‘You have to do this work for the Allies?’
He nodded. ‘I think I do.’
‘You couldn’t just leave the ministry?’
‘It might look suspicious. I’m so well placed to pass on information about food supplies, the grain stores and so on. The Allied troops will need feeding. And I hear things about the German plans, their armaments, ability to mobilize and so on. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.’
‘I wish it was just us tonight. I wish this wretched man wasn’t coming.’
‘What do you think he wants?’
She felt apprehensive and regretted not telling him before. ‘They may billet their troops here. I had a letter a little while ago.’
He frowned, then walked over to the window to look out. After a moment he turned back to gaze at her with a perplexed expression. ‘Darling, why are you only telling me now?’
‘I’m sorry. I really meant to, but I hoped it would never happen. They send out dozens of these letters and often they come to nothing. I didn’t want you worrying unnecessarily.’
He spread his arms wide. ‘I might have been able to –’
‘To what?’ she interrupted. ‘What, Lorenzo? There’s nothing any of us can do. Anyway, let’s wait and see. It may not be that at all.’
‘Darling, you are jumpy.’
He was right. She was jumpy.
‘Come here.’
She got up and went to him and he held her tight. ‘It will be all right.’
She felt close to tears. ‘Will it? Even if they take our home?’
‘Trust me. We’ll find a way.’
He held her at arm’s length and looked into her eyes. ‘Just one thing, sweetheart.’ He smiled, but she could see his pupils contracting slightly.
‘When I passed your studio, the door was open, and I spotted the painting of your mother still on the easel. Won’t you tell me what you were really doing yesterday?’
They were interrupted by the maid calling.
Sofia breathed a sigh of relief, quickly turning towards the door. ‘Later,’ she said.
9.
Maxine stood in the freezing hallway of the manor house in Castello de’ Corsi gazing around her, having successfully found her way to the dirt road that led to this place. Now the maid, who’d opened the door, was holding out her hand for Maxine’s jacket and bag.
‘It’s all right,’ she said and clutched the bag to her chest a little awkwardly.
She’d had time to read one of the pamphlets during a stop on the way up. She’d read of partisan activities, warnings about possible future Nazi activities, and the ways people could assist the Allies. But Maxine didn’t know which way the wind was blowing. She’d seen public opinion sharply divided since she’d arrived. Allied bombings were not popular when civilian casualties happened although, more than anything, most ordinary men and women wanted the Germans and the Italian Fascists gone for good.
Now, at the sound of footsteps coming from a central marble stairway, she glanced up. A small, elegant woman, all dark eyes and pale complexion with jet-black hair piled up on her head, was descending with slow, studied steps. The type of woman men adored, longed for and fought over: a Madonna. Maxine stared, feeling out of place and large by comparison. The other woman wore black and what had to be diamond earrings with a matching necklace glittering in the light from a small chandelier, her left hand resting possessively on the arm of an attractive and dignified-looking man. Both looked surprised to see her in their hallway.
She stepped forward, but the maid spoke first.
‘This lady has come to see the Contessa.’
The woman reached the hall and held out her hand. She smiled but it was done without conviction. Maxine usually trusted her instincts, but this woman confused her.
‘I am Sofia de’ Corsi. How may I be of help?’
Maxine at once noticed Sofia’s resemblance to her mother, Elsa. She had the same elegant, self-possessed way of moving and speaking too. Typical indulged aristocracy, she thought. Distant, entitled. Spoilt. Old blood, they called it, but did this woman know what her parents were really doing?
‘I’m Maxine,’ she said, out of earshot of the maid who had bobbed a curtsey and stepped back unobtrusively. ‘I’ve left my motorcycle outside at the front. Will it be all right?’
Sofia’s face remained impassive.
‘Your parents asked me to explain things to you. It’s a long story but I’ve been sent here by the British. Your mother also asked me to deliver something to you.’
‘I see.’ Sofia glanced at the maid and told her she could go then focused on the man with what Maxine considered another cool look. ‘This is my husband, Lorenzo.’
The man smiled.
‘Can I offer you a drink?’ he asked in the courteous manner the nobility always exhibited.
‘Thank you. That would be lovely.’
‘Red wine?’
‘Perfect.’
‘Shall we go into my little salon first?’ Sofia suggested. ‘We can talk there. It’s more private.’
Once Sofia had closed the door to her salon, Maxine unzipped her bag and drew out the box she’d been given. ‘First, there’s this. It’s a bit odd. Your mother asked me to give it to you and remind you about the sweets.’
The other woman shook the box but gave no visible sign of understanding, though Maxine was sure the words contained a message of sorts.
‘It’s very good of you to bring it,’ Sofia said, regarding her quizzically. ‘I take it you’re not from round here? I can’t quite place your accent.’
‘Can I speak frankly?’
Sofia gave her a guarded look and answered coolly. ‘Does anyone speak frankly these days?’
To lighten the atmosphere Maxine tried a warm, engaging smile. ‘My family came from Tuscany but moved to America. I was brought up bilingual.’
‘I’d say there’s a strong chance any Americans or English will be rounded up very soon. Anyone they consider might harm the Reich and its armed forces,’ Sofia said bitterly.
And that one comment, along with Sofia’s mother’s sympathies, encouraged Maxine it was safe to tell her everything. ‘Look, the truth is I’m working as a special operative for the Allies. I had hoped to get away with sounding Italian and not American at all.’
Sofia raised her brows. ‘I see. So exactly what is it that you’re here to do?’
‘I have to gauge the viability of the resistance network here and then liaise between them and the British. I’m expecting to meet a British radio operator here.’
Sofia nodded. ‘Ah. It’s possible he may have already arrived.’
‘Where is he?’
‘All in good time. My mother has suggested you stay here?’
‘If it’s not too much bother. She thought it best, yes.’
Sofia seemed to be thinking. ‘I’d better show you round the house, and then to a guest bedroom.’
‘It seems very large. Three floors.’
‘Not so large really. The top floor needs refurbishing so we don’t use it. On this floor we have the kitchen, dining room, my studio and this salon, the main drawing room too, plus several currently unused rooms, a washroom and Lorenzo’s office, of course. And the servants’ quarters are attached. Do you have clothes to change into?’
‘Not many. Anyway, your husband promised me a drink.’
Sofia shook her head. ‘He shouldn’t have. We’re expecting the arrival of a German officer.’
‘I’d better make myself scarce then,’ Maxine said as she edged towards the doors. ‘I take it my room will be upstairs?’
‘Yes, all our own bedrooms and bathrooms are on the first floor.’
The Contessa’s eyes still gave nothing much away as they stepped into the hall but, as they did, a loud thump on the front door was followed by excited barking coming from elsewhere.
Maxine saw it was too late to escape. Damn, or as her mother would have said, mannaggia. The maid had already opened t
he door and a man was being ushered in. He clipped his metal-heeled boots together and Sofia shot Maxine a warning frown as he bowed before them.
‘Commandant Schmidt,’ Sofia said, ‘I am the Contessa de’ Corsi and this is my good friend –’
‘Massima,’ Maxine interjected, remembering her cover story. ‘From Rome.’ And she did her best to look as if she felt at home despite an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. ‘The Contessa and I went to school together. Wonderful to meet you.’
The German smiled stiffy. Tall and thin with a slight stoop and long, elegant fingers, he wasn’t young. His hair was greying and he looked terribly tired as if the world was sitting heavily on his shoulders.
Sofia smiled at him warmly. ‘My apologies, my friend has only recently arrived, you understand, hasn’t had time to dress for dinner yet.’
As Sofia led the way to the large drawing room, Schmidt followed with Maxine trailing behind. This room overlooked the Val d’Orcia, as did Sofia’s little salon, but with an impressive array of four floor-to-ceiling windows, the panoramic view in daylight hours was even more spectacular.
‘Darling,’ Sofia said, ‘here is the Commandant. Aren’t we lucky to have him?’
Lorenzo spun round from where he was pouring drinks then finished his task before striding forward and welcoming the man.
‘I see you have a piano,’ Schmidt said. ‘I hope you will allow me to play.’
Lorenzo smiled. ‘But of course, naturally you must. Now, a little wine or would you prefer a whisky?’
The man indicated he’d like a whisky, then surveyed the room and eventually settled into the brown leather armchair near the fire, his long legs restlessly crossing and uncrossing while he sat, his hands interlaced in his lap. Maxine found his posture confusing. He looked like a career soldier ready for retirement and didn’t seem as if he was enjoying being in Italy at all. She was surprised to find herself feeling a bit sorry for him – of course, among the ‘enemy’ there had to be men who would rather not be there at all.
‘I hope you haven’t been too much bothered by the bombing?’ Commandant Schmidt enquired.
‘Not here,’ Lorenzo said. ‘Although I mainly work in Rome.’
‘Ah yes, compiling a report on food stores all over Italy, I understand. It will be a great help to us. Feeding the troops is always our priority. But you must have to travel a great deal?’
Maxine noticed Sofia’s eyes widen a touch and behind the German’s back she shot a look at her husband. Maxine couldn’t read it, though there had been something guarded there.
‘Indeed. I am in the process of planning my trips. I will be away for some time.’
‘It’s very good of you to have me here.’ Schmidt smiled at Sofia. ‘I hope you will allow me to visit you again, Contessa. I do miss my home comforts. I may even have to bring my second-in-command. He is young, tends to take all this very seriously, as the young usually do, whereas I …’ He broke off and contemplated his hands.
‘You, Commandant Schmidt?’ Sofia prompted.
‘I’m old-fashioned. And perhaps a touch more equivocal about … well, I suppose about life.’
Maxine wasn’t sure what to make of this. What exactly was he suggesting? Did he not agree with the German Reich? Was he not a fan of Hitler?
But Sofia was smiling and answering graciously. ‘You’re welcome here any time. You must come again and play the piano, your man too. But what about the troops? Won’t they be here?’
He gave her a little smile. ‘Oh, my sincere apologies, did I not say? I sent you a second letter. Maybe you did not receive it? We shall not be needing the village at this point in time.’
Maxine could not fail to see Sofia’s slight but clearly relieved intake of breath.
‘Well, I hope you’ll excuse me while we nip upstairs for a quick change of clothes.’ She made a gesture towards Maxine. ‘We won’t be long.’
Maxine blinked rapidly. What on earth was she to wear?
‘Come along, darling,’ Sofia said, linking arms as they moved towards the door with their backs to the men. ‘I’ve put you in the green room this time. It is your favourite, isn’t it?’
Maxine took in this fabrication without expression but enjoying it all the same. This Sofia, Contessa de’ Corsi, appeared to be an accomplished liar.
‘Just one more thing, if you don’t mind,’ Schmidt added. ‘We are on the lookout for a British parachutist. We believe we may have injured him. He came down not so far from here, so I was wondering if you might have overheard anything about the matter?’
‘Us?’ Lorenzo said, clearly annoyed at the implication. ‘Obviously not. I’d have informed you immediately. You haven’t heard anything, have you, Sofia?’
Sofia fingered her necklace. There was the slightest moment when Maxine noticed the corners of her mouth flicker as she fought to control a defiance that hadn’t been visible before. But it was gone in an instant and her face transformed as she turned to the man, shaking her head and smiling just as graciously as she had before.
10.
In the chill of the night, Sofia woke with a gasp, still reeling from her dream. She’d been clutching the pistol. It had felt so real she even raised her hand to look. In the dream she’d been running through the woods chased by a pack of dogs who were gaining ground. She’d called for her own dogs, but they had run away. She’d come to a halt and begun shooting but none fell, none died, and they kept on coming. She steadied her breath and tried to still her pounding heart then glanced at Lorenzo’s face, ghostly blue in the moonlight. His breathing was slow and she felt confident he was deeply asleep. She slipped across to her dressing room, treading carefully round the oak floorboards she knew would creak. She moved soundlessly until she accidentally stepped on one and it made an almost human groan. A shiver ran up her spine and she listened to hear if Lorenzo’s breathing had altered. When it hadn’t, she found her robe, wrapped it around her body and perched on the chaise longue, drawing up her knees for comfort and warmth.
She picked up the little box Maxine had given her. Despite the cold, her palms were sweating, and she wiped them on her robe before stroking the carved surface of the box. Not surprisingly, thoughts of her mother filled her mind. As Maxine had been changing into one of Sofia’s longer black skirts and a green satin blouse earlier in the evening – the skirt, nevertheless, still looking too short on her – she’d explained how Sofia’s parents had been forced to leave the palazzo. Now she was sick with worry. True, they had many friends from an entire lifetime spent in Rome, and she hoped that might help.
But still she kept wondering, worrying, fretting.
It was hard to know what to think about Schmidt. He had seemed like a decent enough man. In fact, she’d rather liked him. They weren’t all bastards, the Germans; take Gerhard Wolf, the German Consul in Florence. It would be hard to find a man more intent on saving the city than he. And from what she’d heard from Lorenzo, some Germans hated the Nazis almost as much as the Allies did. This time, Schmidt hadn’t come to tear apart their life at the Castello, but he’d be back, and she wondered if she could trust him to be as friendly next time.
She shook the box Maxine had brought from Rome and heard something rattle. Sweets? Surely not. She slid part of the back of the box to the right and felt around for the button that opened a tiny secret compartment where her mother used to hide her violet-flavoured sweets. As she suspected, there was a folded piece of paper inside, not sweets, but what was so secret it had to be concealed?
Throughout the long dinner with Schmidt, his eyes had been on her nearly the whole time. When not on her, they’d been on Maxine. The American was vivid, natural, with huge amber eyes and gorgeous chestnut hair, the curls tumbling around her face and on to her shoulders. And when her hair caught the light it exploded into a flaming halo of red. Sofia had witnessed the bold, raw sensuousness of the woman, the curves, the full mouth, the wide engaging smile, and seen how much she had appealed to both the
men in the room. Even Lorenzo had been transfixed. She would tease him about it later. But all the time this had been going on, she’d been wondering about the contents of the box.
She unfolded the paper and scanned what was clearly a hastily written note.
My Darling,
I have been approached by our friends in Florence.
The dark edges of the night closed in on Sofia and her breath caught. Friends. Which friends?
I just want you to know you can completely trust the bearer of this letter. Please work with her.
A delivery will come to you around the end of next week. Could you look after it? If you are willing, call Francesco, your vintner in Montepulciano, and ask him when he hopes to deliver the wine. Later the crates will be collected from you. Take good care of them. If you cannot help, tell Francesco you have no need of wine. Remember how we talked about ways you might be able to help? We really need this wine.
Your loving Mother
A feeling of homesickness washed through Sofia, but it was for a past long gone. Fragments, broken pieces, shards of sunny youthful days before Mussolini. And, of course, she remembered her mother insisting they all should help and that her chance would come. ‘At some point, you have to choose,’ she’d said, an indignant glint in her eyes. But what did this really mean? She was clearly not talking about a few crates of wine and Lorenzo wouldn’t be happy if he found she was putting herself or the Castello at risk. She shivered, suspecting this was somehow tied up with James. But with Schmidt sniffing around? And the end of next week? Were they already in next week? She didn’t even know how long ago her mother had given Maxine the box.
The next morning, after inspecting the sky for signs of rain and watching the crows gathering at the top of the tower, she called the dogs to her studio where they watched with adoring eyes as she added the finishing touches to the portrait of her mother. While she worked, she thought about the secret letter. She stood back, viewing her canvas, and felt pleased she had somehow captured Elsa’s spirited approach to life. There was something in the eyes, determination, yes, but it was more than that. She’d struggled to achieve it and had hardly been able to identify the look she had been searching for, but ‘indomitable’ came close. Portraits were so much harder than landscapes.
The Tuscan Contessa Page 6