “You say, ‘Ah!’ Or perhaps, ‘Ciao!’ ”
“Then he shoots you,” I said.
“But leased to the Trust,” I said quickly. “And if it all came out anyhow, think of the row. Why not take a half measure? Leave the man in the safe, and give us two more days to make some inquiries. If we can’t do it by then, Jacko will make his dramatic discovery of the body. How’s that?”
“All right,” said Jacko. Everyone nodded. Jacko added, “So who goes with Johnson this morning? All of us?”
“It’s an interesting thought,” Maurice said. “I take it you are trying to
avoid
the attention of the police?”
“Actually,” said Johnson, “I’m going alone. Don’t worry. I have on my tearproof mascara.”
There was the grinding noise of a number of people changing their minds. Then Jacko said, “Well, if you want to. I’ve got film to develop anyway. But Charles could go. You’ve forgotten, Ruth. He doesn’t need to retake all his photographs.”
“Why?” said Charles. He looked, poor darling, as if he could have done with some of our coffee.
“Because we found the film on the body,” Jacko said. “The film he took out of your camera, Charles, before he smashed it and ran out and got shot. He’d shoved it into his sock but it was rolled up and properly sealed. Ruth has it.”
An elegant howl left Charles’s lips. “Madder music,” he said, “and stronger wine: this is my birthday, love, today.” I delved in my handbag, found the roll of film and tossed it to him.
Johnson, rising between us, thoughtfully fielded it. “I’m terribly happy for you,” he said, “but let’s keep our heads. If we have to call in the police, this is evidence. You know what’s in it, Charles. You don’t have to take these pictures again. I vote we leave the roll here with Maurice. I’ll sign it” (he did so), “and put it out of sight… there.”
There was a clink as he dropped the film inside an Attic vase rampant with satyrs and maenads intent on creative play projects which ought to have cost Maurice half the proceeds from his last West End run but probably didn’t. It seemed the right spot for Diana, if only in the negative, and Charles was perfectly complaisant. He turned in the doorway as we were leaving and, sinking his chin on his chest, delivered himself, I remember, of one of the gems of his collection:
“
Sweet Mem’ry’s Chord
Was Touched Today
They Came and Took
Your Teeth Away
Your Wig has Gone
Your Gas Limb Too
The Plastic Joints
That Rivet You
Your Contact Lenses They Removed
And All About You that We Looved.
”
I went back and had breakfast with him, and then left him to go and finish my work in the Dome.
But I didn’t go to the Dome. I waited at the gates of the villa and made Johnson take me to Rome to see Mr. Paladrini.
----
Chapter 7
« ^ »
I slept most of the way into Rome, curled up on the passenger seat beside Johnson. He drove fast and steadily and when I finally awoke we were through the Porta San Lorenzo and into our first bout of traffic jams. There was a rug over me which hadn’t been there before, and my cheeks were wet.
I dried them, and Johnson said, “He’s in the Via Margutta, behind the Via del Babuino. But I think we deserve a drink at Renati’s first.” He had made no fuss, to my surprise and relief, about taking me with him. He had not, come to think of it, even appeared amazed to see me. He was, of course, one of your homespun types, invincibly phlegmatic. Like me.
It had begun to rain when we got to Renati’s. Johnson parked the car, presumably on somebody’s doormat, and joined me at a pink table. I had a gin fizz, and said, “I thought we were in a hurry. I thought you were going to rush to the Via Margutta, fling open the door and say, ‘Ha!’ ”
“You can’t say, ‘Ha!’ in Italian,” Johnson pointed out patiently. “You say, ‘Ah!’ Or perhaps, ‘Ciao!’ ”
“Then he shoots you,” I said.
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