Free Dead and Alive by Hammond Innes Page B

into a Men’s Naafi. We had frutti di mare, ravioli, lobster salad and zabaione with Lacrimo Cristi. And the price was staggeringly cheap in comparison with what we used to pay.
    After lunch we returned to the Via Roma. The firm to whom we were delivering our cargo had their offices in the Galleria Umberto. A girl with raven black hair andlarge breasts barely concealed by a low cut frock showed us in to Signor Guidici’s office. “Good-afternoon, gentlemen,” he said. “I have been expecting you.” He was small and fat and he was smoking a cigar. He waved us to two chromium-plated chairs with a white pudgy hand. The room was expensively and uncomfortably furnished in the ultra-modern style—all steel and glass.
    But he spoke English well and dealt with the matter of our cargo with dispatch. It was to be landed at Pozzuoli the following day. He had arranged registration of the vehicles and would supply drivers. When he heard that we were also carrying a cargo of five hundred thousand cigarettes he offered to buy them straight away and the price he named was good. Moreover he gave us his cheque for the full amount there and then and agreed to our terms that one truck should be retained by us until we had loaded our return cargo.
    We agreed to run a similar cargo for him as soon as we had obtained the cargo we wanted for the return run. As he was showing us out he said, “There is a friend of mine who is wishing to meet you. He is hoping you will come to a little party he gives at his home to-morrow night.” He went back to his desk and scribbled down the address for us. “There,” he said. “It is the Villa Rosa in Posillipo. Ask for the Villa Emma—that is where Lady Hamilton entertained your Lord Nelson. The Villa Rosa is just close. There will be good wine and nice girls who speak English a little. And I think he wishes to talk about business to you.”
    We went out into the hot glare of the Galleria feeling pretty much on top of the world. In the space of a quarter of an hour we had settled the problem of the disposal of our cargo, had collected a cheque for nearly fourteen million lire, got an order for another cargo of a similar type, an invitation to a party and had made a new contact who wanted to do business with us. “I think this calls for a drink,” Stuart said, echoing my own thoughts.
    “First let’s bank the cheque,” I said.
    He laughed. “You’re more Scots than I am, I do believe, David.”
    We banked the cheque and then returned to the Galleria and sat in the shade of a coloured umbrella and watched the world go by, drinking cognac and lemon and discussing how best to acquire the cargo of wines and liqueurs that we needed.
    A young student asked permission to sit at our table. He was thin, with slender hands, and sallow features below his dark oily hair. He spoke schoolroom English. We bought him a drink and questioned him about Italy. He told us things were very bad. The country was short of food and essential raw materials. “The men who control the country when Mussolini were Il Duce are still the masters,” he said. “Many men have make much money in Black Market. They are very strong. And the people are very poor. There is not sufficient to eat and for many peoples there is no work. My father, he is a schoolteacher, and my brother, too. I am at the university. I study engineering. He gave a shrug of his shoulders and turned down the corners of his mouth. “But when I have done my examination I do not think there will be anything for me to do. There will be trouble in Italy soon,” he added. “This is why Italy accepted Mussolini. We need a leader now.”
    He was an intelligent youth and Stuart suggested taking him along with us. He would be useful as a guide, could act as our interpreter and might know something about prices. “In the mornings I am study always at the university,” he said. “But afterwards, Signori, I am free.”
    By the evening we had visited three or four