The Lonely Skier

‘Good!’ He smiled. ‘Since you class yourself among the adventurers, you might find this quite amusing. On the other hand, it may be a complete wash-out. In which case you will have to be content with three months’ holiday in the Dolomites. It’s just a hunch I have about something. I can’t follow it up myself. I’m finishing off my next film. What I need is somebody I can trust to hold a watching brief for me and keep me informed — somebody with a sense of responsibility and plenty of initiative. You’re just the man.’

‘Thanks for the build-up,’ I said. I was becoming excited despite my previous disappointment. Engles’ excitement was always infectious.

He laughed. ‘That’s not a build-up. You just happen to possess those qualities. You can also write, and that gives me a pretext for sending you out. Now — do you want the job?’

‘Well, what is the job?’ I asked him.

‘For God’s sake, Neil!’ he cried. ‘Do you want it or don’t you?’

‘Of course I do,’ I replied. ‘I need a job badly. But naturally I want to know what the job is. How else can I tell whether I can do it?’

‘You should know me better,’ he said in a quieter tone. ‘I wouldn’t be offering you the job if I didn’t think you could do it. Now, are you going to take it or not?’

‘I’d like to,’ I said.

‘Fine!’ And he ordered another round before I was halfway through my own drink. ‘Just a final,’ he said, ‘whilst I tell you what I want you to do. Then I must dash or I’ll miss my train. Do you know Cortina?’

I shook my head. I knew of it, of course. We had taken it over as a leave centre for our troops at the end of the war.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ he went on. ‘I plan to do a film there. There’s not enough movement in modern films. Too much of the play about them. That’s why Westerns are so popular. The studios seem to think people go the cinema to listen. They don’t. They go to watch. There’s a colossal market waiting for a fast-moving ski picture. Plenty of spills and thrills. The world has gone crazy about sport — artificial excitement to replace the excitement of war. But I’ve got to convince my Studios first. I’m sending a fat, sluggish ape called Joe Wesson, who just happens to be a first-class cameraman, over to take some pictures that will convince K.M. Studios that I’m right. You’ll go with him to do the script. That’s just an excuse to get you the permit. I don’t give a damn whether you write a script or not, but you’d better try. Joe Wesson will expect it. To everyone else but me you’re there to write a script. You’ll be on the Studios’ pay-roll as a script writer. I’ll fix that.’

He lit a cigarette. ‘You’ll stay at a place called Col da Varda,’ he went on. ‘It’s about five miles north of Cortina. It’s little more than a rifugio, but it’s got bedrooms: I’ve booked accommodation for two already. You go up to the Passo Tre Croci and take a cable-sleigh — slittovia, the Ityes call them — up to the hut. Make a pretence of writing and watch everyone who comes up there. Particularly, watch for this girl.’ He produced a photograph from his wallet and handed it tome.

It was a very faded and much-worn photograph of the head and undraped shoulders of a girl. It had been taken in Berlin and scrawled across the bottom was — ‘Fur Heinrich, mein liebling — Carla.’

‘She’s Italian,’ he said. I could see that. She had dark hair and eyes and a wide full mouth. There was something very animal about that face and the eyes had a glittering hardness. It reminded me of some of the pictures of girls I had seen in the Vice Squad’s index of prostitutes shortly after the fall of Rome.

‘Understand, I don’t want you to do anything,’ Engles continued. ‘I just want you to keep your eyes open. I’m interested in the slittovia and the hut, the people who are staying there, regular visitors, anything unusual that happens. I’m not going to tell you anything about it. If you keep your eyes and ears open, you’ll probably come to know as much about the business as I do. But, / don’t want you to do anything. Send me a daily report. If there’s anything startling, cable me at the Studios. Send your reports Air Mail. Is all that clear?’

‘As mud,’ I said.

He grinned. ‘That’s about as clear as I wanted it to be. See my secretary tomorrow. She’ll fix everything for you.’ He glanced at his watch and drained his drink. ‘I’ll just make it,’ he said. ‘It’ll be a three months’ engagement and, if my hunch turns out right, you might find yourself nicely set up. At worst you might produce a script I could use. You leave for Cortina the day after tomorrow.’