Free Death of an Englishman by Magdalen Nabb Page A

Inspector, his expression bland, his cheeks a little pink after a plentiful helping from a whole roast loin of pork, stuffed with sage and rosemary, and a dish of potato puree and another of green salad, followed by Gorgonzola dolce and a Chianti Riserva that was very much to his liking. The car behind carried a brigadier next to the driver, to relieve the guard on the flat, and Inspector Jeffreys next to Carabiniere Bacci in the back. It was the first chance these two had had to talk without their bosses, and Carabiniere Bacci was rather taken aback by the sudden liveliness of this hitherto silent young man. A grey drizzle was falling into the river when they crossed the bridge and drew up at the traffic lights on the other side.
    'Like England, this weather, but not as cold,' offered Jeffreys.
    'Yes. The rainy season. It starts early in November and goes on until the tramontana comes.'
    'The … ?'
    'Tramontana. The wind that comes across the mountains. It brings clear sunny weather but much colder, of course.'
    'Yes, it would be …' That seemed to exhaust the weather topic but Jeffreys persisted: 'You speak very good English. Learn it at school?'
    'Yes, I did study it at school but mostly I learned from my mother. She had an English nanny and then an English governess, so she speaks English as well as she speaks Italian.'
    It was Jeffreys's turn to be taken aback: 'And you wanted to be a cop?'
    'I beg your pardon?'
    'A policeman, sorry. I mean, your family …'
    The boy flushed a little, understanding. 'My father was a lawyer and I was also to have been one, but he died when I was still at the Liceo. I have a younger sister who was still a baby. Things were rather difficult … my mother is accustomed to a certain way of life, so …'
    'I see. Hard for you. I'm sorry.'
    'No, really. It's what I wanted. I would not have liked to be a lawyer.' His brown eyes were very earnest. Jeffreys wondered if he ever smiled. Their car was stuck in a queue, inches away from a blue and white police car that had got stuck going the opposite way. Jeffreys noticed that the two drivers gave each other no nod or wave of recognition. 'Colleagues of yours?' He pointed out to Carabiniere Bacci. The other looked blankly out of the window, straight through the blue and white car. 'No,' he stated, turning back.
    'Different branch?'
    'Oh no. They are nothing to do with us at all.'
    'They have a Plain Clothes Division, I suppose?'
    'Oh yes. But so do we.'
    Inspector Jeffreys couldn't resist the image that sprang into his mind: 'Ha hal You must keep each other well-informed! Imagine what would happen if you both turned up on a job in plain clothes—and started shooting at each other!'
    Poor Carabiniere Bacci looked unhappily down at his knees without replying. It was fortunate that the car lurched suddenly to a halt at that point and a loud argument ensued between their driver and that of a car which had shot suddenly out from a side street.
    'Ever been to England?' asked Jeffreys brightly, when they had started to crawl along the street again.
    'No, never. I have often thought of it but … In the summer we close up the house in Florence and take a smaller one by the sea to get away from the heat … For my mother and sister, you see, it's necessary … I couldn't really … In January there is usually time to ski a little in the Apennines … If I could afford to take all of us to England—but I'm afraid they wouldn't go. The real problem is,' he sighed, 'that Tuscany has everything—beautiful cities and museums, mountains for winter sports, beaches …'
    'It doesn't sound like a problem to me,' said Jeffreys, who hailed from a council estate in Stoke-on-Trent.
    'But it is,' explained Carabiniere Bacci. 'Because we never go anywhere else —Machiavelli made fun of our claiming to be great travellers if we went as far as Prato.'
    'Where's that?'
    'About twenty minutes away from where we are now.'
    'It's that bad, is it?' He was being flippant, but