Stone's Fall

I left, feeling very thoughtful. My offer to acquire Macintyre's debt had had the desired effect, I thought; Ambrosian was prepared to take me seriously. It would have been a different matter had he suddenly accepted the proposal. The last thing I wanted was to spend money on a machine that might well be useless. If that was the case, he could keep it. But if it did work, he would keep it. Should the trials be a success, he would certainly refuse to put in any more money, call in the debt and take full possession of the patent. Macintyre would have nothing more to do with it, except, perhaps, as an employee, a declared bankrupt who would have to work for whatever pittance he was paid.

A pity the machine wasn't a complete disaster, I thought. That would not be good for Macintyre, but at least he would have the pleasure of realising that Ambrosian had lost its money as well. Small compensation, and I didn't think it would give him much joy. Only financiers think like that. But . . .

It made me think though, and as I walked across the Piazza San Marco, I ran through all the possibilities in my mind.

I stopped, and smiled happily at a group of urchins throwing stones at a washing line, seeing if they could knock a sparrow off it. That was it, of course. The only problem was how to organise it.

CHAPTER 12

Anyone reading this might be surprised that I was not more concerned at Ambrosian's assertion that Macintyre was some sort of crook. Often enough such characteristics are something of an impediment to good business. But not always, and not if the scoundrel is in no position to do you harm. I had not the slightest intention of giving Macintyre any money in a manner I could not control. He could not abscond with what he did not have. Besides, such people can be useful, if they are working for you, rather than against you. The past life of Xanthos, for example, is not something I would wish to know too much about – although when he came knocking at my door I did discover that it would be unwise ever to send him anywhere controlled by the Sultan, as it would be a long time before he was let out of gaol. But now his devious skills are employed to my advantage, and he has been a good and loyal employee, up until recently.

So Ambrosian's beliefs about Macintyre did not worry me much. But it would be wrong to say I was not intrigued, and I was impatient that my dear friend Cardano, to whom I had written some time previously, had not yet replied. Until he did, there was very little I could do. I could find old newspapers in Venice, some basic reference books, but little more; the sort of information I required could only be found in the dining rooms and board rooms of the City of London, and then it would be available only to those who knew how to ask.

So I had to wait, and become a proper tourist for once, and indulge my ever-growing passion. Four more days, in fact, before the letter finally reached me – wonderful days, spent in the autumnal warmth, and often enough with Louise, for the more rendezvous I had with her the more I wanted. After the events at the Marchesa's salon, we threw off all caution and discretion. I began buying her presents, we walked together in the city, were seen together. It made me proud and uncomfortable at the same time – I once had to tell her to be more discreet with her husband.

'I will leave him now, because of you. Now I know what it is really to love someone, I cannot stay any more. We can be together for ever, then,' she said, turning to look me in the eyes. 'We can be like this forever. Just you and me.'

'What about your son?'

She made a gesture of disgust. 'He can have him. He is not my child; I merely bore him. There is nothing of me in him at all. He will be like his father; weak, useless.'

'He's only four.' She had spoken with a harshness I had never heard in her before. There was real cruelty in her words and they disturbed me.

I must have reacted, for she instantly changed. 'Oh, I love him, of course I do. But I am no good for him. I don't understand him.'

Then she put her arms around me once more, and changed the subject totally for an hour. But I left our rooms with an uneasy feeling that afternoon; it faded soon enough, but did not disappear entirely.

It also changed the way we were together; Louise did not refer to leaving her husband again, but more and more often the conversation came round to her desire to be with me. I could understand why her life was hellish, and why she so desperately sought a means of escaping. When I considered the weals and cuts, Cort's behaviour at the séance, his hallucinations, the indignities and humiliations she endured when no one was there to see, it was hardly surprising she clung to me.