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    The African Trilogy, Book 2 (Lust, Money & Murder #8)
    The African Trilogy, Book 2 (Lust, Money & Murder #8)
    The African Trilogy, Book 2 (Lust, Money & Murder #8)
    Ebook413 pages6 hours

    The African Trilogy, Book 2 (Lust, Money & Murder #8)

    By Mike Wells

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    About this ebook

    In an extraordinary twist of fate, Elaine Brogan and Luna Faye end up joining forces with Giorgio Cattoretti to try to take down Raj Malik. At the end of Book 1, Elaine learned that Raj was smuggling diamonds out of a secret mine in Central Africa. Her mission is to go to Chad and find the location of the mine at all costs. Can she pull it off? And can she really trust Giorgio Cattoretti?

    Note: This book was previously titled: Lust, Money & Murder, Book 8 - Blood Diamonds

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMike Wells
    Release dateJul 22, 2016
    ISBN9781311319173
    The African Trilogy, Book 2 (Lust, Money & Murder #8)
    Author

    Mike Wells

    Mike Wells is an author of both walking and cycling guides. He has been walking long-distance footpaths for 25 years, after a holiday in New Zealand gave him the long-distance walking bug. Within a few years, he had walked the major British trails, enjoying their range of terrain from straightforward downland tracks through to upland paths and challenging mountain routes. He then ventured into France, walking sections of the Grande Randonnee network (including the GR5 through the Alps from Lake Geneva to the Mediterranean), and Italy to explore the Dolomites Alta Via routes. Further afield, he has walked in Poland, Slovakia, Slovenia, Norway and Patagonia. Mike has also been a keen cyclist for over 20 years. After completing various UK Sustrans routes, such as Lon Las Cymru in Wales and the C2C route across northern England, he then moved on to cycling long-distance routes in continental Europe and beyond. These include cycling both the Camino and Ruta de la Plata to Santiago de la Compostela, a traverse of Cuba from end to end, a circumnavigation of Iceland and a trip across Lapland to the North Cape. He has written a series of cycling guides for Cicerone following the great rivers of Europe.

    Read more from Mike Wells

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      The African Trilogy, Book 2 (Lust, Money & Murder #8) - Mike Wells

      Chapter 1

      Tower Hamlets, London

      Nick LaGrange stood in the hallway of the dingy apartment building staring at the feminine face, which he had unveiled only seconds ago, his confused brain trying to come to terms with the image. He was so taken aback he was unable to utter a word for a few long seconds.

      What the hell are you doing here! he finally roared. You goddamn bitch—you—you tried to kill me!

      Isabella started sobbing, her head down. They threatened to kill my family, she wailed, and they did it anyway!

      The rage Nick felt towards the woman was overpowering and all-consuming.

      I’m glad your family’s dead, he snarled. They were all probably as rotten as you are!

      Isabella slowly collapsed against the stairwell wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the dirty floor, still clutching the black veil in her hand. She was only a foot from the stairs, and for a split second Nick thought he might kick her down them.

      The door to one of the apartments cracked open, the sound cutting through the heavy silence. Take your problems away from here! a male voice shouted, in accented English. I will call the police!

      Nick turned in that direction—he was so angry and rattled he had almost forgotten that they were inside a government housing project in London and it was three o’clock in the morning.

      He looked back down at the young woman who had betrayed him, and through gritted teeth said, Get down those stairs. He grabbed a fistful of her robe and held onto her as they descended several flights. When they reached the lobby, the teenagers they’d passed on the way in were still hanging around, and Nick only let go of her long enough to get past them without attracting attention.

      Fortunately the black cab they’d arrived in was still waiting at the curb. Nick yanked the door open behind the turbaned driver and Isabella climbed in. He shoved her over to the other side of the seat to make room for himself. When he pulled the door closed, he just sat there, shaking with rage, breathing heavily.

      The driver drove the cab slowly down the darkened street, glancing uneasily at Nick in the rearview mirror, then at Isabella. She wiped her eyes, her lower lip trembling. Nick glanced down at his suitcase—he only now realized that they’d left her bag sitting somewhere in the hallway of the apartment building. It didn’t matter.

      Looking almost afraid to speak, the turbaned driver finally said, You veesh to go back to Heathrow?

      Yes, Nick muttered, having to use all of his willpower to keep his voice even. I wish to go back to Heathrow.

      * * *

      It was actually a good thing that they could not speak openly in front of the taxi driver, as this gave Nick some time to calm down and sort out his thoughts. He could not even look at Isabella. She was a monster, a hellion, a she-devil of the worst order. He wondered: how could any woman do what she’d done to him and live with her own conscience?

      Nick looked silently out the window as the taxi driver took the same route he’d taken when they’d arrived, through central London, passing the University College complex, the Madame Tussauds Wax Museum, and Regent’s Park. But Nick saw none of these landmarks.

      How could I have not known she was Isabella? he thought, berating himself. Brian had said that he had an Achilles dick—no, it even was worse than that, he had an Achilles brain! He could not fathom how he had not recognized her big brown eyes, even with the veil covering the rest of her face. But his experience with her when he’d lived in Washington, D.C. had been so traumatic he had completely blotted her from his mind. After that fateful day she’d sent him into the ambush, as far as he was concerned, she was dead. Nick had actually hoped that she’d died at Guantanamo Bay, that they’d gone overboard with one of their advanced interrogation techniques and she’d suffered a heart attack or a stroke, and then felt guilty about it later, because in the end, everything had turned out for the best. As a result of Isabella blowing his cover, he had killed off an entire terrorist cell. And he had been forced to move to Bulgaria, where he had met Elaine, who was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

      When the taxi approached the exit for Heathrow Airport, Nick finally found the stomach to look over at the witch.

      She was gazing dejectedly out her own window. It wasn’t too hard to figure out how she had become a nurse at a black site. After GITMO, she had probably been transferred to some black site, then to another and maybe another, which was common with terrorist suspects. And so she had eventually ended up at the black site in Chad. He wondered when and how she had come up with that mute shtick and manipulated her way into the trustee-nurse position. Then again, she was an expert at psychological manipulation—obviously—so he supposed that he shouldn’t be surprised by anything she’d managed to do to save her own skin.

      The real question was: what the hell was he going to do with her now? He could call Brian and turn her in—he was sure MI6 could come pick her up within an hour. But that would mean admitting to Brian that he had been duped not once, but twice, by the same woman! He could only imagine what the crusty old bastard would have to say about that.

      Which terminal do you want? the driver said, encroaching on Nick’s thoughts.

      Nick looked out the window and realized the cab was winding around the road that led to the airport.

      Which terminal, mate? One, Two, Three, Four, Five?

      Nick did not answer, glancing at Isabella again. Now she was gazing at him, her eyes red and puffy. There was an expectant expression on her face, as if she wondered what he was going to do, yet she seemed resigned to her fate whatever it might be.

      Give me your passport, Nick snapped.

      She didn’t move.

      Give it to me! he growled.

      She reached into her robe and handed it over.

      Which terminal? the driver said insistently. You must decide now, I have to turn...

      I don’t care, the biggest one.

      That would be Terminal Five.

      Whatever.

      * * *

      The two of them walked inside Terminal 5, Nick pulling his bag along behind him and staying close to Isabella. He had the feeling she might bolt. He still had not decided what to do with her.

      The building was one gigantic, airy space, with floor to ceiling windows and a gently curving roof that must have been over a hundred feet high. Even at four-thirty in the morning the terminal was fairly crowded.

      Nick spotted a cafe and led Isabella in that direction and stopped at a table.

      You want something to drink? he muttered, deciding that he should at least be civil to her.

      She shrugged, looking away.

      Nick went to the counter and ordered himself an Americano, and for her, a double latte, remembering that was her favorite coffee drink. He found himself stirring in one packet of brown sugar and sprinkling the top with both ground chocolate and cinnamon, the way she liked it.

      Don’t, he told himself. You have to resist falling back into any old patterns with her. As he carried the drinks to the table, he found it strange that he could remember such a fine detail from so long ago. He also found himself remembering how he’d made her breakfast in bed every morning, how crazy he was about her in every way, and how perfect she’d seemed for him.

      Thank you, she said, when he handed her the cup. She spoke in barely a whisper.

      They both silently sipped their coffee, not looking at each other, their eyes on the other passengers.

      I know you hate me, she finally said, her voice wavering. I don’t blame you.

      Nick watched her, sitting there in the black robe, her head covered, only her face visible. However he’d felt about her before, she disgusted him now, and he was sure his own face showed it.

      Put yourself in my shoes, she said, her eyes filling with tears again. What would you have done? I had to choose between my family and the man I loved—

      You never loved me. He pointed at her. "Don’t ever say that."

      You’re wrong! I didn’t want to fall in love with you, but I couldn’t help it.

      Yeah, sure you did. And based on that, you decided to let me die.

      "But you didn’t die. She glanced down at his broad chest. I knew you wouldn’t when you went on that mission. You’re too good at what you do."

      I don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit, Nick said, looking away. On the inside, his emotions were swirling around like a tornado. He had to sit still for a full minute to let them die down. He wanted some answers, and he couldn’t get them by chewing her out.

      In a calm voice, he said, I know that after you were picked up in Washington, you were taken to Guantanamo Bay. You want to explain how you ended up at a black site in Chad?

      Isabella watched him for a moment, as if she were thinking of ignoring the question, but then took a sip of her coffee and looked at him coldly. Your government just sends us around wherever they want. We have no rights. How should I know why I ended up in Chad? All I know is that Chad was the third black site on my itinerary.

      Where was the second site?

      She snickered. Do you really think they tell us where we’re going? We’re in shackles with hoods over our heads. They aren’t running a travel agency, L—Nick.

      He struggled to keep his temper in check. What the hell does she have to be mad at me about? he thought.

      He remembered the first time she’s entered his cell as Alisha, the nurse, to staple up the cut in his arm. And the first message she’d written to him in her notebook, with all the clever misspellings to throw him off. He still couldn’t believe he had not realized it was actually Isabella, the sneaky bitch.

      He said disgustedly, When did you come up with the mute routine?

      It wasn’t a ‘routine,’ not at first. I really was mute for a while. At the second black site, I attacked the monster who was about to waterboard me. The woman ended up smashing my head against the concrete. Isabella set her coffee cup down, pulled back her headscarf, parted her hair, and revealed a nasty scar under her scalp. I was in a coma for a couple of weeks. When I woke up, I couldn’t talk. It didn’t take me long to realize how much of an advantage being mute was, and so I just faked it from then on. The doctor who treated me chalked it up to brain damage. They gave up on getting any more information out of me. She took another sip of her coffee and shrugged. I took a nursing course when I was in high school, worked part-time in a hospital. When I showed I could do that, they made me a trustee.

      Where are you actually from? And don’t tell me Cuba—I know that’s bullshit.

      I grew up in Lebanon, near Beirut. My family immigrated to Mexico when I was ten. My older brother got involved with some extremists and... Her eyes welled with tears.

      He thought it all over, and with a sigh, said, I’m not going to turn you in, if that’s what you’re worried about.

      She swallowed once, but she didn’t look particularly relieved. Now he noticed something else about her—even without the veil, he could not read her very well, and when he thought about it, back to the time they lived together in Washington, he wasn’t sure he had ever been able to read her at all.

      The reason I’m not going to turn you in, Nick said carefully, is that I have to find my wife, and I don’t have time to get tangled up with you in any way, shape or form. He pulled her passport from his pocket and handed it to her. So now you’re free to go wherever you want.

      He stood up, finished off the rest of his coffee, and set the empty cup on the table.

      You can’t just leave me here, Leon!

      Several other passengers who were sitting nearby glanced at her.

      Nick said in a low voice, Don’t ever use that name, you fool. My name is Nick now.

      Okay, okay, I’m sorry. But please don’t leave me here, Nick—I have nowhere to go. I—I can help you find your wife.

      He only laughed—he was now sure that she had no more idea where Elaine had been taken than he had.

      He walked away, leaving her sitting there alone, and he did not look back.

      * * *

      A few minutes later, Nick was halfway across the terminal, standing outside the only open shop he could find where he could buy a disposable phone.

      It’s CRAYFISH, Nick said, when Brian answered.

      Hey, buddy, it’s good to hear from you. Where are you—still in Chad?

      No, London.

      Oh, good. My contacts took good care of you, then?

      Yes, thanks a lot, got the money.

      Who did you deal with? I need to reimburse them.

      Some redhead. Went by the codename of ‘Five.’

      Oh my god, Brian said, and started laughing. Five! I know her, what a ballbuster!

      Yeah, Nick muttered. So what about my wife? Did you find out anything?

      Brian’s tone became serious. Nothing, actually.

      What do you mean, nothing?

      According to my sources, there aren’t any black sites in Chad. Haven’t been any in over two years.

      Nick frowned, feeling panicky. There were a couple of men passing close to him, and he waited until they were out of earshot before he continued. Don’t tell me that, I was held prisoner at one. He glanced down at his wrist—there were still bruises from the straps. I have the scars to prove it.

      I don’t know where you were held, but I don’t think it was a black site in Chad. Are you sure you it wasn’t in Libya, close to the Chadian border?

      I’m positive. When we escaped, we traveled due west on foot all night. I used the stars to navigate. We ended up south of Abéché, which is in central Chad.

      Well, I don’t know what to tell you then. Black sites are in a constant state of flux, being opened, closed, and moved all the time. You know that.

      There was a full-blown commando attack at this particular site. At least one chopper, some American military personnel were shot, a few other prisoners escaped. It was a raid, a carefully planned extraction operation, night vision gear, lots of shooting.

      What kind of a chopper? Did you get a look at it?

      Nick tried to remember. Soviet-made, an Mi-8 I think.

      Maybe Chechens or Iranians, then.

      Nick just stood there, watching the passengers walk by—how could there be no record of an attack like that? Even if it were classified Top Secret, Brian should have access to it.

      Well, I have more feelers out, Brian said reassuringly, but Nick could tell he was having doubts. Maybe they’ll come up with something. Brian paused for a moment while a flight announcement echoed through the terminal. It sounds like you’re at an airport. What are you going to do now? Is that nurse still with you?

      Nick’s grip on the phone tightened. We just got into Heathrow—I’m about to drop her off in Tower Hamlets. He glanced in the direction of the cafe, now having second thoughts of leaving her here.

      There was a long pause. I’m still not crazy about the idea of her going free. We don’t know anything about her.

      Now Nick became even more anxious. Yeah, I agree, but on the other hand, she did help me escape...

      Another long, nerve-wracking moment passed. He was sure Brian was thinking about calling MI6 and having her picked up.

      Well, I’ll leave it up to you, then.

      Right, Nick said, relieved. If Brian knew who she really was he’d have a stroke...

      Brian said, I hope I have some better information for you about your wife next time you check in. Call me back in twenty-four hours.

      * * *

      As Nick cut the call, he hurriedly moved back through the terminal towards the cafe. The conversation with Brian had given him an idea, and now he knew he needed to hold on tightly to Isabella. He might be able to trade Isabella to the Jihadists who had Elaine.

      When he reached the cafe and the table where they had been sitting, he founded it occupied by a Chinese family of six.

      Nick looked frantically around—the airport was growing even busier now, the first rays of the morning sun flowing through the huge windows.

      With his heart pounding, he began to circle the area around the cafe, looking everywhere, up and down the open spaces between the shops.

      At last, he caught sight of Isabella—she was standing underneath one of the Departure Schedule displays. She was staring up at the screen, looking lost and uncertain.

      Nick took a deep breath as he approached her.

      When she saw him, she looked a little scared. She took a small step backwards.

      Nick could scarcely believe the words that were about to pass across his lips.

      You’re coming with me to France.

      Chapter 2

      Mediterranean Sea

      Seventy Miles Southwest of Sicily

      The yacht which Elaine Brogan and Giorgio Cattoretti were aboard was now heading towards Tangier, Morocco.

      Elaine was relieved that they were now far, far from Turkey. Apparently the three prisoners that had been extracted from the black site and released from the yacht had made it to safety.

      Now Elaine had something new to be worried about.

      At Giorgio’s request, she had spent the entire day brainstorming fake personas to use on her mission to Chad, to try to get close to Stanley Ketchum, the ex-CIA agent who was supplying Raj Malik with the diamonds.

      What about pretending to be an Irish foreign aid worker? she suggested to Giorgio. I can do a pretty decent Irish brogue.

      That might work, Giorgio said, gazing at her with his one uncovered eye. They were sitting at the table on the deck outside the stateroom. It was another perfectly sunny, cloudless day, the yacht slowly moved through the water. But if you’re a foreign aid worker, you would probably have experience in Africa. It would be better if you had never been to Chad or any other African country before.

      Why?

      Giorgio shrugged. So Ketchum can play tour guide, be the savvy one who knows the ropes and who will protect you. You know that men like that sort of thing. Then he’ll be more likely to ask you to go with him to Sudan, so he can show off how well he knows Africa, how confident he is.

      Elaine considered this—Giorgio was probably right. She gazed out across the water, struggling with her growing anxiety about this scheme. She didn’t think she could back out now, not that she had much choice. But she was having serious reservations.

      She finally had the nerve to ask the question that had been bothering her most. And what exactly is going to happen to Stanley Ketchum if I do manage to find out the location of the diamond mine? You obviously won’t need him. And Raj certainly won’t need him, either, not from behind bars.

      Of course I’ll need him, Giorgio said, motioning down at his expensive jacket. Do you really think I’m going to crawl around in some filthy mine and collect the rocks myself?

      What, you’re going to make a deal with Ketchum and take over Raj’s role?

      Something like that.

      I don’t believe you.

      Why not?

      Because you could just go to Ketchum right now and make a deal with him, offer more money for the diamonds and cut Raj out of the picture.

      I told you, the man has raised his prices to unacceptable levels. If I offer more I can’t make a dime.

      Then logic says you’re going to kill him when you find out the location of the mine and Raj is in jail. It’s obvious.

      Giorgio frowned at her, looking insulted. Nothing is going to happen to Ketchum after I find out the location of the mine. Nothing at all. He will be a non-issue.

      Yeah, that’s exactly what bothers me.

      What do you care about the guy? He’s heartless and greedy, he’s smuggling diamonds out of a dirt-poor country, where people are dying of starvation and disease, people who could greatly benefit from the mine if the government knew it was there. The man is scum.

      Elaine rose from her chair. Look, Giorgio, I’m not going to participate in anything that involves murder, or even violence.

      Cattoretti frowned at her. "What, you think I would murder the man in cold blood, just for money?"

      Her facial expression was enough for an answer.

      Elaine, Elaine, he muttered, glancing past her, shaking his head. You still don’t really know me that well, do you?

      I know you’ve murdered a lot of people, Giorgio. Don’t deny it.

      Murdered? No. No. Please don’t use that word, it’s so callous. It makes the act of taking a life sound so cold and calculated. I’ve never ‘murdered’ anyone, Elaine. I have taken a few lives, yes. The lives of people who either sorely deserved it or were trying to murder me, in which case it was clearly self-defense. Such as those two Special Ops troopers Raj sent after me in Lithuania, on snowmobiles? Giorgio shrugged. Of course I had to kill them. What else could I do? It was them or me, Elaine. A matter of survival.

      And what about Gypsy? Elaine said. She was glad they were on this topic now—it was high time she got some answers about that.

      Gypsy...? Cattoretti looked puzzled. Oh, you mean Gene Lassiter’s hairy boyfriend?

      Elaine did not smile. Yes that’s exactly who I mean.

      Giorgio sadly shook his head. My stupid son killed him, Elaine. Unfortunately, my boy Luigi has no finesse, no class, no ethics. His concept of a criminal is a sad cliché, a hotheaded gangster-hoodlum who goes around beating people up and killing whoever he wants. It’s my own fault. I let his mother raise him in Rome, I neglected him... Cattoretti gave a sad sigh, motioning to her. That’s why I’m so interested in finding Pablo, in doing a better job of parenting this time around.

      Uh-huh. And Inspector Amperov, in St. Petersburg?

      Giorgio looked surprised that she’d even asked. Yes, I whacked that double-crossing Russian! Of course I did. One short second before he murdered me! Another case of self-defense. The man agreed to split the ransom money with me and then got greedy and decided he would just take it all and get rid of me.

      Elaine regarded Giorgio warily. What about Lexy?

      What about her?

      She told me that you left her for dead in the canal in St. Petersburg.

      Well, once again, Elaine, what could I do? When I was sinking the getaway boat, the clumsy girl got her leg caught in the floorboards. I tried to free her but it was no use—we both would have drowned, and I wouldn’t be sitting here right now. I had no choice but to leave her behind.

      Elaine had serious doubts about all this.

      And Viktor Zubov?

      Cattoretti looked surprised by the mention of this name. Zubov killed himself.

      No he didn’t, he was assassinated at his dacha in Crimea, while he was swimming.

      And I say he killed himself.

      Elaine was annoyed. I didn’t get this information off the TV news, Giorgio. I have a Secret Service report and—

      Oh, Zubov was assassinated, I’m not disputing that.

      She was confused. You’re contradicting yourself.

      Not at all. Zubov simply hired his own assassin to do the job. Well, he did it unknowingly—he actually meant to have the hit man kill somebody else, but... The Cat shrugged. Things happen. It’s hard to explain.

      Elaine shook her head, gazing disgustedly at the slimy Italian. He always had an excuse. There were plenty of other people he had killed, she was sure—such as the three prisoners who had allegedly gang raped him while he was in Attica, the ones that were later found dead with telltale signs of sexual retaliation, the severed penis of one was sewn into his own mouth. Those three murders were clearly contract killings. Cattoretti had already been long deported to Italy when they occurred, and he undoubtedly thought each of the men deserved it.

      But Elaine knew it was pointless to bring these alleged crimes up, and perhaps dangerous. It would not be wise to confront a man like Cattoretti about being raped in prison—no telling what reaction that might stir up in him. She knew his hatred of the U.S. Government was in part fueled by that horrific, humiliating experience, that he thought his prison sentence far exceeded his crime, that he had gotten tangled up with a crooked judge, and thought he should have been better protected while incarcerated.

      Elaine watched him a moment and finally said, Well, I don’t think you’re all bad, Giorgio. I never have. Otherwise I wouldn’t have let you get away on the train. And I certainly wouldn’t be sitting here with you planning this... she didn’t know what to call it ...operation.

      He smiled, revealing those perfect white teeth. "Grazie, Elaine. He beamed at her. That means a lot to me."

      But you have to give me some credit, too, Giorgio. I’m not a moron. Do you really expect me to believe this ex-CIA asset is just going to shrug his shoulders and walk away when you find out where the mine is?

      I told you, Stanley Ketchum will be a non-issue, Giorgio said vaguely.

      Yeah, that’s what you told me, and it’s exactly what bothers me.

      Giorgio smiled thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair, peering at Elaine with his uncovered eye, a mysterious yet playful expression appeared on his face.

      What? Elaine said.

      "I’ve got some news I’ve been so anxious to share with you, cara. I’ve been waiting for just the right moment, and it seems that it has finally arrived. What I have to say is something that I think you will find quite astonishing and perhaps even unbelievable. Are you ready?"

      Now Elaine was downright scared. She gave a small nod.

      Giorgio’s lips broke into a broad smile, and he spread his arms out magnanimously, as if making an earthshaking announcement to the entire world. Ladies and gentleman, The Cat has decided to go straight!

      Elaine was not sure what he expected her reaction to be to this news, which was indeed astonishing, but she started laughing. And laughing.

      She laughed until she cried, having to reach up and wipe the tears from both of her eyes.

      She was concerned that this might make Giorgio mad, but she couldn’t help it. But he appeared to be unfazed. In fact, he started laughing right along with her. The harder she laughed, the harder he did himself. She hadn’t heard anything so funny in a long time.

      Ohhh, that’s rich, she moaned, wiping her eyes again. When she finally caught her breath, she had another giggling fit.

      What? Giorgio said, still chuckling. You don’t think it’s possible that I could go straight?

      Elaine composed herself a moment, then gazed at him sitting there in his fancy outfit, the black patch over his eye, the sparkling Mediterranean Sea stretched out behind him.

      Giorgio, I think there’s about as much chance of you going straight as the Pope becoming an atheist.

      He laughed. "Oh, come now. Anyway, I didn’t mean completely straight."

      Elaine nodded. Ah, of course. Here comes the catch.

      There is no catch. The Cat stood up and gazed out at the sea for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, and then looked back at her. Let me explain something to you, Elaine: I’m a social animal. Do you think I can live the rest of my life in hiding? He nodded across the water. Shut-up away from the world in some seaside villa, all by myself? He shook his head. No, no, no, that’s not me, Elaine. I’m at the prime of my life! I’m still a millionaire, and by God, I intend to enjoy myself. He motioned to her. Remember when I took you to the opera in Milan?

      How could she forget that evening, and of course she could not argue the point he was making—Giorgio Cattoretti was indeed a social animal of the highest order. He belonged there at La Scala. He reveled being at the center of attention. She remembered how he had rubbed elbows with all the Milan socialites, some of them calling out The Cat as he

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