I thrust my leg out. ‘He was responsible for that.’ My voice sounded harsh and blurred in my ears. ‘My leg was smashed up in an air crash. He could have saved it. God knows, he was a good enough surgeon. Instead he did three amputations on it, two below the knee and one above — all without anaesthetics.’ Anger was welling up inside me like a tide. ‘He deliberately sawed my leg to pieces.’ I could see my fingers whitening as they tightened on each other. I had them interlaced and I was squeezing them as though they were closed around Sansevino’s throat. Then suddenly I 7S had control of myself. ‘Where will I find Walter Shirer?’ I asked her.
‘Walter Shirer?’ She hesitated. Then she said, ‘I do not know. I think he is not in Milano to-day.’
‘He’s staying at the Albergo Nazionale, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, but—’ Her fingers were on my hand again. ‘You should learn to forget the past, signore. People who think too much of the past—’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Every one has things inside them that are better forgotten.’ Her eyes were looking beyond me, not seeing the details of the room.
‘Why do you say that?’ I asked her.
‘Because you are all tense inside. Walter reminds you of the man in that photograph and you are bitter.’ She sighed. ‘I also have the past that I must forget,’ she said softly. ‘I have not always been dressed like this, you see. Life has not been easy for me. I was born in a slum off the Via Roma in Napoli. You know Napoli?’ She smiled as I nodded. It was a wry, hard smile. ‘Then you know what that means, signore. Fortunately I can dance. I get to know a man at the San Carlo and he gets me into the Corpo di Ballo. After that it is much better. Now I am a Contessa, and I do not think too much of the past. I think I should go crazy if I think too much of what my girlhood is like.’ She leaned towards me and her eyes were fixed on mine. They were large eyes — pale brown with flecks of green and the whites were not quite white, more the colour of old parchment. ‘Think of the future, signore. Do not live in the past.’ Her fingers squeezed my hand. ‘Now I must go.’ Her voice was suddenly practical as she reached for her handbag. ‘This afternoon I go to Firenze.’
‘How long will you be in Florence?’ I was thinking it was a pity she was going. She was exciting, unusual.
‘Not long. I stay two nights with some friends and then I motor to Napoli. I have a villa there. You know the Palazzo Donn’ Anna on the Posillipo?’
I nodded. It was a huge medieval building, the base of its stone arches planted in the sea just north of Naples.
‘My villa is just near the Palazzo. You will come and see me I hope when you are in Napoli. It is called the Villa Carlotta.’