‘I don’t know,‘I said.
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘What does it matter anyway. Who cares what he does? He has ruined the evening, that is all I know.’ She finished her drink and got to her feet. ‘I wish to go home now, Dick. You are not good company any more and I am upset.’
I followed her out of the bar and down the wide staircase to the crowded foyer. The car was parked in the Piazza. Trieste, but there was no sign of Roberto. I found him in a cafe in the Galleria Umberto. As we drove down to the waterfront Zina slipped her hand over mine. ‘Dick. I do not think this Maxwell is very good for you. Why not come away with me for a little? I have a friend who has a villa on the other side of Vesuvio. It is very quiet there among the vineyards. You can rest and relax, and nobody will know you are there. That is what you want, isn’t it?’ I could feel the warmth of her body very close to mine. I felt my nerves begin to relax as though they were being gently, subtly caressed. It was exactly what I wanted. If I could get right away, so that Maxwell, nobody knew where I was. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’s exactly what I want. But there is your husband.’
‘It does not matter about my husband,’ she murmured. ‘He is in Roma. He will be there for several weeks yet. I often go out to this villa. He can ring me there as easily as at Posillipo. What do you think?’
‘Can I ring you in the morning?’
‘No. Come and see me between eleven and twelve. I will be ready to leave if you want to go. Roberto can drive us.’
The car had stopped at my hotel. ‘Good night,’ I said. ‘And thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Buona notte.’
I watched the red tail-light of the Fiat disappear round the bend by the entrance to the Castello dell’Ovo and then I went into the hotel and straight up to my room. But when I’d gone to bed I couldn’t sleep. Something Maxwell had said kept running through my mind — Somehow you’re a part of it whether you like it or not. At length I got up, put my dressing-gown on and went out on to the balcony. The night air was cool after the warmth of the room. A rippled path of silver ran to meet the moon and I could hear the water lapping at the stone breakwater of Santa Lucia. Away to the left a red glow showed for an instant in the night sky and was gone. I watched and it came again, high up, a reflected glow against the underbelly of a cloud. But the stars shone brightly and there wasn’t a sign of any cloud.
Footsteps sounded on the pavement below and I heard an American voice say, ‘It’s just the same as it was in 1944.’ Just the same as in 1944! I knew then what that glow was. It was Vesuvius. The molten lava tumbling about inside the crater was being reflected on the cloud of gases each time she blew off. I lit a cigarette and stood watching it, wondering how it would look from a villa on the slopes of the mountain itself. At the moment it was only a faint flash of red in the sky, no brighter than the glowing tip of my cigarette, far less bright than the moon’s path. I shivered and went back into my room. Tomorrow I would leave Naples. Tomorrow I would go with Zina to this villa. Maxwell wouldn’t find me there. And in a week’s time I’d go back to Milan and start work again.