by Gill Vickery
‘Here you are!’ Mrs Bax’s voice boomed behind him.
Nico pivoted round. ‘I hope you don’t mind me sitting here?’
‘Not at all. Jade said you wanted to see me.’ Mrs Bax perched on a corner of the desk and twinkled at Nico.
‘Even though you’re not E. J. Holm it’s got to be someone who knew about the story of Gaetano and Roberto and Elena as well as you do because the plot of the last two books follows their story quite closely. And whoever wrote the book must at least have talked to Gaetano or Elena – there’s no chance they could’ve talked to Roberto.’
‘I see.’
Nico chewed his lip. He wanted to get the words right. ‘Your father was called Alec Wolfe and the partisans knew him as Il Lupo – the Wolf. According to what you wrote on the back of his photo Alec is short for Alexander, which, in Italian, makes him Alessandro Lupo. I think that’s too big a coincidence to ignore.’
Mrs Baxendall carried on twinkling.
The light blazed brighter. ‘And his middle names are Edward Jacob!’
In his excitement Nico swirled round in a full circle of triumph. ‘E. J. – Edward Jacob! Your father is definitely E. J. Holm!’
‘Then where does the “Holm” come from?’
Nico stopped swinging in the chair. ‘I don’t know yet, I’ll work it out eventually.’ He looked Mrs Baxendall straight in the eye. ‘I’m right aren’t I?’
‘All right – I give in. Yes, Father is indeed E. J. Holm.’
‘Yes!’ Nico leaned forward triumphantly, eagerly. ‘Did he talk to you about it, his writing I mean?’
Mrs Baxendall nodded. ‘Certainly. And I helped organise his notes and his research. I did the typing – Father doesn’t get on with computers – and talked to him about his plots and his characters and what each book meant and what the message of the whole series was. At first it was that revenge is a dish best served cold.’ Mrs Baxendall chuckled. ‘Father has a measure of vanity – he saw E. J. Holm as his alter ego wreaking vengeance on the villains who’d escaped reprisals and even flourished after the war. That’s why he gave Alessandro his own name.’
‘Now he’s finished the whole series,’ Nico said.
‘It’s ended on a positive note that’s taken Father a lifetime to learn; the final message is that revenge is ultimately destructive and that by the third and fourth generation it’s absolutely past its sell-by date. He’ll be delighted to chat with your friends, the Thompsons, and see that the story he told really does have a positive resolution.’
‘It’s mixed though, isn’t it?’
‘Mixed?’
‘The end of the real story – that’s not your classic happy ending. I mean, Jade and Amber know now that their nonno was a traitor who caused the death of Gaetano’s family – that’s not a very positive resolution for them.’
‘True, though acknowledging what Roberto did, and regretting it, enables them to achieve what Roberto, the orphan boy, longed for and never got – to be truly part of Gaetano’s family.’ Mrs Baxendall slapped her knees and stood up.
‘Now, young man, let’s go back to the party and you can have a good long chat to E. J. Holm.’
‘He won’t mind people knowing?’
‘Not any more. Times have changed and he no longer fears his appearance being exposed to the world and ridiculed. He realises if people recoil from him it’s not his problem, as you young people say – it’s theirs. Besides which, the Alessandro Lupo books are at an end and he thinks the time’s right for proper attribution to be made.’ Mrs Baxendall’s mischievous smile was back. ‘We could always start by telling your mother.’
‘Jade! Where’ve you been?’ Amber was hopping towards her, swinging far too fast on her crutches.
‘Nowhere.’
Amber peered at her. ‘You’ve been snogging Nico again.’
‘You can talk – you’re always playing tonsil hockey with Dario.’
Amber smirked. ‘I know.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Mum’s got news. C’mon.’ Amber hopped back to where Mum and Dad, and Sofia and her family waited. Dario instantly stood by Amber and supported her.
Mum took Dad’s hand and said, ‘We’ve made a decision.’ Her face was alight with happiness. Jade wondered at the magic Italy had cast over her mother.
‘When we went to see the old farmhouse this morning, I fell in love with it.’
‘I knew you would,’ Amber said.
‘Dad and I have talked and decided to use Granny Grace’s trust fund to buy the house from Gaetano.’
Jade felt a huge grin spread over her face.
Gaetano grunted, ‘It will be good to bring the old place back to life again.’
‘The happy memories are the ones we’ll choose to remember,’ Sofia said.
‘We can start by chiselling off that inscription over the door,’ Dad said.
Gaetano grunted again in what Jade supposed was agreement.
‘And we can make new memories,’ Mum said. ‘Happy ones.’
‘Magic!’ Amber let go of Dario and hugged Jade and they staggered in mad circles, whooping with excitement.
‘Signora Minardi had already put in an offer but she stood down for us,’ Mum said.
‘She’s still getting a lot of the land,’ Caterina said. ‘She and I have been in business for some time and we are looking at extending our partnership.’
Jade and Amber stopped twirling. ‘Are we going to live at the farmhouse full time?’ Jade asked.
‘Eventually,’ Dad said. ‘We’ve got to restore it first. I’m going to junk the factory job and organise summer music schools there.’
‘Good job it’s isolated,’ Amber said.
‘Why don’t we just move over here now?’ Jade asked.
‘Give it time,’ Mum said. ‘You need to get your exams over first while we’re rebuilding and restoring. After that, who knows?’
‘Yes!’ Jade and Amber said at exactly the same time. They were like speakers in balance once again.
Dusk turned into night and the white moon sailed into the sky for its night shift. In the dining room Mrs Baxendall raised her glass and said, ‘Welcome all, to our Pasqua feast.’ Glasses chinked and Easter greetings flew around the table.
‘Go carefully with that wine,’ Mum said to Nico then started on the topic that had obsessed her since Nico had told her about E. J. Holm. ‘I still want to know why Alec chose the name Holm as his pen name. He wouldn’t tell me when I asked.’
‘Give him a break, Mum! He’s only just revealed his identity – you can’t make him tell you everything at once.’
James leaned over and splashed more wine into Nico’s glass. He winked. It had always made Nico want to grind his teeth when James did that; he should tell him some time. ‘Nice trees around here,’ James said.
‘What?’
‘The trees – nice trees, don’t you think?’
Nico didn’t think they were particularly. ‘They’re OK,’ he said cautiously. He didn’t want James starting a lecture on arboriculture.
Too late, James talked on: ‘They’re a particular species, you know.’
‘Right.’
‘We had them round our house when I was a child. They’re called holm oaks. Interesting that, don’t you think?’ He raised his glass. ‘Chin, chin.’
Holm oaks. That’s where E. J. got his surname. And James – James! – had worked it out.
Mrs Baxendall stood and began to sing.
‘I’ve heard that song before,’ Nico said to Jade. ‘It’s what Mrs Bax was singing when she found me on the chapel steps.’
‘It’s a partisan song called Bella ciao. The old people at Nonno’s Italian Club used to sing it a lot. How could Roberto sing along with them? It was so hypocritical,’ Jade said bitterly.
‘Forget it
; it doesn’t matter any more. Tell me what the words mean?’
‘It’s about waking up one morning and finding your country’s been invaded. You join the partisans and hope if you die you’ll be buried in the mountains among the wild flowers. Then, when the war’s over, people will pass by the flowers and say they’re beautiful; they’re the flowers of freedom.’ Jade jumped to her feet.
‘Wait,’ Nico said, ‘don’t run.’
‘I’m not going to – I’m not a hypocrite.’ Jade began to sing along with Mrs Baxendall. Awkwardly Amber stood too, supported by Luisa. They linked hands and joined their voices with Jade’s and Mrs Baxendall’s, then the Signora joined in, then Ornella and then, one by one, all the other women at the party.
‘Bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao.’ Farewell, my beloved.
The men joined in one final, rousing chorus of defiance and hope that echoed round the darkling garden.
‘Bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao.’
Once I was demobbed and discharged I decided to return to Italy for good. I had no ties to England apart from Emily and felt at home amongst my Italian friends whom I visited several times before coming to my decision. We had shared comradeship and privation and fought together. They did not comment on my appearance nor shy away from it. We were at ease with each other.
They told me more of what had happened at the farmhouse that day. Somehow, most probably from an informer in the pay of the Fascists, Roberto had heard that I was there and reported the fact to the head of the local Black Brigade who instantly ordered the attack in the hopes of capturing me. As it was Easter Sunday we were lax and shamefully unprepared for what happened.
In the ensuing fight, Henryk, one of the Polish POWs, was killed, and a partisan. Roberto had burst into the farmhouse, found me in the kitchen and fired the shotgun. The blast threw me back and I hit my head on the corner of a cupboard. It was that blow which impaired my memory. Outside, the others temporarily pinned down the Black Brigade enabling Jerzy and Ilaria to drag me from the farmhouse and into the woods. From there a chain of support saw me taken to a hideout where the local doctor did the best he could to keep me going. Over the next few days I was taken over the Freedom Trail; I rode a mule for most of the way until even that became impossible. I was fairly mobile but had little stamina and once we reached the crest of the mountains a bull of a man carried me over them and down to the Allies.
Gaetano told me about the aftermath of the attack. In retaliation for the death of the Black Brigade member and for harbouring an enemy spy, the town of Borgo Sant’Angelo was decimated. The Fascists didn’t discriminate in deciding which tenth of the population were culled: women, children, the elderly, the town’s priest were all selected and mown down with machine gun fire. There is a memorial to them in the square, opposite the small fountain with its statue of Arion riding a dolphin.
CHAPTER XXIV
‘THERE’S STILL SOMETHING not right,’ Jade said over her farewell ice cream at the Bar Vivoli.
‘What do you mean?’ Nico asked.
‘It’s the Signora – I went to see her, to tell her Mum destroyed Elena’s letter and didn’t want to talk about the past because she was worried about upsetting our new family.’
‘And?’
Jade went on the defensive. ‘You’ll think I’m seeing stuff that isn’t there.’
‘Try me.’
Jade couldn’t resist Nico’s quirky grin. She puffed out a breath. ‘It was the look on the Signora’s face. It was kind of . . . like relief and . . . almost like she’d won.’
‘Won what?’
Jade shook her head. ‘That’s the thing, I don’t know. The look was gone so quickly I thought for a minute I’d made a mistake but I hadn’t, I know I hadn’t. She said a weird thing too: she said, “At last”.’
‘Any idea what she meant?’
‘No. And there’s something else that doesn’t add up.’
‘What?’
Jade wrinkled her nose, concentrating on recalling the conversation as accurately as possible. ‘You remember the Signora explaining to us what Roberto had done? She said he was angry when he was told about Elena and Gaetano.’
‘What’s your point?’
‘I don’t see how she’d know that unless she was actually there when someone spoke to Roberto about it. So, who’s this mysterious someone? How did they know about what had happened and why did they tell Roberto? And how come the Signora was there when it kicked off?’
Nico stood up. ‘C’mon.’
‘You haven’t finished your ice cream,’ Jade pointed out.
‘Doesn’t matter – you’ve got to get this sorted. We’re leaving tomorrow and you need to talk to the Signora now, before it’s too late and you torment yourself to death.’
Nico was right: Jade felt as if she were tying herself in knots trying to work out her sense of unfinished business. Even if fronting up to the Signora meant she had to face more horrible truths about Nonno it had to be worth it. Maybe not though? The argument raged in her head. By the time Nico was knocking on Signora Minardi’s door Jade had decided to back out. It was too late; the old lady opened the door. ‘Yes?’
‘Can we come in a minute?’ Nico said. ‘Jade wants to speak to you.’
Signora Minardi beckoned them in. Jade was surprised to see Alec sitting by the open French windows. That was going to complicate matters. She wasn’t sure she could accuse the friend of this brave old man of some kind of deliberate cover-up.
‘Hello.’ Alec stood politely until Jade sat down then sank back into his chair. ‘I don’t recommend getting very old,’ he said. ‘It was almost better fighting in the hills – at least I was capable of running!’
‘I prefer the peace,’ the Signora said, sitting next to him. She turned to Jade. ‘How can I help you?’
After the Signora’s comment about peace Jade wished she’d left well alone. Signora Minardi looked at her expectantly.
She felt Nico squeeze her hand in encouragement. ‘It’s about what happened at the farmhouse. Something’s wrong. I know Nonno did bad things . . .’
The Signora snorted contemptuously.
Jade broke eye contact with the old lady and looked at Alec. ‘What Nonno did was terrible, unforgivable, but he loved Elena, he did, and he’d never hurt her on purpose.’ She was almost pleading with Alec to believe her. ‘He’d never have gone along with that massacre without some kind of reason.’ The words sounded ridiculous, even to her, and Jade wasn’t surprised that Alec’s expression was pitying.
‘What possible reason could there be? I was there, I saw people die, I saw . . .’ He rubbed his hand over his face as if trying to obliterate a vision of corpses, blood, terror.
Jade didn’t like upsetting Alec, not even to find out the final truth, if there even was one. She glanced at Nico for support.
‘Don’t ask him,’ he said firmly. He jabbed a finger towards Signora Minardi: ‘Ask her!’
Crash! Alec’s cup smashed on the floor. He was gripping the sides of the chair, the veins in his hands bulging out. ‘I remember!’ His good eye was wide, the white showing all round the iris. ‘Ask her! He said, Ask her!’ Alec was staring at Signora Minardi.
I knew there was more, Jade thought. I knew it.
‘I’ll get some water,’ Nico said. Jade was glad he’d taken charge; she was as numb and unable to move as Alec and the Signora.
Nico came back into the shocked silence. ‘Here.’ He gave Alec a glass of water. When he’d drained it Jade knelt in front of him and said gently, ‘What did you mean? Who said, Ask her? What happened?’
Alec closed his eyes momentarily as though gathering his newly remembered memories into proper order. When he opened them again he said, ‘The fighting was still going on in the courtyard. Gaetano was with Elena and Ilaria in the kitchen. We were intending to
help them get out of the house from the back. That way they could hide in the woods and once they were safe, Gaetano and I could double back and re-join the fighting in the courtyard. We were about to make a run for it when Volpe broke in. Gaetano and Elena were at the door, with Ilaria and me between them and Volpe. He had a shotgun. It was aimed at Gaetano.
‘Ilaria shouted, “Go!”, pushed Elena and Gaetano out and slammed the door after them.
‘“I want them,” Volpe said. “Move or I’ll kill you now.” I needed to distract him, even if only for a moment, to give us a chance to disarm him, delay him, anything. “How did you know we were here?” I shouted.
‘“Ask her!” he said and pointed the shotgun at Ilaria. Then, without warning, he swung it on me and fired.’
Both old people looked stricken, deathly pale, propped up in their chairs like living corpses.
‘What did he mean, Ilaria?’ Alec said.
‘He meant that it was me who told him about Elena. It was me who provoked him into revenge.’
Jade gasped. ‘Why?’
‘I didn’t mean to – you have to believe me!’
A strange calm settled over Jade. Maybe, she thought hazily, it’s because now I’m going to know what really happened. ‘I believe you,’ she said.
She sat on the arm of Alec’s chair, one hand across the back as though she were protecting him. ‘Tell us what happened,’ she said to Ilaria Minardi.
The Signora folded her hands in her lap, twining her fingers compulsively. She spoke directly to Alec. ‘It began on that Easter Sunday, at my parents’ house in Borgo. I was helping them prepare the Pasqua feast with what little food the enemy had left us when he – Roberto Volpe – came knocking at the door.’ A faint smile tugged at the old lady’s lips. ‘A Black Brigade boy at your door was not a thing to be welcomed. I took him into the garden where we could talk unobserved. He said that he’d been to Elena’s house and her parents had turned him away telling him that Elena no longer lived there. He came to me to find out what they meant and where she was.
‘I told him that, because he hadn’t bothered to answer Elena’s letter, she’d married Gaetano. He was bewildered; he said, What letter? What marriage? I didn’t believe him then; I was certain that he’d ignored the letter to avoid his responsibility to Elena and the child. Anger burst from me. I goaded him. He said, I knew nothing of any letter! You’re lying! I will never forget his expression – contorted with pain. It was then I knew he was telling the truth: for whatever reason, he had never received the first letter.’