I nodded. I’d be happier with the light on. I watched him go out through the windows. For an instant his pyjamas were a scarlet patch against the velvet darkness of the night outside. Then he was gone and I was alone. I felt exhausted and strangely relaxed. I think I was asleep almost before he’d reached his room.
I must have slept like a log because I don’t remember anything until Hacket woke me. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Fine,’ I murmured.
‘Good. I booked your passage on the plane. It leaves at eleven-thirty. It’s now just after nine, so you’d better hustle. Shall I tell them to send some breakfast up?’
‘Thank you.’ It was slowly coming back to me, all that had happened during the night. It seemed vague and unreal with the sun streaming in through the windows. ‘I’m afraid I gave you a rather disturbed night,’ I murmured.
‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘It was lucky I was in the next room. I know a bit about this sort of thing. You’ll be all right when you’ve nothing to do but lie in the sun and watch the girls.’
When he had gone I lay back, trying to sort the whole thing out. Had Sansevino really been in this room or had I dreamed it? But whether it was a nightmare or not didn’t seem to matter. It was real enough to me and I was glad I was going to Naples, glad the decision had been taken out of my hands. Hacket was so solid, so reasonable. I felt like a kid running away from something seen in the dark, but I didn’t care. Lying there, waiting for my breakfast, I knew that I was scared. There had been a moment early on in the night when I’d been exultant with the thought of revenge. But that was gone now. The touch of those hands had swept all sense of mastery away as though I had been plunged back five years in time to the hospital bed in the Villa d’Este.
I was still going over in my mind the events of the night when my breakfast arrived. I had some toast and coffee and then dressed and packed my things. Then I went down to the entrance-hall and cancelled my room. As I drew out the lire to pay my bill the photograph of Sansevino fell to the floor. I bent down to pick it up and a voice said, ‘Mr. Farrell.’ It was Hilda Tucek. ‘I must speak to you, please.’
I straightened up. Facing her in the act of settling my bill I felt as though I had been caught doing something I shouldn’t. ‘What is it?’ I asked. She had someone with her; an Italian in a wide-brimmed American hat.
‘This is Captain Caselli. He is investigating the disappearance of my father. Alec Reece thought you might be able to help him.’