Man on Fire by A. J. Quinnell Page B

boss's wife."
    Creasy was surprised. Not that Rika might be having an affair, but that she would have picked a man like Mansutti. Elio's next words offered an explanation.
    "He's apparently helping Balletto arrange bank guarantees to re-equip his plant. There's talk of Mansutti's personal guarantee being involved. He's very rich and it seems that Balletto Mills have a cash flow problem."
    It could be the reason, Creasy thought. He couldn't see much standing in Rika's way if her life-style was threatened. Elio's words raised another question.
    "If Balletto's tight for cash, it's unlikely that his daughter is a potential kidnap victim," Creasy said. Elio agreed and thought it might be a social thing.
    "A lot of Rika's friends would have bodyguards."
    "You mean I'm a social asset?" asked Creasy dryly, and Felicia laughed at the idea. But Creasy remembered his short interview with Ettore and the whole thing made sense. Ettore was keeping his wife's image burnished at a cheap price. It also explained why he was reluctant to spend money improving the security of the house. He had been pleased to find on his return from Paris that Creasy was repairing the fence and had cheerfully reimbursed him the small amount that had been spent for timber. However, when Creasy had suggested a modern chainlink fence and other measures, he had been decidedly unenthusiastic.
    "Does your firm audit his books?" Creasy asked. Elio shook his head. "No, but we hear things."
    Felicia snorted. "Hear things! Accountants are the biggest gossips in the world. Worse than a bunch of housewives." She smiled at her husband. "It's a little Mafia all its own, but they use pocket calculators instead of pistols."
    Elio nodded benignly in agreement and said to Creasy, "Perhaps she's right. I suppose we do exchange information more freely than we should, but it's for our own protection. Italian businessmen are very secretive, especially with the tax laws we have. An accountant's ammunition is information-so we tend to scratch each other's backs. Besides, it makes up for the boredom of looking at columns of figures all day."
    Zagone appeared and offered them more liqueurs, this time with his compliments, and by the time they left Felicia was slightly drunk and walked between the two men, an arm linked with each.
    They paused at Mansutti's table, and the three men stood up and exchanged introductions and pleasantries. One of Vico's guests was an Englishman-dressed like a banker, very British in pinstripes and waistcoat. Vico made a point of telling him that Creasy was the bodyguard of the Balletto girl. "Very experienced," he said, smiling.
    Creasy felt irritation. He was a private man and didn't like to be discussed by strangers.
    Outside the restaurant Felicia kissed him on both cheeks and thanked him and made him promise that he would come to the house for a Sunday lunch in the near future.
    "Yes, he's much more relaxed," Elio said on the phone. "I was surprised. He seems to be settling in. He even told a joke or two."
    Guido also was surprised. He hadn't expected it to go quite that well. It was a relief. Creasy had been much on his mind.
    "Does he get on with the girl?"
    "He says she's got an inquisitive nature," Elio answered. "I suppose he tolerates her-otherwise it wouldn't work."
    Guido said, "I can't see him tolerating her if she pesters him with questions all the time."
    "Well, obviously she doesn't," Elio said thoughtfully, "but he did say she was curious about everything."
    Guido thanked him for calling and for helping with Creasy, and was assured it was no problem. Elio hero-worshipped his elder brother and would do anything for him.
    Guido hung up, a little mystified. An inquisitive child with a relaxed Creasy was a definite contradiction.
    Perhaps Creasy was getting old. Mellowing, even.
    Or maybe the whisky was addling his brain. Anyway, so far, so good.
    Pinta had reached an impasse. She was conscious that to move on to the next step in obtaining