Chapter 25
Amy held her short-sleeved yellow blouse to her nose; miraculously, the mothball smell of Fernanda’s wardrobe hadn’t transferred to her top. It was a little try-hard for a walk in the hills but she’d dress it down with denim cutoffs and trainers and tie back her hair.
It was still early. Fernanda had woken her up clattering around, clearing up last night’s meal before heading off to her daily mass.
Amy had offered to help after supper but the old lady had insisted she do it all herself before promptly falling asleep in her chair.
Amy had rinsed off the plates and put the pans to soak in the sink but she strongly suspected that she’d face Fernanda’s wrath if she did any more chores before bed.
She drank a glass of water and headed for the bar, not fancying a walk up to the Old Chapel on an empty stomach. As she approached the scattering of outside chairs, Leo raised his hand. She took in his half-drunk espresso, the golden pastry crumbs scattered across his plate.
‘Great minds think alike,’ she said.
‘Want to join me?’ He shifted a discarded menu and sugar bowl out of the way. ‘Oh, watch out for the bucket!’
‘Thanks, I would have fallen over that.’ She used her foot to nudge a pail full of bleach, polish and cloths out of the way. ‘Do you think the cleaner meant to leave this here?’
‘He did.’ Leo grinned.
‘They’re yours?’
‘Now you’ve spoilt the surprise!’ he joked, smiling at the waitress and ordering himself another gobeletto. Amy quickly chipped in to ask for a caffè latte and the same.
‘I thought we were going for a walk to the Old Chapel this morning. Are we stopping off on the way?’
‘I’ve got a few jobs to do when we get there. Do not worry, I will not ask you to scrub the floor! You can sit and admire the views before we walk back.’
‘I don’t mind helping.’ It wasn’t what she’d imagined they’d be doing but she didn’t have anything else planned.
‘I hoped you might say that.’ He plucked a pair of discoloured rubber gloves from the bucket and waggled the empty fingers. ‘I think these would suit you.’
‘Cheeky! At least I’ll work off some of these calories.’ She bit into the delicious little tart that had just appeared.
‘You will use up all those calories walking there.’
‘Sounds like a challenge.’ She took a sip of her coffee, closing her eyes for a second.
Sunshine, warmth, just milky enough coffee, a jam-filled pastry: a perfect start to the day.
She opened them again to find him smiling at her.
Her face heated. There was something about him.
She didn’t know what it was but it made even a morning scrubbing an old church sound appealing.
‘Shall we go? Or do you need to go back to Nonna’s first?’ he asked.
‘No. I’m all set. Looks like you’ve got everything I’ll need.’ She looked meaningfully at the bucket.
They left some cash under the saucer and headed off.
She walked by his side, the bucket swinging between them.
The church bells were ringing. Nine o’clock: Fernanda would be emerging from Sant’ Agata.
The three men she’d spotted yesterday morning were standing by the old water trough on the other side of the street, talking with their hands as much as their voices as she and Leo walked past.
‘We need to head to the end of the village, through the big stone arch, up some steps, past a couple of old vineyards…’ he said.
‘Then up more steps?’
‘You’ve got it!’
They carried on walking. Outside the fruttivendolo the owner looked over her wooden crates of apricots and cherries.
Her twenty-something daughter was arranging some peaches in a velvety pyramid.
This will be the same again tomorrow, and the day after, Amy thought.
A daily ritual – except for Sundays and holidays – perhaps unchanged for years.
But everyone she passed seemed quite content.
They stopped for a moment under the stone archway, the lower part of the village falling away, a mishmash of terracotta roofs beneath them, dark green hills stippled in the sunshine like an oil painting.
‘Is that it?’ Amy pointed to a pale building on the horizon.
‘No, we don’t have to walk that far but we can go there on another day. That’s the way to my great-grandparents’ old rustico.’
‘A sort of farmhouse?’
‘Yes, a rough sort of dwelling mainly used for storage but the farmers would sleep there in summer to make use of the long days.’
‘I’d like to see it another time. Shall I carry the bucket for a bit?’
He switched hands. ‘No, it’s nothing, you concentrate on the views, I’ve walked up to the chapel a hundred times.’
Amy strode on in the fresh air, breathing in the scent of thyme, marvelling at the delicate two-tone purple petals of the wild sweet peas.
Past the vineyards, the steps became steeper.
Red valerian sprouted from the gaps in the stone walls, its stems curving outwards towards the sun.
Across a scrubby patch of ground dotted with clumps of light blue harebells bleached pale by the bright light was a single-storey white building with a simple wooden cross over the entrance. A small stone fountain stood nearby.
Leo reached above the lintel, retrieving a key on a piece of string. He turned it in the lock and pushed open the plain wooden door. Amy followed him in.
The chapel felt even smaller than it looked from outside.
Whatever seating there once was had been removed, leaving just an empty space.
Three of the walls were painted a soft white but one still bore the patchy remnants of its original fresco.
It was sad there were no longer any worshippers to appreciate the carefully executed drapery in the faded portraits of the saints.
Leo emptied his bucket and went back outside, leaving her gazing at the wall. She heard the sound of running water; he returned with a pailful.
‘It would be an easier job if we could heat this water up but there’s no electricity here and I can’t risk lighting a fire, it’s so dry this time of year.’
‘So, why is this your job?’
‘Nonna Fernanda has looked after the place for years. She came every week to clean and dust, to check the windows for cracks and the corners of the floor for mouse droppings. But now, finally she admits she cannot easily walk up here, though she’s still incredible for eighty-seven.’
‘You’ve taken over then, that’s good of you.’
He shrugged. ‘It isn’t much to do but I can only get here once a month.’
He rolled up his sleeves, exposing the tattoos on his biceps. She tried not to let his well-honed golden arms distract her from the task in hand.
‘Come on then,’ Amy said. ‘Chuck us those rubber gloves.’
They scrubbed and mopped and brushed every corner. It was cool inside the Old Chapel but the work was making her hot. It was certainly nothing to do with Leo’s close proximity.
Finally, they finished cleaning every nook and cranny. There was no longer anywhere she could write her name in the dust. And definitely not a mouse dropping in sight.
‘Fernanda will be pleased with you,’ Amy said.
‘I am glad to do it. She has always been good to me. I know grandparents aren’t supposed to have favourites, but I knew I was hers.
When I was a child she used to call me her little man around the house.
I think she missed my grandpa a lot. Of course, I still had to behave myself.
I could not swear or make a mess but she baked all my favourite treats, all the things she would not allow Papà to have when he was a boy. ’
‘She will be so proud when she sees your plaque being unveiled.’
‘She will be there for the first part of the church service but she will not stay for the unveiling. She will come and see it the next day.’
‘She must get tired at her age.’ Though it had not stopped Fernanda staying up until past eleven the night before, drinking wine and chatting to Amy.
‘Some people would think it wrong for her to be there.’ He crouched down, wiping some non-existent dirt off a flagstone.
‘Because her sister was a Nazi sympathiser?’
Leo’s head jerked up. ‘Who told you this? You have only just arrived and already you hear these rumours? Honestly, this place…’
Amy sat down, cross-legged on the stone floor beside him.
‘Fernanda told me herself, last night over our meal. She told me how charismatic and vivacious her sister was, how she dated a German officer. How she sold her cocktail hats to the fascist leaders’ wives and went to parties with them.’
‘Wow! I am surprised she told you. Nonna does not usually open up like that.’
‘I think she wanted to tell her tale to someone from outside the village. It was strange to listen to her. She obviously struggles to deal with the past, she feels such guilt.’
‘It is a burden she carries but when the Germans came here she was just seven years old. How could Nonna be guilty of anything? Some folk in the village still judge her because she will not condemn her sister. Violetta was like a mother to her. It was the two of them, their parents dead, no other brothers or sisters.’
‘I could tell how much Fernanda loved her. But what happened to Violetta in the end? I heard they did terrible things to women who consorted with the Germans.’
‘Violetta did not live to see the end of the war. The very day of the rastrellamento, she was visiting a pregnant friend in hospital. A stray Allied bomb fell on the building, killing many people. Violetta was one of them. A kind neighbour in the village took Fernanda in that night and looked after her until she was older. Some people did not approve, but that lady would not condemn a little child for what her sister had done.’
‘Such a sad life.’
‘It is lucky she has her faith, and her voluntary work means so much to her.’ He got to his feet. ‘We have done all we can here, shall we walk back?’
She clambered to her feet, glad to free her now numb bottom from the cold floor. She began gathering up the cleaning products whilst he went and tipped the dirty water away.
Back outside, the heat hit her like it had done when she first stepped off the plane. After the dim interior, the sun was almost blinding. For a moment she struggled to make out the small fountain and the bushes and trees. She fumbled in her pocket for her sunglasses.
Leo stepped into the shadow cast by her feet. His hand brushed her forehead. She felt her face burn, her heart beat a little faster.
‘There, that is better.’ He held up a straggle of grey cobweb. ‘But perhaps I should have kept it in your hair for Fernanda to see. If she knows how hard you were working, she might bake you her canestrelli.’
‘I don’t know what they are but they sound pretty good.’
‘They’re biscuits made with vanilla and lemon zest, shaped like a flower. Nonna’s are the best. I have tried to make them myself but they don’t turn out nearly as good. Pity my poor papà, he is eating my cooking for the next few days.’
‘He’s visiting? With that and finishing the plaque, you’ll be busy.’
‘Yes, he is arriving today. I would love to show you more of the countryside but I had better get back.’ He set off down the path. She kept pace with him, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t let her disappointment show.
The descent was far quicker than their climb up the steps. Before she knew it, they were walking back under the stone archway. In a minute or two they would pass the turning that led to his workshop.
‘Well, thanks for the walk. It was fun, even though you had me working my socks off.’
‘Socks off? I like this phrase.’ He paused. ‘I was wondering… Would you like to come to dinner with Papà and me tonight?’
‘Oh, no, you must want to catch up.’
‘He’s going to be staying with me right up until Pietro’s burial and the unveiling; we will have plenty of time to talk. Besides, Papà can be quite intense. And if you come to dinner, you will distract him from the burnt bits.’
She laughed. ‘Well, in that case, how can I refuse?’
‘Eight o’clock?’
‘I will see you tonight, then.’ She walked off quickly before he could catch a glimpse of the great big grin on her face.