I felt my way to the front door. It was locked, and the key was not in the lock. The darkness all round me seemed suddenly alive. I had to get out. I couldn’t fight him alone here in the darkness. If he got hold of me. … I shuddered at the thought of the touch of his hands on my body. I turned in a panic and groped my way to the hall window. It was shuttered and the iron bar that secured the shutters was padlocked. I tried the dining-room. There, too, the shutters were padlocked. Again I had that feeling of being trapped, a nightmare sense of claustrophobia. I went back into the hall and there I hesitated. I was considering trying to get out through the servants’ quarters when I noticed a slight glow from the half-open door of the room where Zina had played to me earlier that evening. I crossed the hall and pushed open the door. Then I breathed a’ sigh of relief. A rectangle of red light showed opposite the door. The room was full of shadows. But I didn’t mind. All that mattered was that there were no shutters across the window. I went straight over to it and slipped the catch.
And then something about the stillness of the room made me turn. Was it my imagination or was there a figure seated at the piano? I stood there for a moment, quite still and rigid, the blood pumping against my eardrums. Nothing stirred. The room glowed faintly. I reached again for the window and pushed it open. The night air was cool on my face. The vineyards below the terrace were bathed in a macabre light. ‘You finding it hot to-night, Farrell?’
I swung round, my heart thudding. The voice had come from behind me, from the direction of the piano.
‘I couldn’t sleep either.’ The voice was almost American, but in the darkness I detected an unpleasant sibilance. The piano came to life, whispering the old Yankee tune Marching through Georgia. Shirer had whistled that tune, whistled it endlessly through his teeth to keep himself from crying out at the pain of his gas blisters. I switched on my torch. The beam cut across the glossy surface of the baby grand to the face above the keyboard — Shirer’s face; only not quite Shirer’s.
The man’s name was on the tip of my tongue — his real name. But I stopped myself in time. Maybe I could bluff it out. if I could make him think … ‘God! You scared me,’ I said quickly.’ What are you doing here? I thought you were in Milan.’
‘I live here. Do you mind switching that torch off. It’s a bit dazzling.’
For an instant I hesitated. If I kept the beam on his face maybe I could get Zina’s automatic out of my pocket without him seeing. But I might miss and then—’ The trouble was I couldn’t see his hands. But he wouldn’t have sat there waiting for me to be attracted to the open windows without having a gun. Somehow I had got to convince him that I’d no idea anything out of the ordinary had happened. I switched the torch off. The sudden darkness made me wish I’d chanced a shot.
‘Couldn’t you sleep?’
‘I slept for a bit,‘I told him. ‘Then I felt ill. I’m afraid I had too much to drink.’
‘ Where’ve you been — for a walk round the grounds?’