by Rachel Hore
She liked Luke more than most of Aruna’s previous boyfriends, who had tended to be either stylish media types who ran a mile after meeting Aruna’s very traditional parents, or, during phases when Aruna was trying to please her mother and father, conventional professional men with whom she quickly grew bored.
At first Briony imagined that given her own world of books and ideas she and Luke would have little in common except Aruna, but not a bit of it. Luke was well read. He simply came at everything from a different angle, which was refreshing. And he was so easy to talk to that the three of them got on famously. Still, sometimes she felt a bit of a gooseberry.
Aruna slipped on her shoe again and stood up. ‘Come on, let’s go find this place,’ she snapped. It was clear she was still in discomfort. Luke put his arm round her slim waist to help her along.
When they reached the old gates, Luke was as charmed as a boy by the overgrown garden. ‘Did you find a way in?’ he asked Briony as he peered between the rusted palings.
‘No, I didn’t like to try,’ she said, but Luke was already off exploring. In one direction the wall skirted the edge of a deep drop, so she followed him to the left where it disappeared into a tangle of trees. These initially defeated their attempts to break through, then Briony found a place where she could duck inside and squeeze along a path winding between tree trunks until it reached a crumbling section of the wall. Propped up there she saw the remains of an old ladder.
‘Hey, over here!’ she called, and after some crashing around Luke emerged from the greenery.
‘Aruna’s sitting this one out,’ he said, brushing twigs from his hair. ‘Blimey, who’s been here then?’
‘No idea. Is she OK?’
‘Think so, just wants a rest. You’re lighter, do you want to go first? I’ll hold the ladder.’
Briony tested each rung before putting her weight on it, then scrambled onto the wall and looked down the other side.
‘More jungle,’ she called back. ‘Oh, and a ladder down.’ The top rung of this one was sound, but the next snapped and with a cry she half slipped, half tumbled the rest of the way, scraping her hands, before landing in a bush.
‘Briony?’ Luke’s voice was muffled.
‘Still alive, just!’ She inspected her palms and was picking out the splinters when Luke lowered himself safely beside her.
‘Let’s see,’ he commanded.
‘No, I’m fine, honestly.’
‘If you’re sure,’ he said, looking about. He helped her up, then began to move away through the green light under the trees. She tagged along, thinking how extraordinary it was, like swimming through a submarine forest. She could even hear running water.
‘Hey,’ came Luke’s voice ahead. ‘Come and see.’
She found him investigating a narrow channel where silvery water gushed over pebbles. Sinking down, she plunged her smarting hands into the ice-cold flow with a sigh of pleasure.
‘It’s come out of the rock somewhere,’ he muttered, craning to see, but the foliage was too dense.
She rose, shaking her hands dry. ‘Come on. The house’ll be this way.’ She stepped over the stream and pushed on through the branches until suddenly she came up against the wall of an outhouse. Like a tomb, darkness leaped from its gaping doorway, and she recoiled from a foul stink of decay. Her feet found an old path, which passed a tumbledown shed held together with ivy, its rotted roof bright with moss. Her trainer kicked against something hard that clanked and she paused to discover a rusted engine. Left perhaps by the British soldiers, she thought, her pulse quickening, then, ‘Eeurgh,’ she said.
‘What?’ Luke was close behind.
‘Got oil on my shoe. Oh, what’s this?’
A stubby tree trunk fallen sideways turned out to be an old fountain. Briony ripped at the greenery and revealed a cherubic face with a hole instead of a mouth. Luke peeled off more ivy and exposed a stone wing.
‘One of the four winds, don’t you think? Hey,’ he glanced about, ‘maybe this whole area . . . Yes, look at that wall. This was once a pool with the fountain in the middle. And a tiled border round it, and over there, pillars, like that one.’
‘With a ball on top. How typically Italian.’
‘So sad it’s come to this.’
‘Do you suppose it happened in the war?’ Briony wondered.
‘Dunno. Could be the years of neglect.’
Quietly they surveyed the ruined glory around them before stumbling on.
Then, suddenly, the mass of the house loomed up before them. They were on a ruined concourse in front of the elegant villa familiar to them from the filmstrip, but the change wrought by time was terrible. Its shutters were hanging off, its broken windows stood open to the weather, the white-painted frontage was blistered and crumbling. There were signs of past beauty, though, in the graceful lines of the roof and the rusted iron latticework of the upstairs balconies.
Briony said, ‘I feel bad that Aruna’s missing this.’
‘Me, too, but let’s look inside now we’ve got here.’
They picked their way across a mess of shattered roof tiles and flakes of plaster to peer in through a window like a gaping mouth. The spacious room beyond was full of rubbish, broken chairs, twisted pieces of machinery, rotten beams, all thickly coated with dirt. The walls were blotched with damp and fungus, but on the far one was fixed a noticeboard still bearing a few scraps of paper. Bleached of whatever had been printed on them, Briony guessed; it was difficult to tell at this distance. She felt a low thrum of excitement seeing this sign of army occupation. Grandpa had been here. The idea was extraordinary.
A thought occurred to her. ‘The place can’t have been like this when Mariella’s dad found the film reels. They’d have been ruined.’
‘I expect he took them quite soon after the army left. Come on, let’s look for a way in.’
Initially they had no luck. The main doors had rotted in their frames and would not shift, despite Luke’s attempts, but on rounding the right-hand side of the house they found a narrow entrance, with what must once have been a door, lying warped amid the debris inside.
They peered into the gloom. ‘Scullery, do you think?’ Luke said. A huge stone sink stood under the back window. Daylight glowed from a doorway opposite that must lead further into the house.
‘Is it safe to go in?’ Briony’s voice echoed.
‘Probably not.’ Their eyes met. He shrugged.
She stepped inside, brushing past cobwebs as she meandered round the cool, dark room then through the far doorway into a bright kitchen with a rusted range and an old bread oven. Sunshine falling through latticed panes patched the tiled floor. It would have become hot in here, she thought, but the scents of baking and delicious sauces must have been wonderful, and from the windows there would have been a view of fruit trees and terracotta pots of herbs . . . She was so caught up in this vision she didn’t notice where she was going. Her knee bumped against an ancient cupboard. Its door flew open and she screamed as a family of rodents shot out.
‘Briony?’
‘It’s OK,’ she gasped as Luke’s alarmed face appeared. ‘Mice!’
He rolled his eyes.
‘It was the shock,’ she said crossly. ‘Oh, that’s pretty.’ He was holding a patterned teacup.
‘It’s such a shame, isn’t it?’ he said, placing the cup on the range and looking about dolefully. ‘This place must once have been idyllic. A garden villa up in the hills. What do you think – Mariella’s family’s summer residence?’
‘Rather than a farmhouse? She didn’t explain.’
A long time ago, people had been happy living here. It had that atmosphere. She’d felt it a moment ago, but when she glanced at the window now, she saw it was cracked and filthy and that where she’d dreamed herbs and fruit trees was actually tangled jungle which almost reached the house. Something that could be the remains of an old truck lay just visible under a blanket of creeper. She shivered, imagining how the soldiers mig
ht have treated the place, wondering what brutal things had happened here.
‘Briony?’ She jumped. Luke’s muffled voice came from further into the house. She turned to see that he’d opened another door. She followed and found herself in the front hall, where bits of wooden banister hung down from a ruined staircase. ‘Hey.’ Luke’s figure filled the doorway to a room at the front. ‘You must see this.’
It was the room with the noticeboard that they’d glimpsed from outside. The clatter of wings announced a fleeing pigeon. It cocked its head at them from a high beam. Broken tiles crunched under their feet and patches of bare earth were slippery with damp and bird droppings.
The flakes of paper on the rotted board were held to it only by rust or habit. ‘A map once, I think,’ she murmured, seeing the ghost of a pattern, and for a moment was aware of Luke’s presence close by, the warm, salty scent of him.
‘What were they doing here?’ Luke was murmuring, gazing round the room. ‘These soldiers, in the middle of nowhere?’
‘The Allies invaded mainland Italy in September 1943,’ she told him. ‘This would have been roughly on the route north after Naples.’
‘But why would they have come up here to this villa?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe it was a good lookout place before all the trees grew up. You would be able to see down to Tuana.’ It was then they both heard a distant humming. ‘Hey, is that a car?’
They listened. ‘It’s some way away,’ Luke said. ‘Whatever, we ought to go and rescue poor Aruna.’
Briony nodded.
He took one more glance about, then as he turned, his foot slid on a tile, which struck something that clinked. He prodded at a lump of mortar with his toe, then bent and picked out a small, oblong tin that had been hidden underneath. It was light in weight and rusted shut, but when Briony shook it gently, she heard a rustle from inside.
‘Let’s take it with us,’ he said.
‘Do you think we ought?’
‘Yeah. Come on. I’m worried about that car.’
But by the time they’d left the house the engine noise was fading.
When they reached the lane beyond the gates, there was Aruna sitting on the rock exactly where they’d left her, her pointed face furious.
‘You’ve been nearly an hour. What the hell have you been up to?’
‘It wasn’t that long, Ru. How’s your blister?’ Luke murmured, stooping to see, but she drew her foot away in a sharp, rude movement. He looked dismayed.
‘We’re sorry,’ Briony cut in, trying to help. ‘It’s my fault, I kept wanting to see more. It’s an amazing place, I wish you’d come. The gardens must once have been beautiful. And the house . . .’
Her friend shrugged without speaking. Luke stood up slowly and folded his arms, contemplating Aruna, one eyebrow cocked.
‘And what’s that?’ Aruna said finally, nodding towards the tin in Briony’s hand.
‘Just something we found.’
‘What’s in it?’
‘Have you got a key?’ Luke asked. Aruna had and the women watched him work away at the lid of the tin. Eventually, he levered up one corner, bent it back and squinted inside. ‘Here,’ he said, passing it to Briony, who took it from him. She tipped a heap of dry, tawny shavings out into her palm, rubbed and sniffed its faint remaining pungence.
‘Tobacco, is that all?’ Aruna said, disgusted.
Briony didn’t answer. She knew that dusty fragrance. It brought her grandfather instantly to mind, his voice soft and husky like hers, the feel of his big hand in her child-sized one. The memory was so strong that for a moment she was overtaken by grief and longing.
She stared at the dust in her hand. The film, the letters, the scent of her grandfather’s pipe. Everything was drawing her back in time. What had her grandfather been doing here in wartime Italy? Who were Paul and Sarah? What had once happened in this remote valley?
Six
Briony hoped the trip into Tuana would answer some of her questions. Again, it was just the three of them, she, Luke and Aruna, and they’d come because Luke had cracked a tooth on an olive stone, but had managed to get an emergency appointment with a dentist in the town. The sun was high in the sky by the time they dropped Luke, so after buying some supplies and poking about in a gift shop, Briony and Aruna had fallen gratefully into chairs at a pavement café with an aspect across the main square. Icy lemonade revived them, though not to the extent of encouraging anything energetic.
‘Is the church open? The guidebook said there are wall paintings.’ Briony counted coins onto the table and nodded towards the sand-coloured Romanesque hulk that dominated the small paved square.
‘I’m too hot to even stand.’ With sunglasses, carmine lips and a gauzy scarf over her hair, Aruna looked like a film star travelling incognito and was drawing curious stares.
‘It’ll be cool inside,’ Briony coaxed. ‘And we have to see a bit of the town or there’s no point us all having come.’
‘Do we? That’s a difference between you and me. I’d be quite happy to collapse here till Luke’s ready. Have you finished with this?’ Without waiting for an answer she swallowed the last of Briony’s lemonade and grinned lazily at her. They’d been friends for so many years that they knew each other intimately. They’d shared a student flat and later a house together in London before getting places of their own. Aruna had been generous, drawing Briony into her huge circle of friends. She could be lazy about housework and had always been a great borrower of everything from shampoo to books, less good about returning them. Still, Briony had never really minded.
‘The church, come on, Aruna.’
‘OK, you bully.’ They collected up their bags and returned the waiter’s flirtatious ‘Ciao’ then drifted off across the square, Aruna still complaining about the heat.
It was open, and Briony was right. The shadowy interior of the building provided blissful relief from the fierce sun and she was surprised they were the only ones taking advantage of it. Aruna pulled off her scarf, pushed her sunglasses into her hair and dumped herself down on a chair in the nave from which to view her surroundings. Briony was more methodical, following the perimeter to study the statuary and the memorial slabs on the whitewashed walls. She came across the famed frescoes in a side chapel. They were a pair of simple scenes of saints standing amid flowers and trees, the colours still thrillingly bright after many centuries. She pondered the rapturous faces and tried to imagine how treasured the pictures must have been in their time by ordinary people, not for any financial value, but as visual aids to worship and prayer.
She was turning to go when a beautiful memorial slab on the wall near the altar lured her across. It was an oval of white marble etched with trails of gold-leaf flowers. The name on it was Antonio Mei and when she calculated the dates it touched her heart that he’d only been fifteen when he died. 1944, it had been.
She walked away with a feeling of melancholy and went to sit beside Aruna. ‘Have you got the guidebook?’ she whispered, her voice echoing in the space.
Aruna felt in her backpack. Briony flicked to the entry about the church and held the guide between them.
‘I love the translation.’
‘It’s great,’ Aruna said. ‘This bit, for instance: “A shell in 1943 destroyed part of the south aisle, but it has since been most happily restored.” Isn’t that a lovely phrase?’
They glanced along the right side of the church, but there was indeed no sign now of the bomb damage. Briony drew the book towards her. Her eye had snagged on the name Antonio Mei. She read on, quickly. Fifteen-year-old Antonio had lied about his age and tried to join the army. Later, he’d been killed in an accident and his grieving family had raised the money for the memorial.
She was brooding on this tragic story when a sudden sound made her look up. An elderly priest had entered the church through a door near the altar. He nodded at the two women and set about preparations for a service, so, after a minute, they got up, thanked him and left
.
Outside, they sat on the steps in the shadow of a tree, taking turns to sip from Briony’s bottle of sparkling water. Briony studied the pictures in the guidebook. There was a town hall, apparently, but no mention of a museum.
‘So, Briony,’ Aruna interrupted. ‘Are you being “most happily restored” by this holiday?’
A bolt of panic shot through her. She waited and it passed. ‘In some ways, yes.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘It will take more than a couple of weeks to sort me out.’
Aruna surveyed her sternly and Briony, used to her friend trying to organize her life, rushed on. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to sound rude. It’s so lovely of you to have invited me here, but . . .’
‘I know, it’s all been a bit tense, hasn’t it. Mike’s a total ass. Why do girls as sweet as Zara end up with such men?’
‘That’s one of the world’s eternal questions.’
‘I bet you feel a right spare part.’ She shot Briony a glance full of sympathy.
‘Not really. You know me, Aruna, happy to wander off on my own. And Mike’s not that bad.’ He had been helpful over the film, at least. ‘You and Luke have been brilliant. Really, Luke’s been incredibly nice, given that he hardly knows me.’
‘He likes you, Bri, so it’s not difficult.’
Briony was pleased to hear this. ‘You’ve picked a good one there!’
‘I have, haven’t I.’ Aruna beamed at her and confided, ‘I think he may be, you know, The One. I hope so, anyway. Even Mum and Dad like him and you remember how difficult they are to please.’
‘I wondered if that was the way things were going!’ Briony said. She felt happiness for her friend, but had to confess that a teeny part of her felt forlorn. Would this be how it would continue to be as she grew older, her remaining single friends pairing off?
Aruna touched her arm. ‘Oh, Briony, I wish there was someone for you, I honestly do.’