But he held up his hand. ‘I have said enough,’ he answered. ‘You are observant, Mr Blair. But do not be too observant. This is not England. The Austrian frontier is only a few miles away. Beyond lies Germany. Behind us is France. You were here in Italy before — but with your Army. You were part of a great organisation. But you are a civilian now and this is a strange, sick Europe. Things happen. Authority is a poor, bewildered official when things are out of control. Beyond all this luxury and all these men and women here who have grown fat on war, there is a vast human jungle. In that jungle, there is fear and starvation. It is the survival of the fittest. I tell you about Mayne because I would not like you to step outside this nice civilised Cortina and find yourself in that jungle.’ He smiled at me as though he had passed some quite innocent remark. ‘Tell Aldo for me, please, that I shall not be in to dinner.’
‘But I thought you were coming back with me on the bus?’ I said.
‘No. I said that because I wished to talk to you alone. Remember your English saying — it takes all men to make a world. Remember also, please, that the world is not a good world just now. Good-night, Mr Blair.’
I watched his thick-set, powerful figure thrust its way through the crowded pavement till it was lost to view. Then I got on to the waiting bus with only my somewhat startled thoughts for company.
Joe Wesson was the only person in the rifugio when I returned. He looked at me sourly. ‘I’d like to know what the hell you’re playing at, Neil!’ he grunted as he handed me a drink.
‘Because I went to an auction this morning instead of getting on with the script?’ I asked.
‘Because, as far as I can see,’ he replied, ‘you haven’t done a damn stroke of work since you arrived here. What’s the matter? Won’t your mind settle down to it?’
‘I’ll catch up after dinner,’ I said. ‘I’ve got the first part all worked out.’
‘Good!’ he said. ‘I was beginning to get worried. Know what it’s like. Seen other fellows in the same fix. It’s not like camera work. It’s got to be in your mind first.’ For a man in such a hard business as films, he had an extraordinarily kind nature. ‘How did the auction go?’
I told him.
‘So that’s why Valdini was so blasted miserable when I came in,’ he said as I finished. ‘Sicilian gangster, hm? Just what he looks like. You’d better keep clear of that damned Contessa of his, Neil. I went to Sicily once. All dust and flies — it was summer. Got involved with a girl at the pensione. Her boyfriend came at me with a knife. But I was quicker then than I am now.’
We were the only two in to dinner. The big bar room seemed large and quiet — almost watchful. Our voices were never raised. We did not talk much during the meal. I was conscious of a nervous strain. I found myself wondering what the other three were doing — wondering what was happening in the world outside, wondering what was going to happen here. It was as though the hut, perched on the vast white shoulder of Monte Cristallo, was waiting for something.
I took myself off to my room immediately after dinner. I had to give Joe the impression I was doing some work. I wanted to work. I sat there at my typewriter, thinking how desperate Peggy and I had been before I had run into Engles in London that morning. I did not want that to happen again. This was my chance. All I had to do was produce a script that Engles would like.
But it just would not come. Every idea that came into my mind was over-shadowed and crowded out by the thought of what was happening here in this hut. It was impossible to concentrate on fiction when the facts right under my nose were so absorbing. For the hundredth time I tried to figure out why Engles was interested in the place. Valdini and the Contessa were now clear in my mind. But Mayne and Keramikos? Was it true what Keramikos had told me about Mayne? And why had he told me? Why had he warned me? And who had bought Col da Varda, and why?
I stared blankly at the keys of my typewriter, smoking cigarette after cigarette in a frenzy of frustration. Why didn’t I ignore the whole thing and get on with the script? I cursed my honesty and damned Engles for employing me as watch-dog to a group of highly questionable characters and not as a straightforward script writer.
It was cold in the room, even with the electric heater on. The moon had risen and, beyond the reflected gleam of the unshaded electric light bulb, I could see the frosted white of the world outside my window. It came right up to the window, that cold, unfriendly world. The snow was thick on the window-sill — thick and glistening white. And from the roof a great curve of snow hung suspended like icing on a cake, ending in a long, pointed icicle.
