it stopped the black shapes of a row of cypresses and umbrella pines apparently suspended in mid-air were silhouetted against the grey sky, indicating the hill's summit. Of the villa the Marshal could make out nothing.
'If it were a fine day, now . . .' Niccolini dismissed the villa with a wave of his hand. 'Let's have a coffee in the bar! What time do you want to get back?'
'I'll take the first bus that comes along.'
'We'll ask inside. Never use the bus myself so I don't know the timetable. Ah! Two coffees, if you please, and a bus to Florence for the Marshal here if you can lay that on, too!'
'There's one in about a quarter of an hour. We've got tickets if you need one.'
The poorly lit bar was empty except for a boy playing a pinball machine at the back.
'He's intending to get himself elected, that's what it is,' said Niccolini, banging his cup down on the saucer.
'Robiglio? At the municipal elections?'
'And I can tell you that I've taken advantage of the fact to help a few people out.'
'Why not?'
'But I'll tell you something else. He refused to take the Sestini lad on last week- well, he wouldn't get their vote if he were the only one standing, they're staunch communists, so I didn't have high hopes but I thought I'd try anyway . . . Sestini's a good worker, mould-maker at Moretti's place, but of course Moretti already has an apprentice so in a place that small he couldn't take the son on even to oblige a good worker. And now our friend Robiglio's changed his mind, you notice?'
'About taking the lad on? Yes.'
'I wonder why.'
'Well, you know him better than I do. I couldn't say.'
'I know him all right. There's a lot in his past, as I've heard it, that wouldn't bear much scrutiny.'
'How long ago in the past?'
'During the war. I don't know the full story but I've heard things. A blackshirt who managed to survive the aftermath, you know the sort I mean. His father was mayor here under Mussolini. Of course with the money and influential friends they had it wasn't long before they came to the top of the pile again once the fuss died down.'
'I see. You think he's frightened of something?'
'It's a long time ago but people don't forget.'
'You're sure it's not likely to be something more recent? After all, last week he wouldn't help you - and I got the impression, to tell you the truth, that he wasn't too pleased about my being here.'
'D'you think so? I said you were one of those people who notice things! Well, I don't like it.'
1 can see that. If it's of any interest, he saw me leaving Moretti's place.'
'He did? Well, I can't see him having anything to do with small fry like Moretti . . . Anyway, I shall keep an eye on him.'
'It might be an idea. I think I'd better be on my way.'
In fact, the bus was already pulling into the square and the Marshal only just had time to jump on followed by Niccolini's 'All the best, all the best! We'll be in touch . . .'
He almost, but not quite, fell asleep on the bus, and when his wife greeted him by saying, 'Since you've been out all day and probably haven't eaten properly I've cooked something a bit special for supper . . .' she looked so put out at his groan of dismay that he told her all about his day at the potteries and about Niccolini.
'He sounds quite a character.'
'He is.'
'Will you be going back there? Was it something important?"
For he hadn't told her the reason.
'I don't know yet. Maybe not.'
But he wasn't convinced. And so he wasn't surprised when first thing next morning he received a telephone call. Niccolini was as noisy and bursting with life as ever but there was that same note of strain in his voice as there had been in the presence of Robiglio.
'It's about that lass!'
'The Swiss girl?'
'That's right. She's been found.'
'Then she was out there.'
'She was here all right. Under a sherd ruck.'
'What's that? I don't follow you . . .'
'Local man found her. He was crossing a field behind Moretti's place to go pruning and when he passed the sherd
'If it were a fine day, now . . .' Niccolini dismissed the villa with a wave of his hand. 'Let's have a coffee in the bar! What time do you want to get back?'
'I'll take the first bus that comes along.'
'We'll ask inside. Never use the bus myself so I don't know the timetable. Ah! Two coffees, if you please, and a bus to Florence for the Marshal here if you can lay that on, too!'
'There's one in about a quarter of an hour. We've got tickets if you need one.'
The poorly lit bar was empty except for a boy playing a pinball machine at the back.
'He's intending to get himself elected, that's what it is,' said Niccolini, banging his cup down on the saucer.
'Robiglio? At the municipal elections?'
'And I can tell you that I've taken advantage of the fact to help a few people out.'
'Why not?'
'But I'll tell you something else. He refused to take the Sestini lad on last week- well, he wouldn't get their vote if he were the only one standing, they're staunch communists, so I didn't have high hopes but I thought I'd try anyway . . . Sestini's a good worker, mould-maker at Moretti's place, but of course Moretti already has an apprentice so in a place that small he couldn't take the son on even to oblige a good worker. And now our friend Robiglio's changed his mind, you notice?'
'About taking the lad on? Yes.'
'I wonder why.'
'Well, you know him better than I do. I couldn't say.'
'I know him all right. There's a lot in his past, as I've heard it, that wouldn't bear much scrutiny.'
'How long ago in the past?'
'During the war. I don't know the full story but I've heard things. A blackshirt who managed to survive the aftermath, you know the sort I mean. His father was mayor here under Mussolini. Of course with the money and influential friends they had it wasn't long before they came to the top of the pile again once the fuss died down.'
'I see. You think he's frightened of something?'
'It's a long time ago but people don't forget.'
'You're sure it's not likely to be something more recent? After all, last week he wouldn't help you - and I got the impression, to tell you the truth, that he wasn't too pleased about my being here.'
'D'you think so? I said you were one of those people who notice things! Well, I don't like it.'
1 can see that. If it's of any interest, he saw me leaving Moretti's place.'
'He did? Well, I can't see him having anything to do with small fry like Moretti . . . Anyway, I shall keep an eye on him.'
'It might be an idea. I think I'd better be on my way.'
In fact, the bus was already pulling into the square and the Marshal only just had time to jump on followed by Niccolini's 'All the best, all the best! We'll be in touch . . .'
He almost, but not quite, fell asleep on the bus, and when his wife greeted him by saying, 'Since you've been out all day and probably haven't eaten properly I've cooked something a bit special for supper . . .' she looked so put out at his groan of dismay that he told her all about his day at the potteries and about Niccolini.
'He sounds quite a character.'
'He is.'
'Will you be going back there? Was it something important?"
For he hadn't told her the reason.
'I don't know yet. Maybe not.'
But he wasn't convinced. And so he wasn't surprised when first thing next morning he received a telephone call. Niccolini was as noisy and bursting with life as ever but there was that same note of strain in his voice as there had been in the presence of Robiglio.
'It's about that lass!'
'The Swiss girl?'
'That's right. She's been found.'
'Then she was out there.'
'She was here all right. Under a sherd ruck.'
'What's that? I don't follow you . . .'
'Local man found her. He was crossing a field behind Moretti's place to go pruning and when he passed the sherd
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