The Lovers Page 17

  By the time Molloy had made his farewells and Cavanagh had taken his place as host at the Pipistrello, the first dishes had been served and the guests were waiting on the main course, a paillard of veal, which the padrone had assured them was the best quality meat to be found in the province. The musician, a good guitarist with an agreeable tenor, was working his way through a bracket of traditional Neapolitan songs which the Countess and Galeazzi were harmonising with him. Giulia and her father were engaged in a low-voiced dialogue which they broke off the moment Cavanagh took his seat at the table.

  The waiter poured wine and mineral water for him. The padrone recommended the veal with operatic eloquence. The musician asked whether he had any requests. Cavanagh answered that he would rather leave the choice to the ladies. He loved the music but was quickly lost in Neapolitan dialect.

  Giulia offered to make the choice and to interpret the words in Italian, provided Cavanagh would attempt a full reprise of the number with her. Agreed? Most certainly agreed! The song of her choice was ‘Passione’, which, Galeazzi told him, had been written in 1935, the last of the golden years in Neapolitan music. Galeazzi, it seemed, was a minor expert in the folk music of the siren lands. The guitarist played Giulia into the opening stanza:

  ‘Cchiù luntana me staie, cchiù vicina te sento . . . The further you are from me the closer I feel you.’

  The deceptively simple words seemed almost to betray the singer into the haunting passion of the chorus:

  ‘Te voglio, te penzo, te chiammo . . . I want you, I think of you, I call you, I see you, I feel you, I dream you . . .’

  That much at least he knew he could memorise. The words were alien but their meaning and their passion were his own. Were they Giulia’s too? They had to be – else why had she chosen this plangent little lyric, why had she waved everyone into the last chorus, her family, the other diners in the room? Why, when the song was ended did they all applaud so spontaneously, and afterwards turn the private supper into a riot of music and Latin sentiment?

  It was long after midnight when they walked back along the dock, arm in arm, a quintet of happy travellers. Giulia, high on liquor and mischief, challenged Cavanagh:

  ‘Now see if you can remember the song.’

  Cavanagh stopped, gathered the group around him and intoned softly: ‘Cchiù luntana me staie, cchiù vicina te sento . . .’ His Neapolitan sounded rather more like Tuscan, but the notes were true and the rhythm authentic and their a capella rendition of the chorus swept softly along the seafront with the night breeze.

  ‘There now!’ Cavanagh, was riding a high wave of elation. ‘It strums on the heartstrings, doesn’t it! We should form a singing group and take ourselves on the road!’

  ‘We could call ourselves “The Lovers”,’ said Giulia, ‘and we’d specialise in love songs!’

  ‘Don’t even whisper it!’ Farnese was suddenly out of humour. ‘That’s the sort of thing the gutter press loves to print. I can just see the headlines, “Passion in Porto Santo Stefano!”’

  ‘What’s wrong with a little passion, Papa?’ Giulia was in no mood to be bullied. ‘You’ll be glad of it when Aurora Lambert arrives tomorrow!’

  ‘God forgive your mother for the daughter she gave me!’

  Farnese turned on his heel and stalked off. Galeazzi moved to follow him.

  ‘Time I was in bed. My thanks for a most pleasant evening, Mr Cavanagh.’

  ‘Mine too,’ said the Countess.

  ‘It was Mr Molloy’s party. I’ll pass on your compliments. He’ll be more than happy to know you enjoyed yourselves.’

  ‘I don’t want to go to bed yet.’ Giulia was reckless in mischief. ‘Will you walk me to the end of the dock, Mr Cavanagh?’

  ‘With pleasure. Give me five minutes to relieve the watch and check the ship. I suggest you bring a wrap. That breeze is quite cool.’

  The Countess put in a cautionary word.

  ‘Don’t keep her up too long, Mr Cavanagh. Otherwise she’ll be impossible in the morning.’

  ‘I have to be up early myself, Countess.’

  ‘I know. You have great responsibilities now. Enjoy your walk.’

  Cavanagh and Giulia followed her on board and then separated briefly while Cavanagh relieved Rodolfo from his deck watch and made his final round of the ship. Everything was quiet in the crew quarters, but when he went into his cabin to pick up his quilted jacket, he found a note on his pillow:

  ‘I heard the serenade. Beautiful! Like two love-birds in a cage. I’m happy for you; but watch it buster! Your slip is showing. Sleep well. Lenore.’

  When he went back on deck he tore the note in pieces, tossed them overboard and watched them flutter away on the night wind. Giulia, wrapped in a cloak, was waiting for him on the afterdeck. She hurried him off the ship, but offered not even a hand’s touch until they were safe in the deep angle of shadow where the sea wall butted into the foundations of the harbour-master’s watchtower.

  Then, without a word spoken, they were in each other’s arms, lip to lip, body to body, trying vainly to meld their two selves into one. They drew apart, long enough to look each at the new other and mutter the first desperate words:

  ‘I want you so much!’

  ‘And I want you!’

  Then they were entwined again, gasping and kneading, devouring each other with kisses until the first fury subsided and Giulia found voice again.

  ‘Not here! Not now! I don’t want it like this!’

  ‘It’s too dangerous on board.’

  ‘Then we’ll find another place, another time. I’m not denying you . . . I want you. I love you. You must believe that!’

  ‘I do! I love you too. God knows I never expected it to hit like this . . .’

  ‘I prayed it would! I dreamed it would. Now it’s a mess, a terrible mess!’

  Suddenly Giulia was weeping and he was comforting her with lips and hands and small endearments.

  ‘There now! It’s a mess, sure; but it’s not beyond mending. The great, grand thing is that we have love between us. We can see it, taste it, touch it. There are no secrets now.’

  ‘Oh yes there are, my love – more and darker ones – between Molloy and me, between my father and me.’

  ‘What about your aunt?’

  ‘She knows. She wanted this to happen. She doesn’t want me to marry Molloy.’

  ‘And Galeazzi, your godfather?’

  ‘He sees everything, but says little. He likes you. He says that openly; but if his masters’ interests are threatened he will act against you.’

  ‘So we wait and let others do the worrying. Don’t you see? We’ve been given a holiday. Molloy’s away. Galeazzi’s leaving. Your father’s going to be busy with his girlfriend. I’ve been commissioned to teach you to dive. We have all the excuses in the world to be together . . .’

  ‘And that’s enough for you?’

  ‘That’s all we’ve got until we work out something better.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘All you have to do is say yes and I’ll take you away and marry you.’

  ‘I will not come to you like a barefoot gipsy!’

  ‘You can come to me stark naked if you want; just so we hit the road together. Right now I’m a poor man, but one day I swear to you I’ll pull the stars out of the sky and pour them like diamonds into your lap!’

  ‘You’re crazy, Cavanagh!’

  ‘We’re both crazy, my love. So let’s do what they do with racehorses. Let’s put the blinkers on just so we can’t see how rough the competition is!’

  ‘I’m scared – for Lou, for my father, for me.’

  ‘I’m scared too – but only for you. I tell you truly, you could do nothing worse in the world than marry Lou Molloy!’

  She thrust him away, holding him at arm’s length, staring into his eyes, as she challenged him:

  ‘Never, never say that to me again!’

  ‘It’s the truth, for God’s sake! You don’t love him. He’s . . .’


  She covered his mouth with her hand before he had time to blurt out the rest of it.

  ‘Listen to me, Cavanagh. Please, please listen! Molloy is my betrothed. He asked me to marry him. I accepted. I don’t know what it means in your country, but a fidanzamento – a betrothal – is a serious matter. I have to deal with that in my own way. You will hurt me and shame yourself if you begin to abuse Molloy to me.’

  ‘I saw him shame you tonight. I wanted to kill him! Now he’s standing between us and the sun. I won’t let him have you. You’re mine. I want you.’

  ‘Not here! Not now! You’re right, my love. We’ve been given a holiday. Let’s begin to enjoy it! Hold me, kiss me! I love you so very much.’

  A long time later they walked back to the ship, hand in hand, with the sound of the love song soft between them, and their secret written on their faces for all the rough world to read.

  He was about early the next morning, rousting the crew to get the decks swabbed, the bright-work polished, the salt dew wiped off the windows, the carpets vacuumed, the interiors dusted. There was no time to talk, the job must be done before the passengers were astir and under their feet. Afterwards, he took Leo up to the bridge, and put him on radio-watch. His instructions were precise and emphatic.

  ‘We’re tuned to Portishead and we’re on a fifteen-hour watch for communications from or to Molloy. You and I will have to share it. While we’re in port we’ll keep the public address system switched on. Watch especially for a code transmission in figures and, if you get one, for Christ’s sake make sure you copy it correctly. I’ll start training Rodolfo so he can stand helm-watch while we’re cruising. We’ll have a new visitor on board and we’ve got an owner-skipper with a lot of problems. I have to be able to depend on you, Leo!’

  ‘You can, I promise. Jackie and I feel terrible about Hadjidakis. Looking back now, it had to be a set-up and we both fell for it.’

  ‘Say that again!’

  Cavanagh snapped up the phrase instantly. Leo was startled.

  ‘It had to be a set-up.’

  ‘Explain that!’

  ‘Well, when we first got to the brothel we were having a drink in the bar. There was this big, handsome brute next to us with a couple of English seamen. He wasn’t English, though he spoke it a little. He said his name was Benetti and that he was skipper of a Fairmile called the Jackie Sprat. We remembered seeing her in Calvi. He told us he’d cruised behind us all the way to Elba. We made him for a smuggler; but he was good company. That’s how it all got started – the drinks, the guys, the girls, and Giorgios and Benetti getting hot for each other. They split first. We picked up a couple of good-looking boys and went into their room. It wasn’t until we were ready to go back to the ship that we missed Giorgios and went looking for him.’

  ‘What about Benetti and his crew?’

  ‘They were long gone – an hour and a half at least, the madam told us. But I’ll swear they were the ones. When the carabinieri drove us back to the Salamandra, we had to pass along the waterfront of Porto Ferraio. There was no sign of the Fairmile. It all adds up, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’

  ‘Because you were following your own game plan, remember? We were confined to ship so the carabinieri couldn’t interview us. You went back with them to look after Hadjidakis. We were ready to tell the whole story to Molloy – except he didn’t bother to ask us . . . We guessed he had his own reasons; why should we stick our heads in the lion’s mouth?’

  ‘You called it a set-up. Why?’

  ‘It’s like bad fish: the longer you leave it, the more it smells. Looking back now, it was too pat, too staged. But it doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘It does; but it’s too long to explain now. It’s a political matter. It has to do with the fellow we picked off the beach in Calvi. The CIA is involved. I’m waiting on further instructions from Molloy. Meantime, while we’re in port, let’s be extra vigilant – and for Christ’s sake be careful about casual contacts and report ’em to me. We’ve got important passengers on board. Any one of them could be the next target.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Kidnapping, violence, murder! Anything’s possible. Meantime, I want you to stay on the bridge until I relieve you. Get me out charts from here south to Ischia and also for Sardinia and the Lipari islands. Put markers in the pilot books. And I’m looking to you to pass what I’m telling you to Jackie. Are you hearing me?’

  ‘Loud and clear, skipper! Loud and clear!’

  His next meeting was with Galeazzi and Farnese, who were taking their morning coffee on the afterdeck. He sat down with them and announced briskly:

  ‘I need some instructions from you, gentlemen! First, what time does Miss Lambert arrive? Do we need to provide transport?’

  ‘No, thank you. Count Galeazzi’s chauffeur is driving her up from Rome. He’ll bring her directly to the ship. Galeazzi and I will be spending the morning at the port site on the other side of the promontory. We’ll be back before noon.’

  ‘I shan’t be with you for lunch,’ said Galeazzi. ‘I’ll leave as soon as my car gets here. I have two other calls to make down the coast.’

  ‘I understand the Countess also will be receiving guests on board?’

  ‘There will be two for lunch.’ It was Farnese who answered. ‘I should not think they will be here before two in the afternoon. Does that create a problem for the Chef?’

  ‘Not at all, sir. Will the guests be staying on board?’

  ‘No. They’re on their way north to Milan.’

  ‘Which brings me to a matter I feel bound to discuss with you both.’

  The two men were instantly alert. Farnese asked quietly:

  ‘What sort of matter, Mr Cavanagh?’

  Cavanagh spelled out the information he had just received from Leo and his own immediate need of help.

  ‘If either of you gentlemen has any information or advice on this matter, I beg you to let me have it now.’

  Farnese shot a quick glance at Galeazzi and then fumbled with a long-winded answer.

  ‘I’m not at all sure that we have anything to tell you, Mr Cavanagh, or if we did whether we would have the right to disclose such sensitive information.’

  ‘Then let me enlighten you, sir!’ Cavanagh was in no wise prepared for a fencing match. ‘In the absence of Mr Molloy, I am the master of this vessel. I am responsible for the safety and well-being of all who sail in her. If there is a threat to that safety and well-being, it is your plain duty to disclose it to me!’

  ‘Mr Cavanagh is right, Alessandro.’ Galeazzi was judicious as a confessor. ‘Even before he assumed this acting command, he was involved in the Tolvier affair in Calvi. He has now a duty to inform himself on all its possible consequences.’

  ‘You tell him then, Enrico!’

  ‘Very well. Molloy, Farnese, and I hold differing opinions about the attack on Mr Hadjidakis. We are not surprised by your seaman’s report that it was a set-up; an entrapment. We are all agreed that it was. The question is who set the trap. Farnese here and Molloy, possibly influenced by the climate of American and Vatican opinion, believe it was an act of reprisal, initiated by the Marxists. A wanted man, a war criminal had been bought out from under their noses. They were underlining the fact that there is still a political price to be paid.’

  ‘But you don’t believe that, sir?’

  ‘No, I don’t. From the very moment we were in Calvi I believed that reprisals would follow; but I told Alessandro that day – and I have repeated it many times since – this is a purely French affair, French and Corsican if you want to be quite specific. Who knows how many of his victims – men and women – have sworn vengeance against Tolvier? I believe that the men who attacked Hadjidakis had come to Corsica looking for Tolvier. They could well have had an inside tip. French Intelligence is as full of leaks as a colander. The Vatican itself is a snake-pit of conflicting interests. It is too convenient to do what the Americans
are doing and dump every crime on the doorstep of the Marxists. Togliatti and the Italian Communist Party don’t work that way. He’s too shrewd, too practised. Already he controls most of the municipalities from Florence to Turin. He runs them very efficiently on a law and order ticket. Too often it is the Right who foment violence. I do not see an Italian hand in the Hadjidakis affair.’

  ‘But either way, sir, you see the act as a reprisal for the escape of Tolvier.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, my next question. Are more reprisals likely?’

  ‘Again,’ said Galeazzi quietly, ‘we all say they’re possible. The attack on Hadjidakis was a calculated brutality. It was meant to inspire terror. Farnese believes further acts are unlikely. Molloy is reserving judgment until he’s consulted with the CIA.’

  ‘Which is exactly the point at which I am bound to enter, gentlemen. In order to minimise the threat which we all agree exists, in order to scatter whatever forces may be disposed against us, I suggest we start our cruise tonight. I’ll plot us an itinerary that will keep everybody entertained and well out of harm’s way, until Mr Molloy is back in command on the Salamandra d’Oro. The last thing we want to do is hang around resort areas like this one . . . However, Prince Farnese must speak for his family and his own guest.’

  ‘Let me ask you a question then,’ said Farnese. ‘Who, on board, is the person most vulnerable to any further reprisals?’

  ‘Without doubt, your daughter.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because she is the point at which all your interests coincide – yours, Count Galeazzi’s, Molloy’s.’

  ‘It makes sense,’ said Galeazzi. ‘Sense enough to accept Mr Cavanagh’s advice. You and I can try to speak with Molloy this morning, by telephone. If we miss him, I’ll contact him as soon as I get to Rome. Essentially nothing has changed except the balance of our personal opinions. My advice would be to enjoy your holiday but perhaps expedite the other arrangements; Molloy’s investiture, the wedding . . .’