'Do you intend to continue living in a hotel throughout your stay, Mr Stone?'

'Unless something better offers itself, yes. I would happily move somewhere more commodious and less annoying, but on the other hand I do not intend to spend my time here house-hunting.'

Longman clapped his hands in joy at being so useful. 'Then there is a perfect solution!' he cried. 'You must take rooms with the Marchesa d'Arpagno!'

'Must I?'

'Yes, yes. A delightful woman, desperately in need of cash, with a vast, tumbling-down palazzo begging for occupants. She would never be so coarse as to solicit lodgers, but I can tell she would not be displeased with an enquiry. It would be central and charming. I will happily send a letter around for you, if you like the idea.'

Why not? I thought. I had no plans to stay long, and no plans to leave either. I should have realised this haziness of intention was indicative of a strange state of mind, but no such thought occurred to me. I did not find the cost of the hotel onerous, but the discrepancy between how much you paid, and what you got for it I found offensive. So I said, 'It would be interesting to look. Who is this lady?'

I noticed that the other two did not look so delighted at the mention of her name, but had no chance to pursue the subject as Macintyre the engineer was stumping over towards the table.

He was clearly in something of a social bind as he wished to dine with the company, but manifestly found it quite unreasonable to admit the fact. He resolved the matter by looking exceptionally ill-humoured and growling his greetings in a manner which escaped being impolite only by a whisker. The effect of his sitting down was to stifle all conversation for several minutes. Longman looked faintly displeased, Cort somewhat frightened. Only Drennan nodded in greeting and appeared unperturbed by his appearance.

'Food arrived yet?' Macintyre said after we had sat in uncomfortable silence for a while. He snapped his fingers at the waiter to call for wine and downed two glasses, one after the other, in swift succession. 'What is it this evening?'

'Fish,' Cort said.

Macintyre laughed. 'Of course it's fish. It's fish every bloody night. What sort of fish?'

Cort shrugged. 'Does it matter?'

'I suppose not. It all tastes the same to me anyway.' He scowled ferociously at Cort as he pulled a roll of paper from under his coat.

'There you are. I had my draughtsman do it up properly. Did the costings myself. As I said, Sottini has the proper lengths in stock; good Sheffield bars, won't let you down. I've set him up to give you a fair price. Get in touch with him quickly, though, otherwise he'll forget. Don't give him more than twenty-seven shillings a length. But I think you will have a problem with the foundations. I looked again; the central pillar is buried deep down and must be taken out, if this is to work. It will be expensive.'

'How expensive?'

'Very. You will have to support the entire building, then remove it, to give space to put in the new structure. Best thing to do, frankly, would be to blow it out.'

'What? Are you mad?'

'No, no. It's a very simple. Not dangerous at all, if you know what you're doing. A very small charge placed low down, just to knock a few of the bigger stones out of place. Then the entire pillar will come down, leaving the rest of the building standing – if you have buttressed it properly.'

'I'll think about it,' Cort said uncertainly.

'It's the only way of doing it. I've got the explosives in my workshop. When you see that I'm right, let me know.' Then Macintyre turned to me, a refilled glass in his hand. 'And you. What are you doing here?'

Certainly, no one could accuse Macintyre of an excessive courtesy. His flat, northern accent – I placed him as a native of Lancashire, despite the Scottish name – added to the general impression of rudeness, something which, as Longman noted, northerners deliberately accentuate.

'Merely a traveller, from London, where I have lived much of my life,' I replied.

'And your profession? If you have one.'

There was a hint of hostility in his tone. I looked like a gentleman, I suppose, and it appeared Mr Macintyre did not like gentlemen.

'I suppose you might call me a man of business. If you wish to know whether I live off the money of my family, and idle my days away on the labour of others then the answer is that I do not. Although, I freely admit, I would do so happily if the opportunity came my way.'

'You don't look English.'

'My mother is of Spanish origin,' I said evenly. 'My father, on the other hand, is a vicar of impeccable Englishness.'

'So you're a mongrel.'

'I suppose you could say that.'

'Hmm.'

'Now, now, Macintyre,' said Longman jovially. 'None of your bluntness, if you please. Not until Mr Stone is used to you. I was just recommending the Marchesa to him as a potential landlady. What do you think?'

Macintyre's reaction was peculiar. It was a remark of no importance, so I thought, designed merely to divert the conversation into safer waters. But it accomplished the exact opposite. Macintyre snorted. 'Bloody madwoman,' he said. 'And you'd be mad to go anywhere near her.'

'What was that about?' I asked Drennan later, once Macintyre had wolfed down his food, tossed his napkin on the table and left again. All in all, he was there for less than fifteen minutes; he was not a man to waste time on inessentials.

'I have no idea,' he replied. 'It seems Macintyre does not like the lady.'

'He tried to get rooms there once. She wouldn't have him and he was offended,' Cort said.

'That explains it,' Longman said cheerfully. 'I wondered how he might have come across her. Not through me, at any rate. I didn't think he took enough time off to sleep. He works on that machine of his from dawn to dusk.'

'Machine?' I asked. 'What machine is this?'

'Nobody knows,' said Drennan with a smile. 'It is Macintyre's secret obsession. He has, so he says, been working on it for years, and has poured his entire fortune into it.'

'He has a fortune?'

'Not any more. He is – or was, until he settled here a few years back – a travelling engineer. Hiring himself to the highest bidder. A shipyard in France, railway project in Turin, a bridge in Switzerland. A very skilled man.'

'Personally, I prefer the life of the mind, of study and reflection. And, as you may have noticed, he is not best suited for getting on with others. He never stays anywhere long,' Longman commented.

'Is he married?'

'His wife died in childbirth, poor man. So he is left with a daughter, who is about eight. A most unfeminine creature,' Longman continued, even though I had asked for no elaboration. 'Utterly uneducated, with the looks of her father. He can just about get away with it, but what is almost tolerable in a man . . .'

He did not finish. He had successfully painted a picture of what was to come: a lonely old spinster, fending for herself, cut off from good, or any proper company. He shook his head slowly to indicate his distress.

'I think she's a sweet kid,' Drennan said. 'Nice smile. Not much to smile about, though.'

And so the conversation proceeded. It improved in tone and temper once the effects of Macintyre faded, and Cort, to my surprise, proved the most entertaining. He was, perhaps, the person most like myself in temperament if not in character, and I found his wit congenial. I had known many like him at school; he blossomed under my appreciation and was in a rare good humour by the time the meal was finished and the small party began to break up. Longman and Drennan decided to head to Florian's for brandy, Cort and I declined the idea, and were left standing by the doorway as the others disappeared.

I turned to thank him for his company, and as I did so, a most remarkable change came over him. He grew tense and pale, his jaw clenched tightly in distress, and he gripped me by the elbow as we shook hands in farewell. He seemed to be looking aghast at something behind me, so I turned round swiftly to see what had so grabbed his attention.