Nightwork

'Ah, excellent,' he said. 'You are going to present me with a good example.' His English had almost no trace of an accent and he spoke rapidly, as though his thoughts tumbled over each other in his head and he could only keep up with himself by speaking at top speed. 'And how is the delightful Miles Fabian? What a pity he couldn't come with you. My wife is desolate. She is hopelessly in love with him. Also my three daughters.' He laughed gaily. His mouth was small, the lips curved, almost like a girl's, but his laughter was loud and robust and masculine. 'Ah, what a history of amour his life must be. And unmarried, to boot. Wisdom, wisdom. He has the sagacity of a philosopher, our friend Miles. Wouldn't you agree. Signer Grimes?'

'I don't know him all that well,' I said. 'We've only met recently.'

Time only improves him. As compared to the rest of us poor mortals.' Quadrocelli laughed again. 'Are you here alone?'

'I'm afraid so.'

He made a little sad grimace. 'You have my pity. In a place like this...' He made a wide gesture, saluting the glory of our surroundings. 'You are not married?'

No.'

'I will introduce you to my three daughters. One is beautiful, even if it is a doting father who says so, and the others have character. Each soul to its own virtues. But I treat them equally. When Miles called me on the telephone from Gstaad, he spoke very highly of you. He said that you were the best of companions. You possessed intelligence and rectitude, he said. Two characteristics that do not often go together in one person in these naughty days. I would say the same about Miles.'

I didn't think I had to inform my new friend that he was too generous by half in his judgement.

'How did you happen to meet Miles?' Quadrocelli asked.

'We were on the plane together coming from New York.' This was true, even though I hadn't seen him on the flight and he had never mentioned having seen me. But it would help stop further questions.

'And you hit it off together just like that?' Quadrocelli snapped his fingers.

Hit was the appropriate word, I thought, remembering the lamp I broke on Fabian's head. 'Just like that,' I said.

'Like marriages,' Quadrocelli said, 'partnerships are made in heaven. Have you any experience in wine, Mr Grimes?'

'None. Until I came to Europe, I hardly ever touched it. Beer was my drink.'

'Of no importance. Miles has the palate for all three of us. I tell you, it was a day of great honor for my wine when Miles suggested he would be interested in sending it out into the world with my name on the bottle. Every time an American will say, "I would like to order a Chianti Quadrocelli," I will have a little thrill of pride. I am not a vain man, but vanity is not unknown to me. And it will be an honest wine. That I promise you. It will not be mixed with Greek rotgut or Sicilian acid. Ah, the things they do here in Italy. Bull's blood, chemicals. I am ashamed for my country. So much of our wine is like so much of our politics. Debased. Devalued, like our lire. And not only Italy. If the truth would get out about Prance! You and I and our friend Miles will be able to look any man in the face and say, "You have not been deceived in buying our product." And we will be enriched in the process. Greatly enriched, my dear friend. The thirst is insatiable. I will show the figures after lunch - you will have lunch with me and my wife, please—'

'Thank you,' I said.

'It is one of the few things our idiotic government cannot ruin,' Quadrocelli said. 'My wine. I have a printing business in Milan. You have no idea of how difficult they make it just to keep the head above water. Taxes, strikes, red tape ... Bombings.' His face grew sober. 'Doice Italia. I have to have an armed guard at my plant in Milan twenty-four hours a day. I print, at cost, some harmless tracts for some Socialist friends of mine and I am constantly being threatened. Do not believe it, Mr. Grimes, when you are told Mussolini is dead. My father had to flee to England in 1928 - there was one consolation, of course - I learned your beautiful language - and I would not be surprised if one day / will have to flee, too.

From the right, from the left, from above, from below.' He made an impatient gesture, as though he was annoyed at himself for this show of pessimism. 'Ah, you must be careful not to take everything I say too seriously. I swing from extreme to extreme. My family came from the South. In our family, we all cried and laughed on the same day.' He laughed gaily, fond of his family's range of emotions. 'You are here to talk about wine, not our insane politics. The eternal grape. Not even the politicians and the bully boys can keep grapes from growing. And the yeasts never go on strike. You and Miles have picked the one business that might be considered a reasonable risk in all of Italy. When Miles spoke to me on the phone, he talked of a death.'