Stone's Fall

I do not, I suppose, look like an Englishman. I inherited far more of my mother's looks than my father's and that side of my ancestry is very much more obvious. It is another of the things that have always set me aside from my countrymen; the difference is always noticed, even if unconsciously. Others have always been slightly suspicious of me.

I had already sized up Mr Longman as an incorrigible gossip, and had the distinct feeling that everything I told him would not only be noted, but also relayed to any interested party in due course. Such people can oil the wheels of society, but too great an interest in the doings of others, I find, is often accompanied by a degree of malice which is dangerous. So I replied in as brief a fashion as was commensurate with good manners.

'Then you are rich! Must be!' he cried.

'Far from it.'

'That depends on your point of reference. It may be that three hundred yards from Threadneedle Street you are a pauper among your fellows. But here you will be rich. Few people here have any money. Especially among the Venetians; it is why society is so drab. But one can live a rich life with little money, do you not agree?'

'Of course,' I replied.

'You should be careful, though. It is dangerous to have a reputation for wealth. You will be amazed by how many people wish to borrow money from you, or forget their wallets when you dine with them.'

'Then it would be better if they do not develop a false impression,' I replied, with a slight tone of warning in my voice. I could not tell if he took the hint.

I prepared to leave, and Longman bustled around me to show me to the door. 'Mrs Cort!' he called. 'You must meet another resident before he goes. He has already met your husband and has only been here a few hours.'

I turned to present myself to the woman, and got the shock of my life when the door to the little salon opened. Louise Cort was beautiful. In her early thirties, a few years older than I was, with beautiful skin and eyes, and a delightful, rounded figure. About as different from her husband as could be imagined. She looked directly at me, and I felt a soft stirring as my eyes met hers. She never looked at Longman, barely acknowledged his existence as she shook my hand.

I bowed to her, and she nodded. I expressed my pleasure in meeting her, and she did not reply. I said I hoped to meet her again.

'And my husband,' she said with the faintest tone of mockery in her voice.

'Naturally,' I said.

CHAPTER 5

I had a dream that night, which I remembered. This was so strange that it unsettled me for days. Not that I had a dream, but that I should remember it, that it should come back to me. Indeed, it has come back to me ever since. Sometimes, for no reason that I can think of, this insubstantial fragment of memory will well up in my mind. Not very often, only perhaps once every couple of years, although more often of late. It is so very perplexing; great events that I have witnessed, taken part in – momentous events, I should say – I can scarcely recall at all. But a fevered imagining of no reality and less importance still stays with me, the images as fresh as if they were brand new.

I was standing by an open window and could feel the wind blowing over my skin. It was dark outside, and I felt the terror of indecision. I did not know what to do. About what, I do not know; that was part of the dream. The indecision was independent of all cause. Then I heard a footfall behind me, and a soft voice. 'I told you,' it said. Then I felt the pressure of a hand on my back, pushing.

And that was the dream. Nothing more. What was it about? I do not know. Why was it so vivid it stuck in my mind? There is no answer to that, either. And nothing to be done about it; dreams have no reason or explanation or meaning. The strange thing is that from then on I began to have a vague fear of heights – nothing too extreme, I did not become one of those poor souls who feel faint if they are more than a few feet off the ground, or who clutch at the railings halfway up the Eiffel Tower and become dizzy. No; I merely developed a tendency to feel uncomfortable, wary, whenever I was, say, on a balcony, or by an open window. It was a very annoying weakness which I tried not to indulge; the more so because it was so obviously foolish. But I could never shake it off and ended up by simply ensuring I was never in a position to make it appear.