One other thing occurred that night that seemed strange to me. Engles had wanted full information on the people staying at Col da Varda, so I decided to send him a photograph of them. After dinner, I persuaded Joe to get his Leica and take a few shots of the group at the bar. I told him I wanted the shots to prove to Engles that the hut would have more atmosphere than a hotel for the indoor scenes. Little Valdini was delighted when Joe came in with his camera and began posing immediately. But when Mayne and Keramikos saw it, they turned their backs and began talking earnestly. Joe asked them to face the camera and Mayne said over his shoulder, 'We're not part of your film company, you know.'
Joe grunted and took a few pictures. But only Valdini and Aldo were facing the camera. I began to ask him questions about the camera. I knew perfectly well how it worked, but I was determined to get a picture of those two. He let me handle it and I took it over to the bar under the light. The cuckoo suddenly sprang out of the clock. 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo!' Mayne and Keramikos looked up, startled, and I snapped them.
At the click of the camera, Mayne turned to me. 'Did you take a photograph?' he asked, and there was a note of anger in his voice.
'I'm not sure,' I said. 'Why?'
He looked at me hard. He had cold, light-coloured eyes.
'He does not like being photographed,' Valdini said, and there was malice in his tone.
Mayne's eyes hardened with anger. But he said nothing to Valdini and turned back with a casual air to continue his conversation with Keramikos.
These are small things, but they stood out like wrong notes in a smoothly played piece of music. I had a strange feeling that all these people — Valdini, Keramikos and Mayne — were suppressing violent antipathy beneath a casual exterior.
Shortly after breakfast the next morning I left for Cortina. Mayne came with me. I had mentioned the auction to him the previous night and he had expressed a desire to come. As we were leaving, we passed Joe cursing a pair of skis on his feet. 'Feel like a pair of canoes,' he grumbled. 'Six years since I did this. Doubt if my blood pressure will stand it. If I break my neck, I'll sue Engles for it. But I can't get the pictures I want otherwise.' He had a small movie camera slung round his neck. 'If I'm not back by tea-time, Neil, you'd better call out the bloodhounds. Where are you off to?'
When I told him, he gave me an old-fashioned look. 'Far be it for me to come between you and what you apparently regard as amusement, old man,' he said. 'But Engles is expecting a script out of you. And he detests slow workers.' He shrugged his shoulders. 'Oh, well, you know the man. But maybe he was less exacting in the Army. With a film unit, he just isn't human. Why do you think I'm putting on these damned things?'