Apologies for the delay folks – RL; work; holidays and other pathetic excuses. Barring nasty surprises at work this should now bowl along at a reasonable rate as extensive hand written notes now transcribed to PC – editing; editing; editing (yawn)

Summary : Clarice has a lovely breakfast followed by another nasty surprise. The chess game proceeds.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Clarice Starling and other characters contained in these posts were created by and are the intellectual property of Thomas Harris. They are used herein without permission, but in the spirit of admiration and respect. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no profit whatsoever is made by the owner, creators, moderators, members or contributors of this site.

Despite her expectations Clarice slept almost as soon as she had arranged her pillows, comfortably – one under her head and one close up against her back.

An hour or so later her bedroom door opened and the Doctor moved silently on bare feet to the side of her bed. There was some diffuse illumination coming through the muslin curtains. The Doctor stood absolutely still for about 10 minutes, closely examining the rate and depth of her breathing, the spread of her hair on the pillow, the shape of her hand against the bed sheets the drape of the sheets over her shoulders and breasts. He glided to the base of the bed and carefully lifted the sheets to examine her feet. They were as he remembered. Satisfied, he replaced the sheets with elaborate care and retired to the library.

Clarice remembered no dreams when she woke at 7.30 am. There was someone tapping at her door. She mumbled a greeting and the door opened smoothly admitting a small broad hipped lady with grey hair tied smoothly and severely back into a bun. She wore a large starched white apron over an impeccably pressed grey frock with a curved white collar. She was carrying a very large silver tray and moved sideways like a small hermit crab on tiny feet encased in tightly laced ankle boots with small heels.

Dr Lecter's housekeeper didn't look at Clarice until she had placed the tray precisely over Clarice's lap then she cocked her head to one side, like a sparrow. She had rather dour features with a thin mouth turned down into the creases of her chin. Suddenly she smiled broadly. Her eyes squeezed shut at the same time so the effect was of a sunny Inuit, greeting the light of the day after a long polar night

She leaned forward to re arrange the pillows behind Clarice's back and to open up a linen napkin the size of a small tablecloth and to drape this around Clarice's shoulders. She gave Clarice another reassuring smile.

She turned to the window to open the curtains as Clarice smoothed her hands over the silky starched damask covering her chest.

She returned to the bedside indicated the time on her watch and carefully moved the hour hand to read 9.0 and then pointed to the garden room where Clarice had been last night. Her lips remained firmly compressed throughout this charade but her eyes were coal bright and expressive and Clarice took this to mean that the Doctor expected her downstairs at that hour. Clarice smiled in return and said "Gracias." The housekeeper dipped a little curtsey and almost tripped out of the room on her small feet, heels tapping against the polished wood.

Clarice turned her attention to the tray. She was very hungry. Orange juice in a tall slender champagne glass, warm croissants wrapped in another napkin, butter, apricot jam and then under the lid of a small silver chafing dish the lightest scrambled egg Clarice had ever seen with finely sliced smoked salmon placed on top of incredibly thin, slightly curled toast with some sprigs of fresh coriander. There were silver salt and pepper shakers on the tray, shaped like tiny incense burners and two slender silver knives and a fork with heavy bevelled handles which sat snugly into the palm of Clarice's hands. There was a small cafetiere and a tiny white porcelain jug filled with cream and a silver bowl containing brown sugar crystals and tongs along with a glisteningly smooth white cup and saucer.

Clarice felt as if she could have wolfed the entire contents of the tray in three gulps but tempered her enthusiasm. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble with this – the least she could do was savour the result, besides, she was tired of bolting down fast food of one sort or another, just because it was fuel. The orange juice was fresh and rich, the food meltingly smooth and the coffee felt clean and coruscating as she drank it down.

Clarice moved the tray to one side on the bed with difficulty and swung her feet onto the sisal. The sensation of the rough fibres against her feet snapped her into the present and her dilemma of last night – who to call ? It was still Pearsall but only with the expectation of him bearing witness. No more.

The decision and the reason for it made Clarice feel better. The rest would have to wait. She knew that up to a point she was at the mercy of Dr. Lecter's plans for her. What help would he offer if any ? and at what price ? 'Cross that bridge when you get to it girl'

Clarice dressed in a silk shift dress – pale emerald with leather strap sandals with a low heel. These she could almost run in. She discovered in one of the drawers of the armoire, exquisite gold stud earrings in the shape of miniature entwined lilies. She spent a long time brushing her hair – the glossier it was, the less obvious the botched blond streaks.

Clarice paused and looked over the balcony as she left her room. Dr Lecter was in the courtyard below, at the base of the stairs signing to the housekeeper. She was responding with quick fingers, a little bent with arthritis but still swift. They were clearly deep in conversation.

Clarice watched fascinated, the housekeeper, bobbing and weaving and dipping her head to emphasise the words flashing off her hands, the Doctor standing still and absolutely straight, just his hands and fingers moving, but his eyes intense. The conversation terminated with the housekeeper dipping her small curtsy and disappearing behind the fountain.

Doctor Lecter moved purposefullly towards the garden room running his finger tips over the plants to right and left as he moved. His movements this morning were springy to Clarice's eye like a dog ready to hunt. She thought that he was humming under his breath. Clarice made her way down the stairs, breathing evenly and savouring the sound of the fountain – playful this morning, she fancied, like the Good Doctor's demeanour.

The Doctor stood up from his chair by the window as soon as she entered the room and studied her unblinkingly. "I'm gratified that I made the correct choice. You look ravishing in green. Please, come and sit down so that we may resume our conversation." He indicated the chair opposite his, positioned to have a good view of the garden which Clarice could see now, in the daylight, was heavily planted with camelias, bouganvilea, geraniums, acacia and mimosa. The effect was of an exotic but precisely sculpted jungle almost rampantly chaotic but not quite. To one side Clarice could see the stooped back of an elderly man with a large floppy straw hat working around some large terracotta pots filled with rosemary and lavender.

"So, have you decided what you would like to do Clarice ?"

"Yes" Clarice sat with both feet firmly planted on the floor. "I need to call Clint Pearsall in Washington and just give him verse and chapter, not in the expectation that he can or will do anything to help but simply to put down a marker. Of all the people I know, he is the most likely person to believe my side of the story. That is very important to me, that there is a least one person in the organisation who knows exactly what went down"

Dr Lecter observed her calmly for a minute. Clarice stared back at him steadily. He was content. The way she had said this pretty little speech, her tone, a little defiant, the way she sat so stubbornly in the chair, it looked like someone closing a bank account against professional advice. He had high hopes. One chapter closing, and another opening. The anticipation was the real pleasure, as always.

"May I suggest that you make this call, which might be quite long and drawn out, from one of the bookshops in Tribunales. The store I am thinking of has a good café with a couple of quiet and discrete telephone booths and reliable internet connections, should you wish to make use of those as well. It will allow me to review some books I am planning to buy." His smile was non-committal

'And eliminates the chance of the phone in this house being traced' thought Clarice. 'Fair enough. Quid pro quo. I have accepted his hospitality – play by his rules for now'

"I also need to know if you shared your special knowledge of my whereabouts with anyone else"

"No"

"Really ? That is very intriguing Clarice. We must explore this decision some more at our leisure"

Dr Lecter observed the calculations going on behind Clarice's eyes with some amusement. As a child he had fished for salmon in a treacherous and fast flowing river with his Father. The prospect of playing and persuading this particular prize onto his table was enough to fill his mouth with saliva.

They drove to the bookstore with the top down. Doctor Lecter asked if she minded listening to some music on the way. With neat, economical movements he loaded Mozart's Abduction from the Seraglio into the CD player. "I think that this will suit very well – full of fun " He winked at her but then cast on her that fine full on fountain smile. It took Clarice by surprise, again. The ride was exhilarating for her – hair whipped back from her face by the speed; the Doctor talking entertainingly about the merchant origins of Buenos Aires; Mozart filling her with optimism and as an additional surprise for Clarice, many admiring looks for her from other drivers when they stopped at intersections. For Clarice this was almost a guilty pleasure. 'I shouldn't be here. I'm here under false pretences.'

Dr Lecter viewed her reactions, askance. "You should bask in this approbation Clarice. It might not last for ever and it is good to have your own high opinion of yourself credited from time to time." He paused for a moment. " I think you are in sore need of some outrageous flattery, Clarice. So I will start by saying that even sack cloth and ashes looks like Coco Chanel draped over your form" He turned towards her and beamed. "We have arrived" He turned into an underground car park. They walked for about ten minutes to reach the store. He asked her no more questions but simply explained about the books he was planning to buy – a new biography of Handel, a first edition of poems by an Argentinian author of whom Clarice had never heard and a first edition of Newton's Principia Mathematica that he had purchased in an auction and had been shipped to this bookseller for collection.

The shop was long and narrow, two storeys high, open to the curved ceiling which was heavily embossed and decorated with gilded cherubs and indeterminate deities. There was a large circular glass cupola in the centre shedding a diffuse light into the interior.

"It used to be a vaudeville theatre. As you can see, they retained some of the original features." Dr Lecter waved his right hand vaguely towards the ceiling.

There was an extravagant Rococco balcony on the first level and everywhere, floor to ceiling books with mahogany sliding ladders to reach the upper shelves.

Doctor Lecter greeted the proprietor sitting behind a heavy mahogany desk by the front door, an elderly gentleman with silver hair swept back from a high forehead and tiny gimlet eyes. His lips looked almost purple in the rather dull light. Opposite the desk was a bench with three other men in their sixties or seventies, leaning on walking sticks, smoking, reading, whispering.

The proprietor mumbled a greeting and then moved very slowly to bring out a package from under the table wrapped in brown paper and twine, secured with multiple dabs of red sealing wax. There was a long conversation, money was exchanged while Clarice wandered between the stacks of books, moving towards the back of the store, lured by the scent of fresh coffee. At the rear was an open bar area with a polished oak floor, leather easy chairs and small wrought copper tables, green with age and strewn with books and newspapers. This area opened into a small courtyard with a high wall decorated with random enamelled and terra cotta tiles. There were a series of small round tables shaded by sailcloth umbrellas and in the corner a small fountain. They were playing a Vivaldi concerto for mandolin, very softly on a well concealed sound system.

Clarice finally spotted the two telephones tucked into a corner behind the shelves selling art books. There were low leather armchair with wings, provide for the callers to recline in, while conversing.

Dr Lecter appeared at her elbow. "Here – a telephone card – enough for an hours conversation – will that be enough do you think?"

Clarice gave him a measured look. "That will be more than enough, thank you Doctor"

It took 10 toe tapping minutes to get through to Pearsall.

"Clarice ! great to hear from you !" There was real surprise in his voice "How ya doing ?" She could hear some movements at the other end of the line.

"I'm sorry Clint, is this a bad time? – I can call again."

"No, no absolutely not Clarice – please, please, just tell me everything … that's been going on with you"

His choice of words and the hesitation in his voice tapped at the back of Clarice's brain, but she plunged on. The story was short in the telling even with Clint stopping her every second paragraph to clarify something or to get her to repeat a name. "If I'm going to be able to help you here I really need all the ins and outs Clarice". She began to think that he had just come in from a stake out or something – washed up and slow with lack of sleep.

"Hey Clint, you sound as though you need a real strong cup of coffee"

"Yeah, yeah, I guess. Clarice … Clarice so God help me …" and at this moment she became aware of Dr Lecter standing in front of her, hands crossed in front of him, holding his package of books.

"Clint, I understand you can't do anything. I just wanted someone to know. That's all." Clarice replaced the receiver.

The Doctor gave her an old fashioned look. "Time to move on, I think" and he directed her towards the front door. They walked without dawdling in the opposite direction to the car park. As they reached the corner of the next block they heard sirens. Two police cars mounted the pavement outside the book shop. As they rounded the corner Clarice heard the unmistakeable cough of Jose's Ducatti.

There was a taxi parked by the kerb, the driver apparently asleep. Dr Lecter tapped sharply on the window and flashed his silver clip of notes. They were moving within the next 10 seconds as another police car came round the corner.

"They are very keen to muzzle you Clarice. Why might that be ? Are you sure you didn't tell them that we had met ?"

"I told you no"

"Then you must have seen or heard something incriminating"

Clarice reeled back to her original briefing in Washington. Had she missed something ? Had they wanted her to act as a mole? If that was the case then the information she had been given had been woefully lacking. No, this was something local. Then she remembered Jose's unease when Zack had mentioned her talking with Dr Lecter in the square. Was that it ? They were on the take and thought she was a plant and that she had met her contact in broad daylight ? Yes that must be it. But how had they spread the poison so quickly - all the way to the FBI and Pearsall in particular ?

"Modern communications. A wonderful tool don't you think Clarice ?" The Doctor smiled at her again. "So much for markers and old friends"

"We will be safe for a while. Senor Borges – the owner of the bookstore, lost two sons when the Generals were in power. There is no love lost there between the authorities and his family but we will have to leave the city for a while. You agree ?"

Clarice balked at the word "we" but this latest episode had shaken her. She now viewed herself as a true outlaw completely dependent upon the Good Doctor's offices to survive.

"You could always offer your services on one of the freight steamers Clarice, if you were desperate to leave or hitch hike to Mexico or ….. many possibilities in a capital city as large as this as I am sure you are aware." The doctor didn't look at her as he ticked off these possibilities on his fingers."

"You've got my attention Dr Lecter. Yes. I agree."

"How gratifying. I am very relieved to see that you haven't completely lost your sense of self preservation."

The Doctor directed the taxi to do three circuits, with its windows open, around the building in which the underground car park was housed before he allowed it to stop. He made two calls on his mobile while they were cruising in circles. The drive back was even swifter than the trip into the city and Dr Lecter directed Clarice to pack as quickly as possible. "Galena will help you"

The urgency of his movements galvanised Clarice. The housekeeper appeared with a leather suitcase with heavy straps and took over the packing, clicking her tongue as she did so. Clarice kept out of the way.

In ten minutes she was standing by the fountain with Galena, the case at her feet. The elderly gardener appeared clutching his hat with one hand and a pair of secateurs in the other. He looked at Clarice with mild rheumy eyes and made the sign of the cross in the direction of her head. Galena frowned at him with concentrated irritation.

Dr Lecter appeared with his own luggage and a soft black kid case containing his lap top. There was a brief conversation with Galena just the whispering of cotton against linen as he moved his hands. Galena curtseyed and the gardener dipped his head. Galena grasped both Clarice's hands with her wide smile, and then ushered the pair of them down the corridor to the garage.

They were on the road in another 3 minutes travelling west.