The President’s Daughter. Jack Higgins

in. She turned from the window.

      ‘There you are. So the big bad wolf has gone?’

      He ignored the remark. ‘I know you’re not a vegetarian. On the menu tonight is vichyssoise, followed by grilled fresh sea bass, potatoes, a mixed salad and an assortment of fruit to follow. If you don’t care for the fish, there are lamb chops.’

      ‘You sound like a waiter, but no, it will suit very well indeed.’

      ‘Actually, I’m the cook. Would you care for a white wine.’

      ‘No, claret would calm my nerves and I’ve never subscribed to the idea that you should drink red or white because the food dictates it. I drink to suit me.’

      ‘But of course, Countess.’ He half-bowed in a slightly mocking way and moved to the door.

      As he opened it, she said, ‘And David?’

      He turned. ‘Yes, Countess?’

      ‘As you like Eliot so much, here’s a quote from The Waste Land for you.’

      ‘And what would that be, Countess?’

      ‘I think we are in rats’ alley where the dead men lost their bones.’

      He stopped smiling, turned, opened the door and went out. The key clicked in the lock, and suddenly she was afraid.

       4

      Salinas was a scattering of houses, a harbour enclosed by two jetties and jammed with small fishing boats. Luigi drove along the waterfront and stopped outside the establishment with the sign over the door that said English Café.

      ‘God knows why it has this name,’ Luigi said.

      ‘Perhaps they serve a full English breakfast,’ Dillon said. ‘English tourists like that.’

      ‘What tourists?’ Luigi said, and shrugged. ‘Anyway, here you are. I’ll just turn round and drive back to Palermo.’

      They got out and Hannah shook his hand. ‘Grateful thanks, Sergeant. One cop to another.’ She smiled and kissed him on the cheek and he drove away.

      Dillon led the way up the steps. The night was warm, and as darkness fell, there were lights on some of the boats out in the harbour. He opened the door and went in. Half a dozen fishermen were at the bar and it was a poor sort of place, very hot and the ceiling fan didn’t seem to be working.

      He waved to the barman and turned to the others. ‘It’s a dump. Let’s sit outside.’

      They did just that, taking a table by the veranda rail, and the barman appeared. ‘What have you got to eat?’ Hannah asked him in Italian.

      ‘We only do one main dish each day, signorina. Tonight it’s cannelloni ripieni. The way our chef does it, there’s a special stuffing of savoury meat and onions. You could have a salad with it.’

      ‘Good, and bring us a bottle of wine,’ Dillon told him. ‘Something cold.’