Stone's Fall

It was a simpler world then: a gentleman's word – especially an English gentleman's word – was as good as gold, quite literally. For payment, I wrote out a brief note to my bankers in London, asking that £283 be paid into credit of the Banco di Santo Spirito's correspondent in the City. And that was payment made, for even if I turned out to be a charlatan, with not enough money in the bank to cover the amount, Coutts would have felt obliged to pay, and Ambrosian knew this quite well – although I had no doubt that he had already made enquiries about me. He placed all the documents into a large, thick folder, sealed it with a massive seal using prodigious quantities of wax, and handed it over to me, shaking my hand.

'My congratulations, dear sir,' he said with a smile. 'And may I say how greatly I admire your trust in your fellow countryman? I would not so readily take such a risk on something without knowing whether it would fulfil its inventor's promises.'

'Oh, goodness, I've done that,' I said as I paused at the door. 'It worked splendidly last week. I gather it didn't perform so well today, but that is a matter easily fixed. No, I have no doubt the torpedo has a great future before it.'

I bowed graciously, restrained myself from smiling in triumph, and left. To his credit, his face showed no anger at all; indeed, I think I even saw just a little twitch of appreciation.

CHAPTER 16

I thought it was time to put Macintyre out of his misery, and tell him that his future was assured, or as assured as I could make it. I had refined my calculations over the past few days, and what I planned was well within my financial capabilities, although I had no doubt I would have to call on friends such as Mr Cardano for some support at various stages. I was excited; more excited than I had ever been, and it was a welcome distraction from Louise. The more I thought of torpedoes, of banks and factories, the less I thought about her.

My vision was becoming clearer by the minute. It was all very well passing my time as I had done in the past few years, but the buying and selling of shares and bonds is a second-hand operation, removed from the real source of wealth generation. And the prospect of organising an enterprise fascinated me. I did not, I should make it clear, intend to become the manager myself; I knew my limitations and the day-to-day operation of a factory would quickly have wearied me. But setting up the way the managers worked within an elegant, balanced, efficient structure of my own devising – this suffused me with pleasurable anticipation, made me look forward, not back. My eyes turned to England and stopped being dazzled by Adriatic light.

I was in a hurry now. This beautiful, ridiculous old relic was not where things got done, was not where money was made. It was a distraction only, a pause, a place where time was wasted, lives ruined. I needed to inform Macintyre, get the workshop packed up into crates, and the whole lot transported back to England. Somewhere on the south coast, I thought, near to water, which was obviously necessary for testing, not too far away from the great naval bases, close enough to a supply of skilled labour. And where land was cheap enough so that a large enough site could be acquired with ease.

So I was in a confident mood, although that did not last long; when I arrived once more at Macintyre's workshop it was dark and abandoned; I called out, rapped on the doors, listened for any sound but there was nothing at all. Nor was he to be found in the little rooms that he and his daughter called home, a scruffy, decrepit building a few hundred yards away. Only the girl was there, all alone.

'Where is your father?'

She shook her head.

'Don't you know?'

'No. He's out. I don't know where.'

'How long have you been here on your own?'

'All day.' She said it defiantly, as though it was the most normal thing in the world.

'I need to find him quickly. I have some good news for him. Will you tell him? It's important. I have very good news for him.'

She hesitated, and looked at me suspiciously. Some inward tussle was going on inside her tousled head.

'You do know where he is, don't you?'

She nodded.

'Inside?'

She nodded again.

'Please let me in. I won't say you told me.' She frowned seriously, bit her lip, then stepped aside. The little sitting room and kitchen were filthy and smelled of old cooking and unwashed clothes. Dark and dingy, the furniture broken down. Poor child, I thought, to be brought up like that. She said nothing more, but simply looked at me seriously, disapproval on her face.

'Macintyre!' I called out. 'Where are you? It's Stone. I need to talk to you.'

There was a thump from the next room, as though something had fallen heavily onto the floor. And eventually Macintyre appeared. He was drunk; dead drunk, redder of face than usual, clothes awry, stumbling and leaning against the door to keep upright.

'Celebrating your good fortune?'

He didn't even manage to scowl.

'Are you able to talk?'