Scorpia

and went to fetch it. Alex waited for Mrs Rothman to speak. He was playing the game her way, and she was the one with the rules.
    “The food here is absolutely wonderful,” she informed him. “Some of the best cooking in Italy—and, of course, Italian is the best food in the world. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve already ordered for you. If there’s anything you don’t like, you can send it back.”
    “That’s fine.”
    Mrs Rothman lifted her glass. Alex could see the tiny bubbles rising to the surface in the honey-coloured liquid.
    “I shall drink to your health,” she announced. “But first you have to say you’ve forgiven me. What happened to you at the Widow’s Palace was monstrous. I feel totally embarrassed.”
    “You mean, trying to kill me,” Alex said.
    “My dear Alex! You came to my party without an invitation. You crept round the house and sneaked into my study. You mentioned a name which should have got you killed instantly, and you’re really very lucky that Nile decided to drown you rather than break your neck. So although what happened was very unfortunate, you can hardly say it was unprovoked. Of course, it would all have been different if we’d known who you were.”
    “I told Nile my name.”

    “It obviously didn’t register with him, and he didn’t mention it to me until the morning afterwards. I was so shocked when I heard. I couldn’t believe it. Alex Rider, the son of John Rider, in my house—and he’d been locked in that place and left to…” She shuddered and briefly closed her eyes. “We had to wait for the water to go down before we could open the door. I was sick with worry. I thought we were going to be too late. And then… We looked inside and there was nobody there. You’d done a Houdini and disappeared. I assume you swam down the old well?”
    Alex nodded.
    “I’m amazed it was big enough. Anyway, I was furious with Nile. He wasn’t thinking. The very fact that you were called Rider should have been enough. And for him to run into you a second time at Consanto! What were you doing there, by the way?”
    “I was looking for you.”
    She paused, thinking. “You must have seen the brochure in my desk. And did you overhear me talking to Harold Liebermann?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “There’s one thing I absolutely have to know. How did you get into the complex?”
    “I jumped off the terrace at Ravello.”
    “With a parachute?”
    “Of course.”
    Mrs Rothman threw back her head and laughed loudly. At that moment, she looked more like a film star than anyone Alex had ever met. Not just beautiful, but supremely confident. “That’s wonderful,” she declared.
    “That’s really quite wonderful.”
    “It was a borrowed parachute,” Alex added. “It belonged to the brother of a friend of mine. I’ve lost all his equipment. And they’ll be wondering where I am.”

    Mrs Rothman was sympathetic. “You’d better call them and let them know you survived. And tomorrow I’ll write your friend’s brother a cheque. If’s the least I can do after everything that’s happened.”
    The waiter arrived with Alex’s orange juice and the first course: two plates of ravioli. The little white parcels were wonderfully fresh, filled with wild mushrooms and served with a salad of rocket and Parmesan. Alex tasted one. He had to admit that the food was as delicious as Mrs Rothman had promised.
    “What’s wrong with Nile?” he asked.
    “He can be exceptionally stupid. Act first, ask questions later. He never stops to think.”
    “I meant his skin.”
    “Oh that! He suffers from vitiligo. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s a skin disorder. His skin is lacking pigment cells or something like that. Poor Nile! He was born black but he’ll be white by the time he dies. But let’s not talk about him. There are so many other things we need to discuss.”
    “You knew my father.”
    “I knew him very well, Alex. He was an extremely good friend of mine. And I have to say, you’re his spitting image. I can’t tell you how strange it is to be sitting here with you. Here I am, fifteen years older. But you…”
    She looked deep into his eyes. Alex saw that she was examining him but at the same time he felt as if she were sucking something out of him. “It’s almost as if he’s come back,” she said.
    “I want to know about him.”
    “What can I tell you that you don’t know already?”
    “I don’t know anything, except what Yassen