‘Yes, I am aware,’ she said eventually. ‘The rumours are rife.’
‘We have made several arrests.’
She had no option but to face him and, knowing there would be reprisals for what they had done, she suddenly couldn’t swallow.
‘I take it you were at home two days ago? We are questioning everyone.’
‘I rarely leave the house in the evening, so yes.’
‘I didn’t ask you about the evening.’
She forced a little laugh. ‘I assume something like that wouldn’t happen in broad daylight, Major.’
His eyes remained expressionless. ‘Something like that?’
‘A murder … of an officer … or two, didn’t you say?’
He gave her a formal nod. ‘And who else is here?’
‘My friend, Massima, and Anna, who is here to cook for us.’
‘Your husband?’
‘No. Sadly not. We live in difficult times. Actually, Major, I already mentioned I haven’t been too well so I wonder if you might be able to do something for me?’
‘Oh?’
Soon after dawn, three days later, Sofia splashed her face at the washstand and then hurried to the bathroom where she’d already laid out her clothes. Since Kaufmann’s visit she’d been shakier than ever but at least they were getting out of Florence, and by the official route. She had requested permission from Kaufmann, pleading her waning health as a pressing reason to be going and, thank God, he had agreed to help.
In the golden morning light, Florence looked beautiful once more, as if it might one day throw off the unforgiving shroud of grey cast over it from the first day of the German occupation. Despite the gentle sunlight, they were all in a state of nervous exhilaration. Grave one minute, excited the next, their mood underpinned by fear that somehow they might be forced to turn back.
Maxine had managed to wire the pistol to one of the wheels of the car, concealing it behind the hub cap. Admittedly, it was dangerous to take the pistol with them, but Maxine had felt sure they ought. As they crawled out of the city and approached their first checkpoint, the two soldiers looked sleepy and Sofia’s bet was they’d been up all night and were just marking time as they waited for replacements.
She was wrong. The shorter of the two men demanded to see their papers and travel pass and then, despite those being in order, demanded they get out of the car at gunpoint while the other opened the boot and removed their cases, which he tossed roughly on to the ground. After the first man had finished with their papers, Sofia looked at the distant hills and felt detached, as if none of it was happening to her. As the man scrutinized her, she froze, stranded between two worlds – on the one side, comparative safety, on the other, the exact opposite.
They were ordered to open their cases, which they did kneeling beside them on the damp grass. When the men found nothing but clothing, they lost interest and started examining the car, poking about under the seats and tapping for hidden compartments. Sofia felt her life slipping through her fingers, certain they would undo the hub caps and they would all be shot on the spot. As they bent to look under the bonnet, Maxine cleared her throat and fired her a warning look.
Remain calm.
Sofia held her breath.
One of the men lay on his back on the gravel beside the car and poked about beneath it. It felt like a pantomime. The two men were bored and in need of entertainment.
After he scrambled up again and brushed himself down, he shrugged then signalled it was over. As they loaded their cases, he stamped their travel pass document and waved them on. Sofia felt lightheaded with relief. As she accelerated away, barely able to keep the car in a straight line, they were, at last, heading for home.
40.
Castello de’ Corsi
On a sparkling day of sunshine and showers, Sofia, Carla and Gabriella sat on a bench in the kitchen garden, watching over little Alberto playing with a ball and a stick. He ran along the paths between the beds, squealing, while the dogs followed him barking excitedly. Although the day was bright and the earthy smell of the garden soothed her after their nerve-wracking escape from Florence, Sofia shivered from the cold.
The house had felt strange since their return, watchful, a little bit dark. Sofia kept her wits about her as the ghosts circled, their shadows close but never seen. She sensed their judgement, their pity, but also their despair. And sometimes, along with these strange feelings, she felt as if her reason was leaving her.
‘Contessa,’ Carla said, ‘would you stay while I ask Gabriella a few questions?’
‘If you’re sure you want me here.’
Carla nodded and turned to her daughter, who was now wandering along the path. ‘So how are you feeling today, Gabriella?’ she called out.
‘A bit sick,’ Gabriella muttered.
‘It will pass. I was terrible with your brother. It doesn’t last.’
Gabriella didn’t reply but ran to the bottom of the garden. Sofia remembered the girl’s birth, a tricky one, but when Carla had passed the infant to be cradled in her arms, Sofia had marvelled at the beauty of the little girl. A few days later she’d breathed in the milky smell of her and felt the sadness of her own childlessness. It had been a shock to come home to the news that Gabriella was now expecting.
Accustomed to the girl’s odd little ways, Sofia was not too perturbed by her sudden disappearance to the bottom of the garden. She knew Carla would be feeling the shame of having a pregnant unmarried daughter and felt for her. But with Gabriella old enough to marry, at least with parental consent, that really would be the best option. If only they could find out who the father was. So far, Gabriella had remained stubbornly mute.
Carla got up and, with the fork she’d propped against the wall, began to dig for any remaining potatoes. ‘A few potatoes with a fried egg will make a fine lunch for us all,’ she murmured.
In her mind Sofia went over all the wonderful dishes Carla used to cook. Everyone loved her roasted potatoes. She could picture Carla cutting them up while humming to herself, then tossing them into her favourite mixing bowl before adding oil, wine, garlic, salt and pepper. Last to go in would be rosemary and sage, or sometimes fennel. Then into the oven with them. Delicious with meat. Sofia’s mouth watered. When the potatoes were plentiful, Carla still made this dish, minus the meat. She had secret recipes too, the ones she’d learnt at her grandmother’s side.
They still had squash to use up, green winter ones piled up in the larder alongside strings of onion, garlic and peppers. Nothing quite like roasted squash when the skin was blackened and blistered, and the flesh would be eaten with Carla’s own garlic focaccia. As Carla worked, Sofia kept an eye on Alberto, who had trailed after Gabriella. What a pity a sweet child like Alberto had to grow up without a father and, now Aldo was gone, no man in his life at all. As she was thinking this, Alberto cried out.
‘Nonna, come. Nonna.’
As Carla ran, Beni began barking madly and Sofia followed them with her own dogs coming up behind. Her stomach churned as a prickle of fear took hold. If anything should happen to little Alberto … but when she reached Carla and the little boy, he was pointing at the open door of the small potting shed where they kept the tools. Carla marched in while Sofia stood in the doorway, staring in. Suddenly she could not breathe. Everything stopped as she made out Gabriella sitting in the gloom, cross-legged on the floor, clutching a serrated knife.
‘Oh mio Dio!’ Carla shrieked. ‘What are you doing, child?’
She rushed forward, grabbing hold of the knife, and Sofia instantly saw Gabriella was bleeding.
‘You stupid, stupid girl!’ Carla cried. ‘What have you done?’
Sofia watched as Carla clasped her daughter’s wrist and found a cut, not deep and not life-threatening, but oozing blood.
‘Why?’ Carla demanded. ‘What do you think this will achieve?’
Gabriella hung her head and began to sob.
Sofia stepped forward to place a hand on Carla’s in the h
ope of calming her. But too late, Carla’s anger had won. ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ The words burst from her as she lashed out and slapped her daughter’s face.
Sofia could see Carla’s instant regret.
‘I’m … I’m sorry,’ she whispered in a halting voice and held out a trembling hand.
Gabriella said nothing and did not reach for the proffered hand.
Carla bit her lip before she spoke again. ‘Please, no more crying. We must be practical. I need to wash your cut.’
A muffled reply came from Gabriella, but neither Sofia nor Carla could hear her words.
‘What was that?’ Carla demanded. ‘What was that?’
Gabriella gave a fierce shake of her head and looked up at Carla, her eyes pleading and hollowed with misery. ‘You don’t understand.’
‘Well, tell me then. How can I understand when you tell me nothing?’
‘Aldo. His death,’ Gabriella moaned. ‘It was all my fault,’ and she began to rock back and forth, weeping inconsolably.
A little later they were in the kitchen, Sofia and Carla sitting at the table and Gabriella standing near the bread oven. They had pacified Gabriella with sweet grain coffee and a slice of toast with honey. And by not immediately pressing her to explain what she’d meant, they managed to calm the girl still more, although they really did need to get to the bottom of this.
‘So,’ Sofia said gently. ‘Can you tell us now? Nobody is going to be angry with you but why did you say it was your fault?’
Gabriella wound her body round, the look of anguish back on her face.
‘Tesoro, it can’t be so very bad, can it?’ Carla asked and smiled at her daughter, trying to keep her tone light, Sofia thought.
Gabriella stared at the floor and scratched the back of her head but didn’t speak. Sofia glanced at Carla, who shook her head. She took it to mean Carla would go about this in a roundabout way.
‘Come here,’ Carla said. ‘Is it the lice again? I’ll comb them out.’
Gabriella still didn’t look up.
‘Well, can you check how the soup is doing?’
Gabriella didn’t move. ‘I told Maria,’ she whispered, and as she raised her head, her face creased up in misery.
At the mention of Maria, Sofia could smell oncoming danger, but she took a breath and swallowed it down. ‘Told her what?’ she asked.
Gabriella wouldn’t meet her eyes.
‘Gabriella?’
‘About the plan to blow up the railway tracks.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Sofia said. ‘You couldn’t have known anything about it.’
‘I did know. I went for a walk in the woods and heard Aldo and another man talking. Lodo, he was called.’
Carla frowned. ‘This doesn’t make sense. You told Maria?’
Gabriella nodded miserably.
‘Why?’
‘I wanted to impress her.’
‘But why?’
‘Because of Paolo, Maria’s grandson. You know. I wanted him to love me and I thought if I told her, she’d tell him and then …’ She paused and gulped back a sob. ‘And then he’d come back.’
‘So, you told Maria about the plans?’
Gabriella looked down, her eyes glued to the floor again.
As the consequences of this revelation sank in, Sofia watched Carla clap a hand across her mouth and groan. Sofia bowed her head for a moment before glancing at the girl again. No. Surely it couldn’t be true.
Gabriella was gazing at her mother. ‘I love him.’
Sofia’s heart throbbed and she struggled against the tightness developing in her chest. ‘You know we don’t really trust Maria, or the Blackshirts?’ she said.
Gabriella did not reply.
Sofia wrestled with herself. The girl must be making it up. She would never have betrayed her own brother like that.
‘Gabriella, is this the truth?’ Carla demanded. ‘Tell me honestly.’
Gabriella’s eyes flicked towards her mother and then away.
Sofia was thinking hard. There was no way of knowing if Maria had told Paolo, was there? Maybe she hadn’t. She said she rarely saw him. Maybe she should ask Maria about it herself. But what if the woman lied … what then?
‘Oh, Gabriella,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what to say to you.’
Carla clenched her jaw and got to her feet. Sofia knew Carla’s fierce love for Aldo was equalled by her love for both her daughters and this awful news must be splitting her into two.
‘I’m sorry,’ the girl said, wincing at the fury on her mother’s face.
Carla placed her hands firmly on her daughter’s shoulders, as if she was about to shake her.
‘I’m sorry,’ the girl repeated as tears slid down her cheeks.
This was worse than unimaginable. This daughter of Carla’s may have caused the death of her only brother – Carla’s only son. The image of Aldo’s broken body, hanging in Buonconvento, flashed into Sofia’s mind.
As Carla raised her hand, Gabriella shrank back. Carla gazed at her own hand but did not strike, nor did she shake the girl. How much she must have wanted to, Sofia thought.
She felt like striking Gabriella herself, for her stupidity. But they had to pull themselves together. This would never go away. Not ever. She thought rapidly, considering it from every angle. ‘Anna can’t know,’ she said eventually. ‘She adored Aldo.’
‘And always criticized me for overindulging Gabriella,’ Carla added. ‘She’ll kill Gabriella if she finds out.’
Sofia knew she was right.
‘Now you listen to me,’ Carla said, and stared grimly at her daughter. ‘You must never, ever, tell anyone else about this. Not a single soul. Never. Do you understand?’
Gabriella remained silent.
‘You will have to live with what you did for the rest of your life. But listen to me. Maria might not have told Paolo. The Germans might have known anyway. Maybe they found out from someone else. It may not have been because of you.’
Gabriella gave her a weak smile.
‘This Paolo,’ Carla went on. ‘He is definitely the father of the baby? Yes?’
Gabriella gave a slight nod.
‘And it happened the night they came to your sister’s door when we were knitting upstairs?’
Another nod.
‘Oh, my girl, what am I to do with you?’ Carla shook her head. After a moment or two she spoke again. ‘Well, things are as they are so we will just have to make the best of it, won’t we? Like we always do.’
41.
Buonconvento
As Maxine entered the café in Buonconvento, she glanced about to ensure it was safe. A couple of old biddies were gossiping in the corner, oblivious to everything, and at a table by the steamy window, a young mother was trying to persuade her reluctant toddler to eat a biscuit. Anna had managed to get a message to Marco, who was due any moment. The three women had made a pact never to speak about what had happened in Florence again, but Maxine knew Marco would have been informed about the armaments raid.
When he arrived, he flashed her a warm, engaging smile and her heart immediately melted. ‘So, you’ve been a busy girl. Congratulations.’
Insanely happy to hear his praise, she made a face as if to imply it was nothing. They both knew it was not.
He gazed at her with calm, candid eyes. ‘You’ve shown self-reliance, courage and resourcefulness. Take the compliment.’
‘Thank you, Marco. It means a lot.’
‘You’ve let the Allies know about the successful raid?’ he asked.
‘Yes, James assisted me last night. He’s back in the nearby farmhouse now. The roof caved in on the one higher up the hill. The radio was being used there but now it’s hidden in the tunnels under Sofia’s house.’
‘Do you know what happened to the GAP courier?’
‘Irma?’
He nodded.
‘I hope she made it to the mountains with the men.’
‘She knew who you all were?’ He
was alert, his tone now brisk, businesslike.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Names, places.’
‘Nope. You want coffee?’
He ignored her offer. ‘She could identify you?’
‘Maybe, but I looked very plain, headscarf, no make-up. She wouldn’t have a clue where we were headed after the raid.’
‘Not that muck,’ he now said, pointing at her cup. ‘And you could never look plain.’
She pulled a face.
He scraped back his chair. ‘Coming?’
‘Sure.’
‘Are you on your bike?’
She said she was. The woman with the child focused adoring eyes on Marco as she got up to leave the café. Maxine noticed Marco looking back at the woman with a mixture of concern and affection as she walked away, and she experienced an embarrassing stab of jealousy.
‘She’s very young,’ she said, trying to keep a lid on her emotions.
‘Yes.’
‘A girlfriend of yours?’ She scowled, failing to hide her feelings, and he laughed at her.
‘Jealous?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Well, the less you know …’
She sighed, unconvinced. How convenient.
‘Do you want to come back to mine?’
He had tossed the question out rather too nonchalantly for her liking and she scoffed at his suggestion. ‘Your stinking old farmhouse?’
He raised his brows. ‘I have somewhere closer now. And a little more comfortable. A bed with a real mattress and only a couple of rats for company, plus the resident cockroaches, of course.’
She gazed at his angular face, thinner than before, and poked him in the ribs. ‘You sure know how to impress a girl. Anyway, I can’t stay. I’m going to Santa Cecilia first thing tomorrow with Sofia.’
‘Then we have the rest of the day. I’ll cook for you.’
‘You can cook?’
He gave her the sweetest smile and took her arm. ‘Lead me to your motorcycle.’
At Marco’s new lodgings Maxine was pleasantly surprised. Just one room, but at least there was a bed, a small kitchen and an old sofa.
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