The Tuscan Contessa

by Dinah Jefferies

  There was a knock on the door and Aldo entered, carrying a tray of refreshments, the dogs sniffing at his heels. He smiled at her and she felt the tug of it in her heart. Whenever he came into a room she felt as if the sun had just come out.

  ‘What’s happened to the maid?’ she asked.

  ‘Giulia hasn’t turned up for work today. Mother is busy so she asked me to carry this in.’

  ‘Thank you. I hope nothing has happened to the girl.’

  He shrugged. ‘Hard to know.’

  ‘Will you sit a while?’

  As he pulled up a chair and gazed at the painting, she sipped at her coffee and the dogs settled at her feet while mournfully eyeing the biscuits.

  ‘Have a couple of biscotti,’ she said, handing Aldo the plate.

  He took one, still contemplating the picture as he chewed, and she broke a biscuit in half for the dogs.

  ‘Your mother?’

  ‘You can tell?’

  ‘Of course. It’s a good likeness. Did you always want to be an artist?’

  ‘I don’t know. I lived in a home full of pictures, music and books. I guess all of that influenced me. What about you, Aldo? What do you want to do with your life?’

  ‘I want to farm like my father did,’ he said. ‘But first I want to fight.’

  ‘You’re so young. Too young for that,’ she said and decided to change the subject. ‘What about a girlfriend? Is there anyone you have your eye on?’

  He flushed a little. ‘Not yet, though there’s a girl I like in Buonconvento.’

  ‘That’s exciting. Tell me about her?’ She passed the plate of biscotti to him again and he seemed glad of the distraction, his flush deepening. Then he lowered his eyes. ‘I hardly know her and, anyway, with the war it isn’t possible.’

  ‘Surely that isn’t true? People can still fall in love, can’t they?’

  He straightened up and looked her in the eye. ‘I will be leaving, you know that, don’t you, Contessa?’

  When he’d been distraught after his father’s death, she’d promised Carla she would always look after him, watch out for him as he grew older and ensure he stayed on the straight and narrow. In his early youth, he’d been a little wild, gone off goodness knows where, got in with a bad lot. She had taken him to Florence to broaden his horizons, Siena too, and it had been good for him to see something of the world beyond the walls of their village.

  ‘Come on, Aldo,’ she said. ‘You know your mother is terrified you’ll run off at any moment.’

  ‘Contessa, I’m sorry, but I have to do the right thing.’

  ‘And that is?’

  He glanced out of the window towards the forested hills where the partisans were hiding and the fiery determination in his eyes told her exactly what he meant.

  ‘Aldo, this isn’t a game. Think of your family. They only have you. You’re the man now.’

  ‘And, as a man, I am thinking of my country.’

  She could see he wouldn’t change his mind and chewed her lip while wondering what to say. He really was a man now and she could sense how strongly he felt. She reached out to touch his arm and his eyes softened.

  ‘Is there nothing I can say?’

  He shook his head and she could see a confusing mixture of sadness and passion fighting within him.

  ‘What shall I say to your mother? Won’t you wait a little longer? You’re so young. If I tell her I’ve spoken to you, she’ll never forgive me for not trying harder to prevent you from going.’

  He gulped back his feelings when she mentioned his mother and stared at the ground for a moment. ‘Very well, I won’t go yet, so there’s no need for her to worry. But sooner or later I will have to.’

  ‘Then make it later.’

  He glanced up as she took his hand.

  ‘Aldo, you know you’ve been like a son to me.’

  ‘And I will always be grateful.’

  ‘It’s not your gratitude I want. It’s your safety.’ She squeezed his hand and her eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, my dear boy, I’ve known you all your life, is there nothing I can say?’

  He didn’t speak.

  She touched his cheek. ‘For me?’

  His dear face reddened in anguish. ‘I cannot stay, Contessa. You know I cannot. In any case, if I don’t go, the Germans will only call me up to fight for them.’

  Then his eyes moistened too.

  ‘The time will come but I will be careful,’ he added by way of reassurance, his eyes darker than ever.

  Sofia wrapped her arms around herself. He gave her a long stare, and then, his irrepressible smile back once more, he got to his feet. ‘Please don’t tell my mother what I’ve said. It will only worry her. Let her think I’m not going, at least for now.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, then hesitated for a moment before speaking again. ‘Would you sit for me?’

  He looked puzzled. ‘For a picture, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why would you want to paint a picture of me?’

  ‘Carla would like it.’

  After Aldo had gone, Sofia read her mother’s note again, feeling torn. If she only knew exactly what her mother meant by ‘wine’ it might help her decide. What if the delivery was weapons or explosives? She loved Lorenzo and didn’t want to cause division between them, and yet, if she did what her mother asked, she might. Lorenzo would expect her to tell him, to ask his advice, and would see it as a kind of disloyalty if she didn’t. She heard her mother’s voice in her head. Do it, Sofia, just do it. And yes, with Lorenzo now back in Rome, maybe she could get away with it, without having to say anything, but he’d be home soon and how long would the delivery need to be kept at the Castello?

  11.

  With Lorenzo away there was an absence more worrying than the simple lack of his physical presence. The house felt emptier, as if the air had been sucked from it, making it harder to breathe. Or maybe it was the opposite? Maybe the air had become too full of something Sofia didn’t understand, as if it was waiting, and not only for him to return. It felt as if all its ghosts had assembled, nudging each other and whispering, What next? What next?

  Sofia was sitting in her little studio with its comforting smell of oils and turpentine, and French windows overlooking the garden. She busied herself for a few minutes, sketching the view and wishing life could be as straightforward as it used to be when the farmers’ wives came on a Sunday afternoon to tell her their troubles and she’d do whatever she could to help. Sometimes a simple matter of providing a child with shoes, sometimes something more serious. A sick husband. A need for a loan. And she always mediated on their behalf.

  But that was the past and now her most pressing concern was to take Maxine to meet James, so she put her charcoal and her sketchpad away, wiped her hands on a rag and prepared to go.

  After parking the car, the two of them walked along the path that wound around the convent. The dogs had whined to come with them, but she had decided their barking might draw unwanted attention. It was a sparkling, radiant day, cloudless and not as cold as one might expect. The mimosa was still in flower and the air smelt fresh and clean, woody, green and a little bit spicy too, although Sofia was too distracted to appreciate it.

  ‘What is it?’ Maxine asked. ‘Is something wrong?’

  Sofia laughed. ‘Is something wrong? Umm … now, what on earth could be wrong?’

  ‘I meant something specific.’

  Sofia sighed. ‘My mother says that a delivery of some kind will be coming, and she wants me to look after it. She also says I am to trust you.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it.’

  Sofia shaded her eyes with her hand against the sun and studied Maxine’s face. ‘Did my mother tell you about it? What the delivery is?’

  ‘No. But I’m hoping this British guy we’re visiting is a radio engineer.’

  Sofia nodded.

  ‘Could be his radio and transmitter then?’

  ‘Yes, could be.’

 
‘It’ll be a parachute drop, of course. There’s no other way.’

  ‘She said by the end of next week. But when did she give you the box?’

  Maxine frowned. ‘Over a week ago now.’

  ‘So, it already is next week.’

  ‘I guess it could be any day. I’m meeting a partisan leader in Montepulciano tomorrow. If your British guy confirms the drop will be soon, I’ll be able to speak about it then. Arrange help.’

  ‘He does have a name, you know. My British guy.’

  Maxine smiled as Sofia knocked on a small green door at the back of the convent and the Mother Superior opened it herself.

  ‘How is he?’ Sofia asked.

  The woman smiled. ‘Stronger, thank goodness.’

  ‘May I introduce my –’ Sofia hesitated. ‘My friend, Maxine. We call her Massima.’

  The woman nodded, understanding. ‘A friend of yours is a friend of ours. This way, please.’

  She led them along a short corridor and opened another door on to a pretty courtyard. Sofia looked around and saw tubs of lemon trees that in the spring would burst into flower.

  ‘It is not overlooked here,’ the nun was saying, ‘and I believe the fresh air is doing him good. There he is.’ She pointed to a sheltered corner where Sofia could see James relaxing with a blanket over his knees. ‘He’s still a little weak so try not to tire him. I’ll sort out some refreshments for you.’

  James turned to them as they walked across, gazing at Maxine with interest, and Sofia could again see the magnetic effect she had on men.

  Maxine held out her hand as she reached him. ‘Hi, I’m Maxine.’

  He rose to his feet and, obviously enchanted, he smiled at her. ‘You’re American?’

  She jokingly batted her lashes at him. ‘American-Italian actually.’

  ‘Well, either way, I’m pleased to meet you.’

  ‘We need to get on with the business in hand,’ Sofia said, just a little bit stiffly.

  James immediately responded. ‘Absolutely.’ Then he shot Sofia a questioning look. ‘Is it okay to talk?’

  Sofia gave him a brief nod. ‘I’m very glad to see you looking so much stronger.’

  ‘Another few days and I’ll be up and about.’ He glanced at Maxine. ‘I was shot when my parachute came down. Sofia brought me to the convent to recover.’

  ‘A good Samaritan,’ Maxine said with a smile. ‘That’s Sofia.’

  They talked for a little while and then a young nun brought out a tray of coffee and small pastries. After she had left them, James confirmed the radio was expected and had been planned for approximately two weeks after his own drop.

  ‘I have the exact location.’ He pulled a piece of crumpled paper from a slightly unstitched seam in his jacket and held it out to Sofia. ‘It won’t be the same place I was dropped.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll contact Francesco, my vintner in Montepulciano. He seems to be coordinating the “delivery” as my mother called it. Maybe you could give this piece of paper to the partisan leader you’re meeting, Maxine.’

  Maxine took it and then stuffed two of the pastries into her mouth. James laughed. ‘Hungry?’ he asked.

  She swallowed and flashed him a wide smile. ‘Always.’

  12.

  The next day Maxine arrived in Montepulciano, in good time for her meeting. She’d been lucky and managed the twenty-five miles or so relatively quickly, some of it along bumpy tracks. She had even had time to visit her cousin Davide. He was the son of her mother’s sister who’d married well and moved away from the farming life with Davide’s father. His mother had not survived childbirth, but his father still lived with Davide and his new wife. He’d been happy to meet her, although a little cautious at first, but he’d eventually invited her to stay should she ever need to.

  After she left them, Maxine set out to find the café she’d been told about, the Caffè Poliziano on the main street climbing up the hill. But on finding it, she glanced around, perplexed. This was Via Voltaia Nel Corso, as she’d been told, so therefore the right place, but she’d never seen anything quite like it. The elegant, bourgeois café, more suited to Paris or Vienna at the turn of the century, seemed an unlikely rendezvous. She hesitated on the doorstep, gazing in at the mirrored walls, the gorgeous tasselled lampshades and the smart waiters balancing silver trays as they swooped around the room. Could it be a trap? She’d left the pamphlets in the pannier on the bike, thinking it would be safer than keeping them on her person – after all, an old motorcycle was unlikely to be noticed – but now she realized that perhaps she should have brought them with her.

  Go in, she told herself. You’ll only draw attention if you dither. So she slipped inside and stood at the bar to order a hot chocolate, plus an espresso, exactly as she’d been instructed. The barman inclined his head and glanced in the direction of the main café.

  ‘Ah yes, you have ordered the espresso for the gentleman sitting in the room on the left, nearest the window. Any cake or pastries?’

  Maxine shook her head and walked into a large room with a balcony at one end. She couldn’t help taking a quick peek at the incredible view over the Val di Chiana and longed to sit on one of the tiny tables out there. But she didn’t linger and headed through an archway into the adjoining room where she recognized the man sitting alone at a table near the window.

  As she approached, he rose to his feet. ‘You know this place was established as a café in 1868?’

  That had been the password Elsa had whispered in her ear and she gave him the expected reply.

  ‘I didn’t. How extraordinary.’

  He held out his hand. ‘Marco.’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’ It probably wasn’t his real name, but she shook his hand, told him she was Maxine and worried she should have said Massima. But as he’d already heard her real name at that meeting in Rome, what could she do?

  Theirs was the only occupied table in this part of the café, probably used for lunches rather than morning coffee, she thought.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘You are on time.’

  His appearance had changed, his hair short, and he was well shaven, but he had the same angular looks and the same exciting caramel-coloured eyes. Plus, the same walking stick resting beside him next to his hat, a classic dark-grey felt fedora.

  ‘I am coordinating various groups,’ he said. ‘It isn’t easy. We have people joining us for many different reasons and they don’t all get along.’

  ‘But you will be able to help me?’

  He puffed out his cheeks and shrugged. ‘Depends on what you want.’

  ‘You already know. I have to report back on what you’re doing to support the Allies. And what you might be able to do.’

  He frowned. ‘How do I know I can trust you?’

  ‘You saw me at Roberto and Elsa’s apartment in Rome. You heard what they said. I replied correctly to your password. Oh, and I can show you my identification.’ She reached into her bag.

  He laughed. ‘You think those things cannot be forged? Put it away.’

  Her turn to shrug now. ‘Well, it is forged, of course. But listen. I’m here on behalf of the British, as you know. And you understand what’s happening on the ground. We can help each other.’

  ‘Do you know the term GAP?’

  ‘I’ve heard of it.’

  ‘It’s what we call a small unit of partisans – Gruppi di Azione Patriottica. There’s one here and in many other small towns. I can introduce you.’

  She glanced around at the sound of a waiter approaching their table. An elderly man who walked carefully and then laid out their drinks for them with precise movements. ‘Germans outside,’ he whispered to Marco and then left.

  ‘Right,’ Marco said and smiled at Maxine. ‘We talk inconsequentially now. The Germans love this place.’

  ‘Isn’t it a bit risky meeting here, then?’

  He laughed again. ‘Right under their noses. That’s the whole point. Relax, they’re still outside and, anyway, th
ey won’t suspect a thing.’

  But Maxine didn’t feel relaxed.

  He gave her hand a flirtatious stroke. ‘Seriously, if you look so stiff, they’ll notice. Pretend we are lovers. It’s a romantic place, no?’

  She glanced down and then up again and into his eyes in which she encountered the unconcealed desire men regularly regarded her with, but this time combined with a look of intense amusement. He certainly had natural charisma, but there was also a depth of melancholy in those eyes, something painful she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  They were silent for a moment or two and then he was saying something conversational about the town, expanding on the detail of what there was to see, and in a flash, she’d stopped listening. Something tugged at her mind, prompting a flood of childhood memories. Her mother; always talking of Tuscany. After a moment she shook the memories away and gazed at him.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts?’ he said. ‘I don’t normally find women drift off in my company. Now you must take my hand properly.’

  She raised her brows, pouted and, brazening it out, did as he had suggested. She wasn’t sure if he was expecting her to show discomfort that they should pretend to be lovers or if he was testing her in some way.

  ‘That’s better. Now … how about a kiss?’

  ‘Don’t push your luck,’ she replied, and laughed.

  Since discovering her powers as a teenager Maxine had become a fan of dangerous liaisons and had enjoyed quite a number. Now she had the feeling this might become another. She leant forward to speak.

  ‘What happened in Rome, after I left?’

  ‘There was nothing incriminating. We made it look like a little soirée.’

  ‘But the curfew?’

  ‘Elsa told them we were guests, there to stay the night.’

  ‘What did the Germans want?’

  ‘They are taking over the palazzo. Everyone had an hour to pack up and get out.’