North from Rome by Helen MacInnes Read Free Book Online Page B

really clever journalist discovered that there were Communists, too, who were mixed up with all the scandal. So, of course, a great silence descended. But everyone knows that there are still some hidden drug rings. And with Communists running them, I hear.”
    “Oh, really!” Whitelaw exclaimed. He tried to hide his growing amusement. He smiled at the two other men. “Come, come—onedoesn’t believe everything one hears. Especially in Rome.” He turned to Lammiter. “The Romans are so nimble-witted that they supply the most delicious gossip to suit any situation.”
    Pirotta laughed. “If we didn’t have the situations, we’d invent them.”
    “Besides,” Whitelaw said consolingly, “you can’t be afraid of your Communists in Italy. Now really, Principessa! They’re such delightful people.”
    The princess said, disarmingly sweet, “I did not mean our nice Communists, who want to help the workers. I meant the real Communists—who shoot the workers. As in Poznan last month.”
    There was a little silence.
    Eleanor ended it. “I just can’t forget that photograph. You know—the one with the girl walking in front holding a flag all covered with blood. And the students and workers behind her.” Her grey eyes widened, her lips trembled, her face flushed. She looked very beautiful, very touching, as Joan of Arc. Pirotta took her hand gently. Lammiter was glad to see that that comforted her.
    “I think you must write my next article,” Whitelaw suggested with a gentle smile for the princess.
    “Would it be printed?”
    “Why shouldn’t it?”
    “But would your newspaper trust me as much as it trusts you, Bertrand?” Again there was that little flicker of the amber eyes towards Lammiter as she lingered on the word “trust”. Then she waved her soft white hands, the pink quartz and blue sapphires glancing with the sunlight on her long thin fingers. “Now, we’ve all worked up a pretty appetite for luncheon.” She began drawing on her silver-grey gloves. “And we have quite forgotten poor Rosana. Tell me, Luigi, did you ever hear the truth about Mario Di Feo? Did he take drugs? Or did he sell them?” There was again a brief silence. “Poor Rosana—she came home from America and found her brother a suicide, and nothing ever explained.”
    “How awful!” Eleanor said, all sympathy. “What is she like?”
    “Young. Younger than you are, I’d imagine. And very beautiful.”
    “Oh!” Eleanor retreated.
    “Wouldn’t you say so, Mr. Lammiter?”
    Bill Lammiter nodded. Eleanor was, strangely enough, watching him.
    “No comment? Or did you find my story too moving? How splendid! Then I’ll ask you to dinner tomorrow night along with Rosana. You and I shall cheer her up. Luigi, you must come, too, and bring your Eleanor. And you, Bertrand? We shall be six. How nice. I hate large parties.”
    “I’m sorry,” Lambert said, “but I’m leaving Rome tonight. So you see—”
    “No, I don’t,” the princess said fretfully. “You can’t leave Rome right now.” She took a deep breath. “I want you to come to dinner tomorrow.”
    “I’m afraid I’ll be in New York by tomorrow night.”
    “Really, Bill?” Eleanor asked. “Why, I thought you were going to spend the summer here, writing.” She looked upset, as if she blamed herself for this change.
    “I don’t seem to get much work done in Rome.”
    “Does one want to work in Rome?” Whitelaw asked, withhis amused smile.
    “New York,” the princess said, “will be as hot as Rome. Perhaps hotter. You won’t work there, either. What are you writing? Another play? I know just the place for you in the Umbrian hills. I’ll lend you a house. You may stay as long as you like.”
    Lammiter might have disliked trying to write in hotel rooms, but he distrusted borrowed houses even more. And then, just as he was about to refuse firmly, the look of disquiet that momentarily glanced over Pirotta’s face made him hesitate. He looked vague,