‘You have the guarantee of my word, dottore.’

‘And your interest is?’

‘I thought I’d made that clear. I want Manlio Vincenzo released from prison in time to make the wine this year.’

‘Even if he murdered his father?’

A shrug.

‘If he turns out to be innocent, so much the better. But let’s assume that he did kill Aldo. It’s absurd to believe that Manlio Vincenzo poses a threat to any other member of the community. And in the meantime there’s a potentially great wine — maybe the great wine of the century — which demands the skill and attention only he can provide.’

He shrugged again, more expansively.

‘After that, I don’t really care what happens to him. In a year the estate will have had time to reorganize, to get another wine-maker or sell out to Gaja or Cerretto, either of whom would be only too glad to get their hands on the Vincenzo vineyards. But for now, Manlio’s my only resource. Just as I’m yours.’

Zen sat trying to catch his breath through the layers of phlegm which had percolated down into his lungs.

‘Why me?’ he demanded point-blank.

The famous director waved the hand holding his cigar, which left a convoluted wake of smoke hanging in the still air.

‘I made various enquiries, as a result of which someone mentioned your name and sketched in the details of your record. Most promising, I thought. You appear to be intelligent, devious and effective, compromised only by a regrettable tendency to insist on a conventional conception of morality at certain crucial moments — a weakness which, I regret to say, has hampered your career. In short, dottore, you need someone to save you from yourself.’

Zen said nothing.

‘In return for the services which I have outlined,’ his host continued seamlessly, ‘I offer myself in that capacity. I understand that at one time you enjoyed the favour of a certain notable associated with the political party based at Palazzo Sisti.