North from Rome Read Online Free PDF Page B

days, watched and watched and wondered. Did you see anyone who looked as if he’d risk danger?”
    He glanced at her curiously, and counted out the money and the tip for their drinks. “Shall we lunch now?”
    “I can’t.” Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. She stood with her back to the other tables, to the café windows. “They’ve learned you are leaving Italy tonight.”
    “Oh?” He hoped his face was under control. “So you’re under orders to leave me alone now. I’m no longer dangerous?” He had spoken half-jokingly. But she faced him, her back tothe crowded tables, her face unguarded for a moment, and he suddenly realised that she was both afraid and hopeless.
    “Yes,” she said. “Those are the orders.”
    “And did the orders come by telephone, or by that handsome black-haired Italian in the grey suit? The one who sat opposite us for a while with the thin Englishman?”
    “How did you know?”
    “Because he is standing at the café door, watching you, right now.” She said nothing to that. He said, suddenly serious, “Perhaps it would have been safer for you not to come back to this table.”
    “I told him it would be very suspicious if I left you without saying goodbye.”
    “Who is he?” The Italian was a tall man, about thirty-five or so, with dark hair, thick, carefully brushed. He had a superior air, as if he were accustomed to behave correctly. He was obviously well fed, but also well exercised. He was most carefully dressed. Handsome, yes. Attractive to women, definitely. Now he was going forward to another table, to spend a few minutes in conversation with an ageing beauty, exquisitely dressed, her white face sheltered from the sun by an elaborate hat, her vanity bolstered by the adulation of the two young men who kept her company.
    Rosana hesitated. But she didn’t answer his question. “If you change your mind about leaving,” she said, holding out her hand to shake his, “it would be safest to keep it a secret.” She pressed a small wad of paper into his palm, “Goodbye.”
    “Safest for whom?”
    “For both of us.”
    He shook hands solemnly, but the amusement quickenedin his eyes. He was convinced that a good deal of dramatics had gone into persuading him to stay. There was too much emotion, too much play-acting around here for his taste. He’d stick to the theatre for that kind of thing, keeping it safest in a world of make-believe. But the day stretched out in its lonely fashion before him till he’d got on that homebound plane, and he tried to prolong the goodbye.
    “Have a safe journey,” she said, a little bitterly, as if she had read his thoughts and she turned away.
    Quickly, he started after her. He raised his voice to normal, “I’m sorry we can’t lunch together.”
    She said urgently, quietly, “Don’t follow me. Stay at your table!”
    “Let me walk you to the corner,” he said. “Even acquaintances do that.”
    “There’s no need.”
    “None. But I want to. Besides, if I didn’t walk a pretty girl to the corner, it would look odd.”
    They were passing the table now where the ageing beauty, her two young men, and the handsome dark-haired Italian were sitting.
    “Oh, Rosana!” It was the older woman speaking, her white face cracking delicately round the lips and eyes. “You never come to see me any more,” she said chidingly.
    “I shall, Principessa,” Rosana promised, halting unwillingly but politely as the three men at the table rose to their feet. Lammiter walked on slowly for a few paces, plunging his hands into his pockets as if he had nothing to do but wait. It was a relief to let the small wad of paper drop free from his palm into safety. Then he halted, looking at the traffic, while he lit a cigarette.
    The princess’s voice held Rosana. “We move soon to the hills. So come tomorrow, Rosana. The boys want to go to Ischia”— Lammiter could almost hear the flutter of their eyes and the pouting of their lips as they mimed