The Ghosts of N-Space - Barry Letts [37]
‘I’m so so-o-o-rry,’ she answered, fluttering her mascara at him and presenting her chest for his closer inspection. ‘Of course I understand – and I think it’s just dandy that you should follow your boss’s wishes. There’s nothing like an English butler, that’s for sure.’
‘Ah. Yes,’ said the Brigadier, backing away from the advancing bosom. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m not actually –’
‘Aha! Alistair! What you think of? Ask the signorina in!’
Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, wasn’t that what the Americans said? His tail wasn’t the only part of his physiology to be revitalized by his nap, thought the Brigadier, as he closed the door, watching the little old man escorting his visitor into the Great Hall with a courteous hand on her bottom.
‘You Yankee Doodle, si?’
‘Si. I mean, yeah. It’s very kind of you, Signore.’ She gave a little extra wiggle towards his hand.
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‘I’d be hopping cross with young Alistair if he close the door. Slam bang thank you mam! No good, huh?’
She gave him a surprised look. ‘Well, that depends…’
she said.
And so a curious little procession made its way round the castle. Led by the sprightly Barone, who seized every chance of signifying his feelings towards his compliant guest, while pouring out an endless stream of well-nigh incomprehensible historical facts, it was completed firstly by the Brigadier, who felt he should keep an eye on his presumptuous relative, and at a greater distance – doing his best to keep out of sight – by the eager Jeremy.
It wasn’t until the very end of the little guided tour that he actually got his clue. Miss Pulacki – for that’s what she said her name was, Maggie Pulacki – refused with a giggle an invitation to see the painted ceiling in the Barone’s bedroom, and made her way to the front door. Jeremy had seen this coming and hid round the first bend of the stairs.
But he could still hear every word she said.
‘You’ve been really, really kind, Signore, and I mean that sincerely; telling me all about the ghosts and all.’
‘Such a bella ragazza is honour to my house,’ said Mario. ‘You come and visit me again, si?’
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‘Yeah, sure. I’d like that. I could come tomorrow, if you like. It’d have to be tomorrow, because my holiday finishes on the twenty-second, you see. Or is the twenty-first a bad day for you? May the twenty-first?’
A frisson ran down Jeremy’s back. The twenty-first again. He’d quite forgotten to mention that to Sarah – or to the Brigadier for that matter. And why should she want to come back?
This was it! She wasn’t a tourist at all; she was something to do with the Vilmio chap. And if he could find out what May the twenty-first was all about…
‘So long, Alistair. Have a nice day, now,’ she was saying, having received an open invitation from the gleeful Mario.
The door was closed and the Brigadier and his uncle were coming up to the hall, arguing fiercely. Hiding in the corner until they’d gone by, Jeremy slipped downstairs, peeped out of the door, saw the flirt of a tight bottom in a mini-skirt vanishing through the gatehouse and followed in a desperate tip-toe rush.
He managed to get the whole way down to the harbour without once being spotted by his quarry. But as she approached the big boat she glanced round and he was almost sure that she saw him behind her.
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Luckily there was still quite a number of tourists hanging around – what else was there to do after they’d had their fried fish or ice cream or whatever? – so he turned his back and pretended to be fascinated by the chappie ripping the guts out of the sardines; and then got really interested: he could have sworn that some of them were still alive. He nearly said something, but then remembered what he was supposed to be doing. But when he turned round again, she’d vanished! ‘Oh Lor’, he thought, now did she go on board the Princess M. or didn’t she?
Sauntering with elaborate casualness over to the quayside, he tried to peer into the portholes. But in the glare of the afternoon sun