The Lemon Tree Hotel

by Rosanna Ley

  ‘So, he still doesn’t know?’ Giovanna’s faded brown eyes were wide. ‘He doesn’t know what happened to you?’

  Or doesn’t care, she thought. ‘Aunt Giovanna – you always want to see the good in people.’

  ‘That, Bella, is because I am an old woman. And I have learned that most people are intrinsically good.’

  How could she say that after the war she had lived through? In Isabella’s opinion it was Giovanna who was so good that she was almost deluded. ‘But you know there are many people, darling Aunt, who act selfishly, who act with cruelty, who are greedy and only think of their own self-interests.’

  ‘Yes, I do know that, Bella.’ Calmly, she folded her hands in her lap. ‘Although there may be good reason for their behaviour if you look far enough back into the past.’

  Isabella sighed. ‘Has it never occurred to you that Ferdinand Bauer might have wanted to retrieve that painting for his own reasons, reasons that were very different from the ones he told us?’

  Giovanna shook her head. Her eyes were sad. ‘Oh, Bella,’ she said. Clearly not.

  Her disappointment was obvious. Not in Ferdinand Bauer, but in Isabella herself to think such a thing. But perhaps she just needed to be convinced? She took a breath and charged on. ‘I mean, why would he or his father want to help our community? What link do they have with us?’

  ‘During the war—’ Giovanna began.

  ‘Oh, the war!’ Isabella brushed this away. ‘Karl Bauer might have felt guilty at how he behaved, but you said yourself he wasn’t so bad as the rest of them. And he was in the middle of a war where men had to obey orders or be punished for it – you said that too.’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s not enough, is it, to go to all this trouble? Not only to hide a painting, but then send your son to recover it, to risk being arrested as a thief, just to help some community you had some dealings with years ago during the war.’ Isabella wasn’t sure where all this was coming from. Some of it she hardly believed herself. Perhaps then it was coming from this bitter disappointment she was feeling.

  ‘It wasn’t just because of that, my dear.’ Giovanna was still watching her closely.

  Isabella couldn’t help smiling. She was so good that still she couldn’t see it. ‘What was it then, Aunt?’

  ‘I first met Karl Bauer when I was helping the runaways who were hiding in the convent,’ Giovanna said. ‘He was after them, so of course I assumed he was like the rest of the soldiers.’

  Isabella thought of Ferdinand. ‘But he wasn’t?’

  ‘No. He caught us out, you see. We weren’t expecting him, and our runaways were there for the taking.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness!’ Isabella realised that the runaways had included her great-grandfather. ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He let them go. He shot me a look, took in the situation at a glance, gave them enough time to run.’ She smiled grimly. ‘He told me later he planned only to sound the alarm once they’d had the chance to escape. But his colleagues were close behind him. Which was why not all of them managed to get away.’ She sighed.

  ‘It was a risky thing to do.’ Isabella thought of her great-grandfather. He might have not lived then, if it hadn’t been for Karl Bauer. He certainly would never have bought the old convent. And The Lemon Tree Hotel – not to mention Isabella herself – would never have been born.

  ‘I was very grateful to him,’ Giovanna admitted. ‘But it was more than that right from the start.’ Her voice grew softer. ‘From the moment I met him, I saw something in his eyes and I sensed there was good in him. He was kind. He didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He was a pacifist, he told me.’

  ‘Then he shouldn’t have been fighting in any war.’

  ‘No, Bella, he certainly should not.’

  ‘So, you befriended him, is that it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Was that a blush rising her to her aunt’s withered cheek? Isabella stared at her. Suddenly she understood. ‘You fell in love with him?’

  ‘I met him in the olive grove of the convent that night. I was not living there then, remember. I was just a young girl of eighteen who went up to the convent for bread and soap.’

  Isabella saw where this was going. ‘And..?’

  ‘I was attracted to him. Very attracted. We began meeting whenever we could. It was difficult – it was wartime of course, and there was great shame attached to sleeping with the enemy. But . . .’ She smiled. ‘By then, I had already fallen in love.’

  ‘What happened, Aunt?’ Isabella could feel the intensity of her aunt’s emotions. It was written in the lines of her face, the expression in her eyes, the wistfulness of her smile.

  ‘He had to leave. The German forces were withdrawing. We barely had time to say goodbye.’

  Which chimed rather a chord.

  ‘But the war went on. And . . .’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I never heard from him again.’

  Isabella didn’t know what to say. It was such a sad ending to her aunt’s story. ‘Did you try to contact him?’

  ‘In those days we didn’t do that kind of thing,’ Giovanna admitted. ‘It was harder to keep in contact then. And anyway, we were on different sides.’

  ‘But if you loved one another . . .’

  ‘We did. But I think we both accepted that it wouldn’t last.’ Such a sad look crept on to her face that Isabella wanted to reach out to her. ‘I suppose there was a part of me that hoped that one day he would return.’ She shook her head. ‘But he never did.’

  Isabella thought about this. It would be easy to blame Karl Bauer for letting down the young girl who was in love with him. But she supposed Giovanna was right, and wartime made it harder. It must have been years before he would have been able to come back. Life went on. And how did he know whether or not she might still be waiting for him? ‘His son came back though,’ she said. Which had to mean something.

  ‘Yes.’ A light seemed to shine from Giovanna’s face. Isabella could almost see the young girl in love that she once had been. ‘I recognised him the second I saw him – he has exactly the same eyes.’

  Those eyes, thought Isabella.

  ‘He is a good man – like his father. I saw that too.’

  And he also likes to disappear without saying goodbye, thought Isabella. ‘Did you tell him about you and his father?’ Though she knew the answer already. That was why they’d had an immediate bond, why Ferdinand had spent so much time with Giovanna, why he took her the painting. It explained everything really. Only – she thought of that day in Monterosso – not quite everything.

  ‘Yes, I told him. And he told me something rather special too.’

  ‘Really?’ Isabella leaned forwards. She didn’t want to miss a word.

  ‘That his father always regretted not getting in touch after the war ended. That Karl had been ill when he first returned to Germany and unable to travel for some years – which was why he never came back. That he had eventually been very happily married. But that he still thought of me sometimes . . .’

  Isabella heard raised voices coming from downstairs. She put her hand over Giovanna’s and gave it another squeeze. Her words were very moving and she could see how much Ferdinand’s visit had meant to her aunt. But who was this making so much racket in the normally tranquil surroundings of The Lemon Tree Hotel? Two women – was that her mother and Nonna? – and a man. She looked at her aunt. Surely it wasn’t . . . Giovanna nodded.

  ‘Ferdinand?’ she whispered.

  She heard them coming up the stairs. ‘I’m not sure that she’s well enough to see anyone,’ her grandmother was saying.

  ‘My mother’s right. She’s been through so much and—’ her mother was adding.

  ‘She’ll see me,’ said Ferdinand.

  Isabella and Giovanna shared a complicit glance. ‘You need to tell Nonna the full story, Aunt,’ she whispered.

  And then Ferdinand charged into the room, followed
by Isabella’s mother and grandmother hot on his heels.

  ‘Isabella!’ He strode over to the bed. ‘Are you all right, my love?’

  My love . . . She wasn’t sure whether to yell at him or kiss him. Although looking at him now, she couldn’t quite remember why she wanted to yell at him at all.

  ‘Bella, I tried to stop him coming in,’ her grandmother said. She looked concerned.

  ‘It’s OK, Nonna, Mamma.’ Isabella found that she was grinning at Ferdinand – grinning like a fool. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Honestly.’

  He reached over to kiss her – oh, so gently – on the lips. He was so warm, so close . . . ‘I didn’t know,’ he murmured. ‘I came back – as soon as I heard.’

  ‘And your father?’ She put a hand on his arm. The warmth of his skin even seemed to come through the light sweater he was wearing. Mamma mia . . . Suddenly she felt like crying all over again.

  ‘He passed on the evening I got back.’ He glanced at Giovanna, and Isabella saw the compassion in his eyes – even at a time like this he was thinking of others. Her aunt had been right – he was a good man.

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss, Signor Bauer.’ Nonna and her mother were still hovering in the doorway like two over-protective hens. ‘But . . .’

  ‘Thank you.’ Ferdinand smiled so sadly at them, that after a rapid glance across at Isabella and Giovanna, as one they withdrew from the room. Her mother whispered something in her grandmother’s ear. Nonna nodded and closed the door. Those two were a lot friendlier these days, Isabella found herself thinking. And her mother seemed to have altered her opinion about Dante Rossi too. So perhaps some good had come out of this after all.

  Giovanna rose to her feet. ‘But before I go . . .’ She leaned over and managed to put a shaky arm around them both. ‘I must tell you the end of the story, my dear.’

  Ferdinand sat down on the bed, holding tightly on to Isabella’s hand.

  ‘Yes, Aunt?’ She regretted all those silly things she’d said and thought about him. She hoped he would never let go.

  ‘A few months after Karl left Vernazza, I discovered I was pregnant.’

  Isabella’s hand flew to her mouth. She hadn’t expected that.

  ‘What could I do? I was shocked and I was ashamed. I couldn’t get in touch with him – and even if I could – what would he have been able to do about it in the middle of the war years?’ She sighed, and her thin shoulders slumped a little. ‘I knew my mother was going to go crazy with the shame of it. I didn’t know where to turn.’

  ‘Oh, Aunt Giovanna . . .’ Isabella could imagine how alone she must have felt.

  ‘So, I went to the nuns at the convent.’

  Of course. Isabella should have guessed.

  ‘I told them everything. They took me in and arranged for the baby to be adopted when it was born.’ She sighed. ‘I promised not to try to contact my child, and that was easy since I had no idea where my baby might have been taken.’ She sneaked a look at Ferdinand.

  ‘How awful for you though.’ Isabella’s heart went out to her.

  ‘But the dear woman who gave my daughter such a good home and such a good life told her the truth just before she died, and so, my daughter – she came looking for me.’ Giovanna beamed.

  ‘So, you were reunited?’ Isabella was surprised that none of her family had known any of this. Her aunt Giovanna was very good at keeping secrets.

  Giovanna chuckled. ‘She didn’t have far to go to tell you the truth, my dear. She only lived in Monterosso al Mare.’

  Isabella’s mind went into overdrive. She remembered that day in Monterosso. The three of them on the balcony. ‘Siena,’ she breathed. ‘Siena Gianelli is your daughter?’

  ‘A good guess, my dear.’ Giovanna nodded. ‘She certainly is. And I have been so proud of her – she has been a wonderful nurse in the Cinque Terre, and she is a lovely woman – thanks to her adoptive family, you know. She and I have become very close friends.’

  ‘But why did you never tell us?’ Isabella knew that her grandmother and mother would have loved to welcome Siena into their family. They would never have made Giovanna feel ashamed of what had happened, they would never have judged her.

  ‘I didn’t tell anyone the truth – I am old, but in some ways, I am still ashamed of being an unmarried mother, I suppose. If Siena had wanted it – allora, I would have happily and openly declared our relationship. But she had her family to think of too, so we decided to keep it to ourselves.’

  And it was quite a secret. ‘You told Ferdinand though?’

  Giovanna put her head to one side. ‘However did you know that, Bella?’

  ‘Let me guess . . .’ Ferdinand had narrowed his eyes and was scrutinising her closely. ‘You saw us that day in Monterosso. Correct, my love?’

  ‘Correct.’ Isabella decided not to admit she had followed them – it made her look rather suspicious after all. ‘I just happened to be passing that day.’

  Ferdinand threw her a look that showed he might be unconvinced, but that it didn’t matter anyway.

  ‘Siena is Ferdinand’s half-sister.’ Giovanna patted his hand. ‘I had to introduce the two of them.’

  ‘A sister.’ He grinned. ‘I can’t tell you how happy I was to hear that – I always thought I was an only child. And as for my father . . .’ He took hold of Giovanna’s hand. ‘He was devastated not to have known, for you to have coped alone, and so sad never to have met her. But he was also so thrilled to see that picture I took of his daughter before he died.’

  *

  Later, after Giovanna had left the room and they were alone, Ferdinand lay down on the bed next to her, and she snuggled up close. ‘I’m so sorry about your father,’ she told him.

  ‘Thank you.’ He tucked a tendril of hair away from her face. ‘But I’m glad that he got to know about Siena. And he was glad too – that I’d met them both, and that I’d met you, of course.’

  ‘You told him about me?’ This made Isabella feel very warm inside.

  ‘I told him that just like him I’d fallen in love with a place and a woman.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘And that unlike him, I was going to go back there the second I could to get to know both of them a whole lot better.’

  ‘But . . .’ All sorts of thoughts were careering through her head. ‘What about your job?’ was what she actually said.

  He laughed. ‘I work freelance.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ How could she forget?

  ‘And something tells me there might be plenty of work for an architect like me around here.’ He put on a modest look.

  Isabella narrowed her eyes. ‘An architect like you?’

  He shrugged. ‘Someone simpatico to the origins and culture of a place, someone aware of the complex history?’

  ‘Hmm.’ Isabella suspected that he was teasing her – again. But he was right. She didn’t think that finding work would be a problem, at least not if her mother had anything to do with it. ‘But you seemed so distant,’ she murmured, ‘in those days before . . .’ She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Before the tragedy. Before the landslide. Before Ferdinand had left The Lemon Tree Hotel.

  ‘I was worried,’ he said. His blue eyes were earnest. ‘I hadn’t meant to draw you into the whole thing. I knew that I cared for you. But had I taken unfair advantage of you? Was I ready to take that next step? Were you?’

  ‘And what did you decide?’ She had to forgive him for his caution. It was a huge decision – to move to another country, to consider starting a new life with someone you had only known for such a short time.

  ‘I think you know the answer to that.’ He sighed. ‘I realised it the morning I left. I knew I had to go back to Germany, but I didn’t want to leave. What was I doing? Why the hell hadn’t I just taken you in my arms and told you that I loved you and made love with you every opportunity I had?’

  ‘It’s never too late,’ Isabella murmured.

  ‘But I nearly lost you . . .’ Once ag
ain he stroked her hair from her face. ‘I would never have forgiven myself—’

  ‘Hush.’ She caught his hand. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’ She took it to her lips and kissed the palm gently. ‘And your father?’ she whispered. ‘Did he approve of you coming back here?’

  ‘You bet he approved.’ And then he kissed her once more on the lips. With tenderness, with love, and with a lot more passion now that Giovanna, her mother, and her grandmother were – thankfully – no longer in the room.

  Buy the next novel from Rosanna Ley, From Venice with Love, now

  About Vernazza (some spoilers here . . .)

  The town of Vernazza gave me this story in many ways. I first visited in 2001 and loved it on sight. When I next visited the town in 2008, it had already become much more of a tourist destination – unsurprisingly, its beauty and that of the surrounding landscape were hardly going to go unnoticed. On my next visit in 2017 I saw the heart-breaking evidence of the storm of 25 October 2011, mostly from photographs, as – incredibly – the town had since been rebuilt.

  This storm wreaked havoc on the entire Cinque Terre region of the Levante on the Italian Riviera. The severe flooding and landslides almost totally destroyed Vernazza – burying the small town in more than thirteen feet of mud and debris. More than twenty inches of rain fell in under four hours – about one third of the average total annual rainfall for the area. Six people died.

  After the storm, an organisation named ‘Save Vernazza’ was formed by three women: Ruth Manfredi, Michele Lilley, and Michele Sherman. Their aim was to raise money and awareness of the problems facing this unique environment, to restore Vernazza and protect it for the future.

  On the Save Vernazza website (www.savevernazza.com) it is possible to read some harrowing individual stories. The people of Vernazza showed great resilience after the storm, and in days they had commenced the necessary rebuilding. Geologists and engineers were brought in to assess the damage and to give advice for future protection and stabilisation. Save Vernazza have since expanded their aims to promote sustainable tourism through educational programmes that will help preserve the culture of Vernazza for future generations.