‘I wouldn’t be surprised. But what good is that? You can’t just ring for a taxi.’
‘No, but I could ring Pomigliano. There’s just a chance a plane could land here. There’s a flat stretch beside the road leading up to the villa.’
‘It’s a chance,’ Hacket murmured. ‘But I don’t see any pilot risking being caught up in the mess we’re in.’
‘Well, I’ll have a try.’
We followed him out to the hall. The telephone stood on a wall-bracket and we watched him as he lifted the receiver. For a moment we were buoyed up by the sudden possibility of hope. Then he began to joggle the contact up and down and hope receded. At length he put the receiver back on the rest. ‘No good. It’s probably an overhead line.’
‘It’d be the same if it were underground,’ Hacket said heavily. ‘The heat would simply melt the wires. Well, I’m going to get cleaned up.’
Through the open door I saw George standing forlornly in the shafts of the broken cart. They’d all forgotten about him. I went out and he whinnied at me. I stood there for a moment in the blazing twilight, rubbing the mule’s velvet muzzle. It’d be nice I thought not to know what was going to happen. I unhooked the traces and took him round to the outhouses where he’d have some shelter if more stones began to fall. I left him with the basket of asparagus and went back into the villa for a drink.
Hilda was alone in the room with Maxwell. Someone had removed the dead body of Roberto. ‘How is he?’ I asked.
‘He became conscious for a moment. He try to tell me something. Then he fainted again. I think he is in great pain.’
Maxwell’s face was very white and blood was dripping on to the floor. ‘Can’t you stop the bleeding?’ I asked her.