The porter picked up the telephone. He gave my message. There was a pause and then he was talking fast, looking at me all the time, and I knew he was describing me to the person at the end of the line. At length he put down the receiver and called one of the pages. The boy took me up in the lift to the top floor, along a heavily carpeted corridor and rang the buzzer of a door marked B. It was opened by a manservant, or it might have been a secretary. It was difficult to tell. He was neatly dressed in a lounge suit and his small button eyes were quick and alert. ‘Please to come in, signore.’ He spoke English in a manner that suggested he hated the language.
He took my hat and coat and then showed me into a large, surprising modern room. It was decorated in white and gold, even the baby grand was white and gold, and it was lit by concealed lighting. The floor was carpeted in black. The effect was startling in contrast with the rest of the hotel. ‘So it’s you, Farrell.’ Shirer came forward from the fire, his hand held out in greeting. ‘Why in the world didn’t you say who you were?’ His voice was irritable, his face pale and his eyes searching my face.
I looked past him and saw Zina Valle in a big armchair by the electric fire, her legs curled up under her and a sleepy, rather satisfied smile on her face. She looked somehow content and relaxed, like a cat that has been at a bowl of cream. ‘A friend of Dr. Sansevino.’ Shirer patted my arm. ‘That’s rich coming from you.’ He caught the direction of my gaze and said, ‘You know the Contessa Valle, I think.’
‘Yes,’ I said. And then as Shirer took me towards the fire I said to her. ‘I thought you were in Florence.’
She smiled. ‘I could not go to-day. I shall go tomorrow instead.’ Her voice was slurred and languorous.
‘Queer running across you again like this,’ Shirer said. ‘It takes me back to things I’d rather forget. I guess you’d rather forget them, too — eh? Sorry about last night. Afraid you caught me off balance. It was just that I wasn’t expecting to find you there. Care for a drink?’
‘Thank you,’ I murmured.
‘What will it be? Whisky and soda?’
‘That’ll do fine.’
He had turned to an elaborate cocktail cabinet. ‘I had no idea you were in Milan. I suppose you’re here on business. Sismondi never entertains any one unless there is some business behind it.’