She removed the cloth from the windows, rolling it up before opening the shutters. Then she headed back downstairs.
In the few minutes she’d been in the tower the sky had changed. Now a shimmering blue as far as the eye could see, it made her feel a little happier as she made for the cobbled pathways around the edges of the village. She skirted the vegetable patches and the empty chicken coops and then, striding past several winding terraces of two-storey houses, some with tiny loggias, she breathed more deeply, the exercise driving back the anxieties of the night.
As she arrived at her favourite spot, she looked over the wall and across to the sensuous contours of the Val d’Orcia, with dusky blue Monte Amiata in the distance and all the valleys spectacularly wreathed in white mist. She felt as if the scene had been laid out for her alone, the view soothing her as it always did, no matter the season. Once she felt brighter, she made her way back, passing by one or two village women, headscarves tied firmly at the back of their necks, as they diligently scrubbed their front doorsteps. It warmed her heart and, struck by the way, despite war, deprivation and loss, the women still maintained their standards, she smiled at them. Then she stopped to exchange a word with Sara and her next-door neighbour, young Federica, whose unfortunate little son had a cleft lip and watched in silence, sucking his thumb.
When she passed the small churchyard at the side of the tower, she looked up to watch an eagle wheeling across the sky as it flew north, where it would be even colder, and then, looking down again, she spotted a small figure hunched up in an alcove.
‘Gabriella,’ she said, surprised. ‘Is it you?’
The girl bent her head, trembling as she shifted even closer to hug the wall.
‘Gabriella. What on earth are you doing?’
Sofia walked closer and held out a hand to the girl, which she ignored. Twigs and leaves had become caught up in her tangled hair and her skin was so blue it scared Sofia. Surely she hadn’t been out all night?
‘Come on. We need to get you into the warm. Where’s your little dog, Beni?’
Sofia had spoken gently but Gabriella still wouldn’t move. She wondered if she ought to fetch Carla, but if she left the girl alone, there was a possibility she might wander off again. She decided to take a sterner approach.
‘Gabriella. This will not do. I insist you come inside before you catch your death.’
Now, hearing the command in her mistress’s voice, the girl glanced up, and then she struggled shakily to her feet.
‘Have you been out all night?’
Gabriella nodded and Sofia realized it must have been she who Maxine had seen darting down the alley. At that moment, her sister, Anna, appeared around the corner with little Alberto in tow. She paused as she took in the scene.
‘What –’ she began with an angry look.
Sofia held up a hand. ‘Gabriella is going inside to get warm, aren’t you, dear?’
Gabriella barely moved but her eyes flickered.
‘Per Dio,’ Anna began again, ‘why will she never open her mouth and speak?’
Sofia silenced her with a look and helped Gabriella to start walking towards the house.
But Anna hadn’t finished and, eyes ablaze, the words burst from her. ‘My mother has spoilt the girl. Now look at her. Has she been out all night? And doing what, may I ask?’
‘Anna, you’re right,’ Sofia said. ‘There are questions to be answered, but first she needs to warm up and have something to eat.’
‘Of course, Contessa. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to speak out of turn.’
‘Forget it. You’re worried, I know.’
Anna’s little boy began to tug at her skirt and whine. ‘I’m just taking Alberto to the house of Rosalia,’ she said. ‘I have … something …’
‘It’s fine. I understand.’
Anna studied Sofia’s face for a moment as if wondering how much the mistress knew about her courier activities. Sofia gave her a little nod and Anna took her leave.
When Sofia and Gabriella reached the kitchen, Sofia pushed open the door to find Carla in something of a flap.
‘Gabriella,’ she cried, her voice trembling. ‘I have been looking for you everywhere, child. Where have you been?’
As Gabriella remained mute, Sofia decided to intervene. ‘I found her in the churchyard. I’m afraid she has been out all night.’
Hands on hips, Carla frowned, angrier now. ‘Why? What the devil?’
‘I can keep her with me,’ Sofia said. ‘Try to get her to tell me what she’s been up to.’
Carla straightened her shoulders before she spoke. ‘No, Contessa. Thank you for offering, but I am happy to deal with my daughter myself. I’ll soon get to the bottom of this.’
Carla followed Gabriella into her bedroom and Sofia heard Carla’s raised voice for a few minutes. Then there was only silence.
When Carla came back, she stood by the stove and shook her head. ‘She’s not saying anything. Not yet. I think she needs to sleep. I’ve wrapped her in a blanket and I’ll take her a hot drink in a little while, see if that helps.’
Sofia nodded. ‘Give her some time.’
‘Yes. You’re right.’
‘So, what happened with Maria last night?’
‘I offered her wine and a fine cheese we’d been hiding from the Germans. Told her it was time we made our peace.’
‘And she accepted that?’
‘Yes, and in the end it went well. She didn’t notice a thing.’
Carla took out a scrubbing brush, filled a bowl with soapy water and began to tackle the kitchen table.
When Aldo came in from the garden, looking hungry, Sofia winked at him to remind him not to say anything about the sketches or the painting in front of Carla and he gave her a wide-eyed, conspiratorial look.
Carla finished scrubbing the table, then busied herself with stoking the stove. After that she fetched the broom from the cupboard, but as she was about to sweep, Aldo took hold of it and he swept the floor instead. Then he laid out everything they’d need for breakfast while his mother brewed the coffee, taking the first cup she poured through to Gabriella.
Sofia smiled at Aldo as he seated himself. Few men would stoop to do women’s work, but he had always helped his mother.
‘I like having breakfast with you, young man,’ she said as she settled opposite Aldo. ‘How are you after last night?’
He gave her a self-conscious half-smile. ‘I don’t know if I’ll ever understand the radio.’
She patted his hand. ‘You will.’
When Carla came back into the kitchen, Sofia asked how Gabriella was.
‘Sleepy,’ Carla replied and then shrugged. ‘We’ll have to see.’
Then she unwrapped a small loaf baked the afternoon before, a few home-grown tomatoes, a bottle of their own olive oil and some salt. She sliced the tomatoes thinly and unwrapped the tiny pastries she’d made along with the bread.
‘Any dried peaches?’ Sofia asked, knowing they were Aldo’s favourites.
Carla, a great believer in the comfort of food, nodded and went to the pantry where she kept the jar hidden.
‘Can you come to sit for me for a while?’ Sofia whispered while Carla’s back was turned. ‘I should finish the preliminary sketches today.’
20.
It was almost dark and, in the relative safety of an abandoned farmhouse, Marco was gazing at Maxine intently. ‘You may report on our numbers, our lack of weapons and our locations but no names. You understand?’ He gripped her by the shoulders and as he did so his fingers dug in, hurting her. ‘You understand?’
She bobbed her head as she searched for her underwear. Where the hell was her bra?
‘And you cannot speak to anyone here of what you see tonight. If we face any problems, you’ll be on your own. You hide or you run.’
She found her bra and caught the blouse he threw at her, and then they both dressed quickly. As she gazed at Marco, he hung a pair of field binoculars round his neck.
>
‘What?’ he said.
‘Where on earth did you get hold of those?’
He laughed and came across to kiss her on the lips. ‘I can get hold of anything.’
They slipped through to the kitchen, where a group of hard-eyed men were gathered. A thin, shifty-looking older man leered at her and made a vulgar comment at her expense. The men laughed and then ignored her. She spotted Lodo, from the other night, but then was surprised to see Aldo too, his wild eyes so terribly young and full of fear and yet he was smiling bravely.
She grabbed hold of his elbow and whispered. ‘I thought you were just going to learn how to operate the radio?’
He shook his head. ‘That’s what I told my mother and the Contessa, but it’s not enough. I want to see action.’
‘And Marco agreed to this?’
‘I gave him no option. I followed and here I am.’
Maxine glanced around her. They all wore dark clothing, and everyone had covered their shoes with thick socks.
‘You too.’ Marco handed her a pair of socks. ‘They help keep us silent. The village women knit them for us.’
‘Ready, Aldo?’ the thin man asked the boy.
Marco butted in. ‘No real names. Call him The Kid.’
Aldo grinned.
Maxine sensed the men were overly excited. The fear of facing danger and being caught mixed with the thrill of possible success was a lethal combination. As the group set off, one of them called out to Aldo.
‘Kid, you walk with me.’
Maxine ducked her head under a low-hanging branch and, absorbing the energy of their excitement, she followed.
Nobody spoke until about forty-five minutes later when the group neared a railway track. Maxine concluded they were about to undertake some form of railroad sabotage. Three of the men carried rucksacks which, she guessed, must all be packed with explosives.
‘If you hear a cough,’ Marco whispered to her before moving away, ‘it’s a signal meaning a guard is approaching. We are hoping to blow up a Nazi supply train with freight carriages full of food. But you stay back here.’
From her vantage point and in the faint light from her dying torch, she watched as the three men pulled out odd containers shaped like long salami sausages. Then she held her breath as they crept down to the track running along the valley to San Giovanni d’Asso. On the small bridge over the road they began to lay the explosives under the flange of the rail so that when the train wheels ran over them, they’d go off on contact. The object was not only to derail the entire train but also to destroy the tracks. Every now and then their hands dislodged a few stones that clattered as they rolled away, making a terrible din in the thick silence of the night. Each time it happened they froze in fear of being discovered. In the darkness Maxine spotted the glint of Marco’s field glasses. How much could he see? The two men working as lookouts stood on slightly higher ground surveying the scene, ready to cough or whistle if they spotted anyone moving. The atmosphere was strained and the longer it went on the more rigid she became. The night was startlingly cold, and she shivered incessantly.
Without warning a brilliant flash lit up the dark as if daylight had come early. A Nazi patrol using flares! Ferocious shouting in German rang out and the partisans began to run. Gunshots followed and Maxine saw Aldo fall to the ground. She covered her mouth to stop the scream, but then he got to his feet and began to run again. Relieved, she watched for a couple of seconds and then, just as she began to turn away, was horrified to see one of the Germans grab Aldo and throw him to the ground. Once more, the boy staggered to his feet. She swivelled round to search for Marco, but there was nothing she could do.
The other men were running, melting back into the woods and separating. And then her own survival instinct kicked in and she was forced to do the same. She raced back into the woods, tripping over her feet, while branches clawed and scratched at her face, sticks and twigs cracking beneath her feet. Water dripped from the branches above. Animals rustled, scurried, snuffled among the trees. Wild boar? Did they attack? She couldn’t see but carried on running until she caught her foot in a tangle of tree roots and fell flat on her face, the impact winding her. The stink of earth and rotting vegetation filled her nostrils and when a vile taste reached her mouth she vomited. Wet through, she forced herself up and stumbled on, barely aware of where she was heading, her breath coming fast from the effort of running uphill. The wind whistled in the trees and in the pitch-black everything seemed to be moving. She slammed straight into a large oak tree and fought to regain her breath but then cramp painfully contracted her calf muscle and she could not run. Dogs began barking. German dogs? Coming closer or heading further away? She dragged herself off, going more steeply uphill now, limping in pain and in the grip of a kind of fear she’d never experienced before.
The woods were dangerous, terrifying. And she was being hunted. Were they circling ahead of her, getting ready to trap her? At the sound of footsteps crashing through the undergrowth she squatted down to conceal herself. She heard the boots of a German soldier as he stumbled through the bracken, poking at it with his rifle. How far? Two feet away, three? She held her breath. The German swore as another bellowed orders. Then the man retraced his steps, passing right beside her again, only inches away.
After a few moments more she let out her breath.
Sounds were travelling strangely now. Altered. Distorted. And voices were roaring, coming out of nowhere. Halt. Halt. The yelling echoed inside her head. Halt. Halt. Where were they? Her mouth dried. She couldn’t swallow. She couldn’t see. One moment she was hot, the next freezing cold. And then the burst of another shot paralysed her. Heart thumping, she imagined the bullet tearing into her flesh so convincingly that for a moment she believed it had really happened. A further shot rang out and then another. Had they caught someone? Marco? Had they caught Marco? But how had the Germans even known the partisans would be there? In that moment as she stood still, it became blindingly clear someone must have given them away.
After an age the shots ceased and the voices faded. In utter relief, she sniffed the air. Woodsmoke? She followed the trail ahead of her until she reached a small farmhouse standing on its own with a barn and shed alongside it. Dishevelled and bleeding from cuts and scratches, she headed for the barn. She felt hopeful that Marco had managed to get away but what about Aldo? Oh God! Had he managed to escape too?
21.
The following day Sofia heard a rap on her exterior door, the one that opened straight out into what used to be her rose garden. Then came a whispered voice. She unlocked it and Carla’s daughter, Anna, practically fell into the room, looking red-faced and agitated. She glanced towards the door leading to the main part of the house. ‘My mother does not know I’m here.’
As Sofia locked the door, Anna exhaled slowly, deliberately, as if trying to hold herself together.
‘Won’t you sit?’
Anna remained standing, her face drawn, her eyes screwed up in anguish.
‘So, tell me,’ demanded Sofia.
‘It’s Aldo.’ Anna gulped back a sob.
A feeling of dread began to spread through Sofia’s chest as she waited for Anna to continue.
‘They have him.’
‘Who, Anna? Who has him?’
Anna hung her head and, when she looked up, her dark-brown eyes were spilling over with tears.
Sofia’s heart lurched. ‘Oh, Anna, come and sit with me.’
She stumbled over and Sofia held out her arms for her. They both perched on the little chintz sofa while Anna wept.
‘Tell me everything. Start at the beginning.’
In a rush, Anna recounted a rumour. ‘They’re saying Aldo may have been shot during partisan activity.’
‘Aldo was involved? They know this?’
‘A man came at dawn. He didn’t know for sure if it was Aldo, or even if he’s alive or dead. But they think he was taken to the police station in Buonconvento.’
‘Shot by Germ
ans?’
Anna nodded, rubbing her forehead in distress. ‘He said someone must have betrayed the men because the Germans were waiting for them. I don’t know what to do. Aldo didn’t come home last night and I dare not tell my mother.’
‘But why was he taken to Buonconvento?’
‘The rumour is one of the partisans came from there. Would you come with me? Help me find out what happened?’
‘You don’t have to ask,’ Sofia said, thinking it over for a moment. ‘We’ll take our shopping baskets and let’s go by the dirt road in a pony and cart to allay suspicion. But we must be vigilant and look as if we’re simply there to shop.’
Anna gazed at her. ‘If a German was killed, they will execute five men from each village the partisans came from.’
‘The only one they captured is Aldo?’
‘I don’t know,’ Anna answered miserably.
‘Right,’ Sofia said, forcing herself to regain her composure. ‘Wait for me outside the main gate. Don’t let Carla see you. I’ll need half an hour to get dressed and to fetch the pony and cart. Where is your little boy?’
‘My neighbour has him.’
‘Good. Keep your spirits up. We don’t even know for sure it’s Aldo they captured.’
Anna took a long, shuddering breath and nodded.
They barely spoke on the tortuous journey there, and made slow progress, the track curling round the hills and rocky outcrops and down through several valleys. At Buonconvento, they entered the walled village through an enormous wooden door at the northern gate towards Siena, the Porta Senese. The village was located where the rivers Arbia and Ombrone converged and until recent times had been a welcome stopping place for travellers. The name meant ‘happy place’, though Sofia couldn’t think of a more inappropriate description that day. She felt sick with anxiety and could see Anna was finding it hard to control her nerves.
The Tuscan Contessa Page 12