The Tuscan Contessa

by Dinah Jefferies

  He turned away to shout at one of his workmen and Maxine took the chance to slip away. If Bruckner would no longer be the one deciding where the arsenal was destined to be housed, who would? His death left her feeling a bit blue, with a sudden longing to taste, feel and touch the old familiar things of home. She loved the bustle of New York, the delicious cheesecake, the trams, the steam rising from the subway. Most of all she missed sitting out on the front step watching the world go by in the clammy heat of summer. And, of course, there were no Nazis and no war. But New York seemed so distant and, for all that Maxine missed it, it might just as well have been at the ends of the earth.

  Had she been insane to come to Italy, lured by what she’d stupidly imagined was excitement? Could she really have been so shallow? Not surprisingly, it had never been that simple, and now, beginning to understand herself a little better, she was becoming aware of how hurt she had been all those years ago. She had adored her father, and his violence towards her mother was the pain she never spoke of. In fact, she had done everything she could to suppress it. But it had certainly shaped her decision to never let anything like it happen to her. Instead, she’d striven to be fearless and courageous, and yet there were still times when she did not feel either of those things. Perhaps that was normal.

  And what with Bruckner’s death and now her clandestine meeting with Antonio ahead, she began to imagine that every passing stranger might pose a threat. She shook herself out of it by forcing herself to look at people, really look at them, and as she did their dull eyes revealed only their instinctive fight to remain invisible. These people were not a threat, they never could be – they were hungry and without hope, and she pitied them.

  At five past ten she arrived in Piazza d’Azeglio where she walked up and down, then along the pathways of the garden and round the perimeter of the square. After a few moments, she slipped into a side alley to keep a lookout but could see no obvious signs of German surveillance, at least not from the street. Of course, she had no idea whether they might be watching from one of the high windows opposite. Eventually she knocked at the same house as before and the same woman opened up.

  ‘You’re late,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry. It was further than I remembered. Is Antonio here?’

  The woman nodded and took her through the house and into a garden. She then pushed open the back door of a house adjoining the garden. They entered and she pointed at a door on the left. ‘He’s in there. When you leave, don’t come back to Piazza d’Azeglio. Go out through the front door of this house and leave by Via della Colonna.’

  Maxine opened the door on the left and found Antonio standing there, staring out of the window.

  ‘I have to be quick,’ he said, his voice tense. ‘Three partisans were discovered hiding in one of the houses in the piazza at dawn today. They were all shot.’

  ‘By Germans?’

  ‘No. The Italian Fascists. But we expect the Germans will search all the houses in the square now. They were annoyed the partisans were not taken to the Villa Triste to be questioned before being shot.’

  ‘So, what is it you have to tell me?’

  ‘Kesselring came to meet with Wolf. He had another man with him whose name was Vogel or Volker, something like that.’

  ‘Vogler?’

  ‘Yes. That was it. I didn’t hear everything, but Wolf became very angry. It was unlike him to raise his voice, but it did help me. He, and I think it must have been Kesselring, were arguing about the storage of armaments in Renaissance palazzos. Kesselring insisted they had to be in the heart of the city, where they’d be impossible to raid, whereas Wolf wanted them in the outskirts.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, they reached a compromise,’ and here he gave her the first smile she’d seen. ‘The old Carabinieri barracks, near the train station! That’s what swung it. The crates will come in by train in forty-eight hours’ time and then trucks will take them just a short easy distance to the barracks.’

  ‘And the Carabinieri themselves?’

  ‘You may know that as a military police force under Mussolini, they were entrusted with suppressing opposition, except that once the armistice was signed, the Nazis disbanded most units.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Some of the southern Carabinieri joined the resistance, while in the north they remained predominantly Fascist. The Germans disarmed most but for the few they still use for security and guard duty. Luca used to be part of the Carabinieri, and he knows the barracks inside out.’

  ‘I’m meeting up with him today, I hope. Do we know the extent of the goods coming in?’

  ‘No. And neither do we know who will be guarding the barracks. Tell Luca everything I’ve told you.’

  As it approached three in the afternoon, Maxine headed over to Via Faenza in the pouring rain. It was a narrow street in the station area, where she was to meet up with Irma, the staffetta with whom Anna had already made contact. Once there, she whispered the password Marco had given her and Irma silently scrutinized her. She was small with a steely, determined look in her greenish-grey eyes. After a few moments she beckoned Maxine to follow her up the stairs.

  At the top Maxine looked around at the bare room, wondering why two wooden chairs were sitting in the middle. She held out her arms, dripping water on to the floorboards. ‘I’m soaked.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘Is this your house?’

  The woman pursed her lips and gave Maxine a long, cold stare. ‘Why would you ask that?’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean –’

  ‘Who are you?’ Irma asked, sounding hostile, and Maxine wouldn’t have been surprised if there was no one she trusted.

  ‘I’m Massima.’

  ‘Not your real name?’

  ‘No.’

  Irma nodded. ‘Good. So … tell me why you are here.’

  ‘I’m here to see Luca.’

  ‘Look, people come and go. This is a safe house. I don’t know who owns it. Houses are abandoned all over the city. As for Luca, he comes and goes too. We are GAP … you know it?’

  ‘Of course. Gruppi di Azione Patriottica.’

  ‘Well, since the bomb, the hotel bomb that is, many of the men have scattered.’ Her brow furrowed and Maxine could see the distress in this brittle woman’s eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Or they have been arrested. We move around. People go missing. Dead or alive, nobody knows. You wait, you hope. Merda, you don’t know if your husband or brother has been tortured, shot or taken to their labour camps.’

  Maxine lowered her eyes in sympathy. ‘The men in hiding, they’ll be back?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Did you lose somebody?’ Maxine asked hesitantly.

  Irma laughed bitterly. ‘Lose? Oh yes. My husband was lost all right. Blinded and thrown out into the street like a dog. Crawled home by touch alone.’

  ‘He’s still alive?’

  ‘No. He asked for his gun and then shot himself right in front of me.’

  Maxine gazed at the floor. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Irma looked up at the ceiling and then at Maxine, narrowing her eyes. ‘Have you ever killed anyone?’

  Maxine shook her head.

  ‘They say it’s hard for women. Because we are the ones who look after the babies, they think we cannot kill so easily. What do you think?’

  ‘I think a woman is capable of anything a man can do and more.’

  At that point the door opened and a small wiry man with very dark eyebrows and alarming black eyes stalked in. He and Irma exchanged glances then he sat on one of the chairs, staring at Maxine. ‘So?’

  Maxine began to speak. ‘I was expecting to meet with Ballerini but I’ve only recently found out he’s dead and that you are now the person to see.’

  ‘Continue,’ he said, his face grim.

  She went on to explain that she was working with the British and that her task had been to identify the extent of the resistance in the a
rea, particularly how much they would be able to help in the liberation of Florence.

  ‘And that’s it?’

  ‘No. I have been instructed to identify where, when and how we can work together to relieve the Nazis of their store of armaments.’

  Then she went on to tell him everything Antonio had said.

  He whistled and finally his eyes lit up. ‘So, we have work to do.’

  ‘Can you arm enough men for a raid?’

  ‘Most of the men are in the hills and mountains now, but we can get enough back in through the sewer system.’

  ‘Jesus, really?’

  He shrugged and sniffed. ‘The other problem will be vehicles. We’ll have to take the stuff out of the city. I can get my hands on one, or possibly two, Fiat 262 trucks and the petrol we’ll need, and I can probably arm a unit of about eight men.’

  ‘Will it be enough?’

  He shrugged. ‘How many of you are there?’

  ‘Three.’

  ‘Good men?’

  ‘Women.’

  He raised his brows. ‘We’ll increase our watch at the station and at the Carabinieri barracks and wait for a couple of days after the goods have arrived. Then we’ll strike. A staffetta will let you know when we need you. I will keep the plan simple and use you three women as lookouts.’

  Maxine entered Sofia’s house by the back gates and found the door to the house unlocked. Upstairs, she discovered Sofia and Anna twiddling the knobs of a radio.

  ‘Are you insane?’ she chided. ‘The back door wasn’t locked. Anyone could have come in and found you like this.’

  Sofia jumped up as if she’d been scalded. ‘Sorry. My fault.’

  Maxine pulled a face. ‘I thought you didn’t have a radio here.’

  ‘Me too, but I got fed up waiting with nothing to do, so went up into one of the attics with Anna and found it.’

  ‘Clever you.’

  ‘I want to see if we can receive the Allied radio broadcasts at nine. I’m hoping they might send a coded message for the resistance that you may understand.’

  ‘We also found piles of old clothes,’ Anna added. ‘Coats, jackets, all sorts of things. Some might prove useful. Anyway, what’s your news? Did you find out about Bruckner?’

  ‘He’s dead. But I have made progress. Antonio knows where the armaments are going to be stored and the leader of the partisan unit wants our help as lookouts during the raid. Are you both willing?’

  Maxine watched as Sofia went over to the window and pressed her cheek against the glass. She stood for a few moments shivering and Maxine could see the anxiety in her eyes. Then she left the window and came back to them.

  ‘I will need to think about it,’ Sofia said. ‘Now, though, we need to warm up. Anna, please will you build a good strong fire?’

  ‘Brilliant idea,’ Maxine said. She groaned and took off her coat. ‘With all this filthy rain, I’m soaked through.’

  ‘The problem is,’ Sofia said, rubbing her eyes, ‘we’ve forgotten how to be happy.’

  Anna gave her a grim smile. ‘Hardly surprising.’

  But Maxine had livened up and fixed her eyes on Sofia. ‘Do we have wine?’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘Hurrah to vino!’ she said. ‘I propose we forget about everything for one evening. Absolutely everything. I feel like getting roaring drunk.’

  36.

  The evening had passed in a blur of restrained laughter and nostalgic reminiscence and gradually the feeling of anxiety had given way. In the morning Sofia watched the red sun rising above the hills and then Lorenzo phoned to check that she was keeping safe. She’d been longing to hear his voice but obviously couldn’t talk about their plans or about anything of significance on the telephone. She kept her voice light enough to convince him not to worry too much. He, in turn, told her he was fine but not to be concerned if she couldn’t make contact for a while as the phone lines were frequently down in Rome. She didn’t ask what he was doing. Knew he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, say. When she asked about her parents, he told her they were safe and choosing to stay in Rome. After she put the phone down, she hugged herself and took several deep breaths, whispering, ‘I love you. I love you. I love you.’ Lorenzo would be all right. He was careful.

  Now she needed time to think so she took an early-morning walk through a glittering and silvery Florence. The sky was blue and the sunshine was spilling into all the city’s nooks and crannies. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have thought it was a normal day, and not the day after a suggestion you might have to play a part in an extremely dangerous raid. She thought back to Aldo’s death and remembered how much she’d wanted to kill Kaufmann as he’d stared down at her so coldly. But could she really have done it? And if she were to do it, would he be another casualty of war or, if she was honest, would his death really be the result of vengeance? The taking of a single life, even amid the death and devastation they saw daily, was so appalling she couldn’t begin to comprehend it. Once, she would have sworn she could tell right from wrong – now the boundaries between good and evil had become so blurred.

  Despite the sunshine, the city smelt damp. In the huge Piazza della Repubblica, the nineteenth-century square built on the site of the Roman forum and subsequently its old, long-since-demolished ghetto, she had the distinct feeling she was being watched, but put it down to her imagination getting the upper hand. She recalled the times Lorenzo and she had wandered there, eaten tagliatelle al tartufo at one of the restaurants or delicious pastries in their favourite café, the Caffè Giubbe Rosse, named after the red jackets worn by the waiters. In wet weather they’d retreat inside its smoky wood-panelled rooms and stay for hours, putting the world to rights as they sipped their coffee. And when it was fine, they’d relax outside at a pretty table with a red-and-white tablecloth in the shade of a large awning and laugh and talk and watch the people passing by.

  They could never have imagined what she could see today. No market, and the only vehicles German lorries and military cars.

  She decided to walk to the Ponte Vecchio, cross the river there and make her way to San Niccolò and the Giardino Bardini with its grottoes, orangery, marble statues and fountains. It wasn’t open to the public, but Lorenzo knew the owner and they used to have permission to take the steps climbing up to the seventeenth-century Villa Bardini from where you could gaze down at the city. They used to come in April and May, when the azaleas, peonies and wisteria would be in bloom. Today, hoping it would be quiet, she just wanted the exercise of climbing the hill and a restorative half-hour in the garden.

  When she arrived at the top, extremely out of breath from the steep climb, she sat on one of the steps, closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sun, comforted by the peace and safety of nature.

  Absorbed in herself, she was only vaguely aware of someone speaking. When the voice was followed by a cough and the mention of her name, she was jolted out of her reverie. She recognized the voice. The wind whipped around her and she suddenly felt so alone she wanted to weep. She looked up, shading her eyes from the sun, trying to disguise her anxiety at seeing him.

  ‘I thought it was you,’ he said stiffly. ‘You are very far from the Castello.’

  ‘Good morning, Captain Kaufmann.’

  He glanced around at the garden before meeting her eyes. ‘Major Kaufmann now. It is pleasing here, no? On such a lovely day.’

  She was taken aback at these superficial pleasantries, unsure how to respond, and she wondered if he had been following her.

  He smiled that same smile, the twisted one that never reached his eyes. ‘We are using the villa here,’ he said, pointing vaguely to the area beyond the top of the steps. ‘May I join you?’

  Without waiting for a reply, he sat next to her. She wanted to tell him, No, I do not want you to ruin my peace, not now, not ever, but she couldn’t.

  ‘Are you going back to Siena or Buonconvento? To rejoin the Commandant, I mean?’

  ‘Most probably …’ He shrug
ged but made no further comment about Schmidt. ‘I find I like Florence.’

  ‘Surely you’re not here to sightsee?’

  His mirthless laugh unsettled her.

  ‘We are making plans, holding meetings … deciding on the future of Italy.’ He laughed again, his voice icy with contempt as he continued. ‘And the rest of Europe, of course.’

  She drew in her breath but did not retaliate.

  ‘Now that I have you,’ he said, looking over her shoulder and then back to stare right into her eyes with unmistakable disdain, ‘I trust you’ll permit me to call on you at your palazzo.’

  She blinked rapidly under his scrutiny, knowing full well he didn’t need her permission. ‘You know where it is?’

  He inclined his head. ‘There is very little we do not know, if you understand me.’

  She ignored this last comment. ‘When would you like to come?’

  ‘I’ll drop by when I have the chance. I hear your husband keeps an especially fine cellar.’ He paused before changing the subject. ‘Does he own any other Cozzarelli paintings? I think I may have mentioned I’m a collector. I like to surround myself with only the very best.’

  ‘My husband doesn’t have others, at least not any I’m aware of.’

  ‘He painted on wooden panels, you know, Cozzarelli.’ Kaufmann rose to his feet. ‘Quite wonderful. And he painted the altar piece at Montepulciano … Have you seen it?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  He flicked off the few leaves that had adhered to his uniform. ‘Well, it has been most enjoyable, but now I must take my leave.’

  After he’d gone, she sat a little longer, feeling the light draining from her day. The last thing any of them needed was the Major sniffing around at the palazzo.

  When Sofia arrived back, the aroma of real coffee greeted her. Again? As she made for the stairs to the kitchen she wondered how much Anna had discovered squirrelled away at the back of the cupboard. In the kitchen she found Maxine and Anna deeply engrossed in discussing the proposed raid on the Carabinieri barracks.

  ‘Before you go any further –’ Sofia said, and told them about seeing the Major and his intention to visit her.