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hand. For all his ascetic appearance, the old man was aquiver with anticipation. Perhaps the black armband explained it.
    As Fidellina had put it, they were bidding for the honour of taking me upstairs. It was to be a few playful slaps and that was it, but even so I’d had some serious doubts. The bidding process was done secretly, she explained, making sure I realised how much I stood to gain. Three or four interested parties would each put up an initial bid. If there was no outright winner they were each invited to raise their bid. The total stake money would end up in my pocket. How could I fail to be the lucky winner for half an hour’s spanking in the upstairs room?
    By half-past ten there were two ‘tips’ of fifteen pounds and the three bidders were invited to raise their stakes, without knowing who was in front. Two put up another five pounds each, but the military type produced a further ten-pound note with a flourish from an elegant morocco pocketbook and clinched the deal. Having stuffed my prize haul of sixty pounds into my apron, I took it off and handed it to Fidellina, who smiled encouragingly and squeezed my hand.
    My instructions were to waste no time but get myself prettified. After I had quickly tidied my hair in the cupboard, Costanzo came to fetch me. As I started the climb up the narrow staircase I was painfully aware of the expectant hush that was beginning to settle on the diners.
    As I pushed open the door, I received a surprise. The upstairs room was richly furnished. A faded terracotta rug covered most of the floor and there was a faint aroma of expensive cigars in the air. The space was dominated by a large dining table carved out of some dark wood with matching chairs. A fireplace at one end gave off a soft glow and the colonel, as Fidellina had identified him, stood near this, holding a tiny tumbler of clear spirit between thumb and forefinger. He was looking out through a large bay window on the other side of the dining table.
    â€˜ Buona sera, signorina . I think this is your first visit to the club room, yes?’ The question was more of a statement, accompanied by the briefest of smiles. ‘Go to the corner cupboard, please, and unlock the door.’
    The greeting was cool, as if the silver-haired colonel had never clapped eyes on me before. For a moment I thought I was supposed to curtsy. Not knowing what to do next, I noticed he had extended his arm. Dangling on the end of a silver chain was a small key, twisting and twinkling in the candlelight.
    Before I had fully thought out my response I found myself opening the door of a built-in cupboard that reached the ceiling. The lighting was subdued and I could not immediately make out the interior in any detail, but as the contents became clearer I gasped involuntarily.
    â€˜Look up to your right for what we are needing.’ The voice was brusque and businesslike, so different from the courteous and affable figure I had served in the restaurant. As I put up my hand I clumsily set two or three hanging canes rattling. I searched again, noting that there must have been twenty or thirty pegs in there. Each carried an implement of some sort. A strong aroma of leather and saddle soap wafted out. Italian men collected some strange things, it seemed.
    â€˜We need the spazoletta da panni ,’ he instructed me. ‘You say a clothes brush, I think. It is black and shiny.’
    At last my hand closed on a brush with short, dense bristles. It felt surprisingly heavy and, as I carried it over to the colonel, I noticed it had a small wing-nut at the far end of the handle. The old man took it from me and laid it down with a clunk on the table top. He pulled out one of the carved, high-backed chairs and set it near the fire. It had a well-stuffed seat covered in dark red damask. Was he going to hang his jacket over it?
    â€˜Now, signorina . I think you know what you must do.’
    â€˜N-no, sir.’ These were the first