Chapters (15)
‘No. It’s not that… I mean. Well.’
‘Yes. Well. Of course I may be totally and completely out of my mind. I have no proof, Marcus. I can’t be certain … I have just put two and twenty together and come up with Bingo! I know I’m right, but what the hell. Put it to the test yourself: my theory. You say that he’s invited you for drinks tomorrow, right?’
‘To look over the ship.’
‘Well, if that’s what you do, that’s great. If that’s all. On the other hand,’ she bit off the thread, tucked it into the back of the canvas, ‘if he suggests that you might care to take over the role … that you'd be so great for it…’
‘Takeover the role!’
‘Sure. No doubling. You’re to be It. Him. l’Aiglon in person. Bet your ass.’
‘But I can’t act.’
‘He has a nifty little speech about “clay”, “master craftsmen” and “potters”. He’ll do it for you, have no fear. Hates actors … he has to be a creator. Not acting won't phase him, he’ll love it. Just see. Don’t take my word, I could be biased. Give it a whirl, why not? And what you do is up to you. Great opportunity, if you want one. But just remember one important thing, you’ll never be quite the same again. You’ll change out of all recognition. Look what he’s done for Wolf Hagel, if you follow? Grottorosso is the famous apple in that cliché old barrel, know what I mean? The Spoiler.’ She lifted the canvas and held it at arm’s length. ‘I’m soothed enough for this afternoon.’ She rolled it into a cylinder, stuffed it into a bag of coloured wools, took off her glasses. ‘I’m going to take a look at our hostess; she’s somewhere down at the point there, bickering about with Tonnino. I wish she wouldn’t, she ought to have stayed in her room … she’s awfully tottery today, she could take a fall…’
‘Yesterday was a hell of a day.’
‘Right. She does too much.’ She got up, put the bag on the table with her glasses. ‘I reckon that’s what happened the other day at the beach: when you found her.’
‘I reckon.’
‘She fell, right?’
‘Right.’
She went over to the steps, paused for a moment, picked a head of honeysuckle. ‘Bruna says there was mud … and little stones in her jacket pockets; they are quite out of shape. Can’t even iron them flat. Must have been a hell of a fall?’
‘It was, yes.’
She turned and looked at him for a second, twisting the flower in her hands, then she smiled suddenly a warm, generous gesture.
‘That’s my boy,’ she said softly, and went away down the steps.