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.There ought to be some juicy expenses in this work, but Frugoni’s name could never be listed in the accounting so there was no question of generosity, real or fabricated, in his case.“Who is it?”That was the voice, the hoarse whine rather.“Boselli—Pietro Boselli.”“Who? Pietro who?” The whine was suspicious, as though its owner was accustomed to bad news knocking at his door.“I don’t know any Pietro.”“Pietro Boselli—General Montuori’s personal assistant.” Boselli paused to let the names sink into the man’s befuddled mind.“I’ve got something for you, Signor Frugoni.”“Something for me?”“That’s right.Open up.”There was a rattle as Frugoni feverishly attempted to open his own door, only to discover that he had bolted it top and bottom as well as securing it with what sounded like an old-fashioned padlock.It took him a full two minutes of clumsy grappling with the lock and alcoholic puffing and blowing with the bolts to relax its defences.And even then it caught on the uneven floor and shuddered so violently that it was a tossup whether it wouldn’t fall to pieces before it was finally opened.Frugoni peered at him uneasily in the greenish light from the unwashed landing window.“You remember me, Signor Frugoni,” said Boselli patiently.“We last met when you—ah—consulted the General two or three years ago.About your pension.”“My pension?” Frugoni looked at him stupidly.“Your war wound, I believe—or a war disability of some sort,” Boselli prompted him with helpful vagueness.“The General didn’t tell me the exact details, but I gathered that you and he were old comrades.Once comrades, always comrades—that’s what he said.”Frugoni blinked and screwed up his face with the unexpected mental effort needed to resolve the enormous gap between what he must remember had actually happened when he tried to touch the General for a sucker’s handout, and the rose-tinted pack of lies he had just heard.In fact no one knew the extent of that gap better than Boselli himself.It had devolved on him to check up on the man’s tear-jerking tale of a veteran fallen on unmerited hard times, and he had very soon found the General’s suspicions to be well-founded.Frugoni had fallen not so much on hard times as through the skylight of the restaurant he had been robbing—his “war wound” had been the compound fracture of the leg and the mild concussion which had resulted from this descent.Central criminal records had also revealed that in addition to being an inveterate and unsuccessful petty thief, Frugoni was a quarrelsome boozer who had abandoned his wife and children—it had been that last detail, rather than the man’s actual misdemeanours, which had finally directed the General’s charity—“Put the woman on my list then, Boselli—she’s probably better off without him anyway.”“What about the man, sir?”“Leave him to me.It’ll be a pleasure to kick his backside again after all these years…”“My wound—of course!” Frugoni twitched into full consciousness.“You must pardon me, Signor Boselli—naturally I remember you— but my health, you understand…” He heaved a gallant sigh “… at my age things are hard.”Boselli nodded sympathetically.“Not that I am grumbling, you understand,” Fragoni added hastily, uncertain of the most profitable role open to him until he could establish just how much Boselli knew.“But let us not speak of such things.You said—I believe you said—?”“That I have something for you.That is correct.But something in turn for something, Signor Frugoni.Perhaps I might step inside for a moment, yes?”Frugoni regarded him in complete bewilderment; the possibility that he possessed something—anything—which was likely to be saleable, but of which he was totally unaware, seemed to have knocked away what little balance he could muster so early in the day.“I—but of course, Signor Boselli—“The moment he entered the attic room it was Boselli in his turn who was knocked off balance, however.The smell on the dingy landing had been unpleasant enough, combined as it was of all the different aromas of cooking and concentrated humanity which had risen up the stairway from the warrens below.But in Frugoni’s room this smell graduated to the rank of stench, in which stale wine and the sweet-sour mustiness of old unwashed linen united into a miasma.Boselli dragged out his damp silk handkerchief and held it across the lower part of his face, fighting his sickness.“Signor Boselli—?” Frugoni was looking at him solicitously, oblivious of the foulness.“A moment’s giddiness—no, please do not bother—“ Frugoni was removing some unmentionable garments from a rickety-looking chair “—I’d prefer to stand, if you don’t mind.It will pass.”“A cup of—“ Frugoni looked uneasily towards what must be his kitchen “—coffee?”“No… thank you.” The thought of consuming anything—of even touching anything—coming from these rooms made his stomach turn.“How can I serve you, then?”Boselli took a firm grip of his senses.It was always better to offer types like this something in exchange for something if one was not relying on good old-fashioned blackmail.He would have preferred the latter method, and he had no doubt that with very little digging he could have uncovered the right lever.But digging took time, which he didn’t have—and digging would also involve exposing his actions to others, which multiplied the danger of the General coming to hear of it.But if unsolicited charity would have roused Frugoni’s suspicions, or at least his curiosity, the chance of doing some sort of deal would arouse his trading instinct, and that must be squashed quickly.“It is nothing of great importance—nothing you will find in the least taxing, my dear Frugoni,” he began heartily.“You are simply one among a number of veterans I am consulting for your wartime recollections, you see—for a work of history a colleague of mine is undertaking.”Frugoni’s expression sagged with disappointment.“It will be a scholarly work—a work of reference primarily, so I fear there will be little profit in it for anyone—“ Boselli nodded regretfully “—but remembering that you had served with the General in the mountains I knew I could rely on your strong sense of patriotism—“ Frugoni looked as if he was about to burst into tears; it was time to dust the pill with a trace of sugar “—and naturally your name would be mentioned in the acknowledgements in addition to the modest honorarium we are making to some contributors.”“Honorari—?” Frugoni abandoned the attempt.“Payment,” said Boselli briskly.“Small, of course.More a gesture than a payment.But in deserving cases like yourself we do the best we can … if the information supplied is of use, of course.”“Of use?”“Of interest.I’m sure you saw a great deal of action when you were in the mountains immediately after the Armistice of 1943.”“When we threw in the sponge, you mean?” Frugoni gave a short, bitter laugh.“Jesus Christ! You can say that again—more than I wanted to, that’s how much action I saw.But I wasn’t in the mountains, Signor Boselli, not at first, anyway [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]