Chapter 27
Amy hovered outside Leo’s house, clutching her bottle of wine.
She’d left Fernanda’s early, knowing one false turn in the maze of streets would leave her puffing up and down steps, getting in even more of a fluster than she already was.
As it happened, she found her way as though she’d walked it a hundred times before and it was only bumping into Stella that had threatened to make her late.
Amy had been about to take the opportunity to ask Stella whether she’d found a chain for her necklace yet but Stella had seemed in a bit of a daze.
And to Amy’s shock she’d blurted out that her fiancé, Joe, had ended their relationship out of the blue.
Amy had been ready to offer a listening ear, praying it wouldn’t make her late.
But after repeating her news, as if she could hardly make sense of it still, Stella had shocked Amy again by saying she’d probably had a lucky escape.
And then the woman had practically skipped off up the road! It was all rather strange.
Leo’s door opened.
‘Amy! I saw you through the window. I did not hear you knock.’
‘Oh, I hadn’t knocked. I thought I might still be a bit early.’ She felt her cheeks heat. How could any man be that attractive whilst sporting a long chef’s apron splattered with sauce?
‘I hope you weren’t just going to stand there? Come on in.’ He ushered her into the kitchen. His father, Gino, was leaning against the counter.
‘This is Amy, she is staying with Nonna.’
Gino’s eyebrows quirked; he put down his newspaper.
‘Amy. Of course. We met in Alassio. How could I forget? You have brought wine? May I open it?’
‘Of course. It’s lovely to see you again.’ She handed over the bottle.
Leo took some wine glasses from the cupboard.
Gino wrestled with the bottle, removing the cork. He ran his hand through his damp hair. ‘Let us go into the living room. You must excuse my appearance; I have had to take a second shower today. The dust in my son’s workshop gets everywhere.’
‘Have you been to see the plaque?’ Amy asked, taking a glass of the ruby-red wine from Leo and sitting down on a somewhat battered couch. Gino took the chair opposite, leaving Leo to sit next to her. Their knees were almost touching. She took a big gulp of wine.
‘Yes, at last my son allows me to take a look! It is extraordinary. I am looking forward to seeing the unveiling and partying in the piazza.’
‘Papà will be dancing.’ Leo smiled.
Gino gestured with his hands. ‘I will enjoy myself. Why not? I will dance and eat and drink – not too much but I will still wake up the next morning with a sore head. One finds it harder to recover these days. It is the curse of age.’
‘You’re only sixty, Papà!’
Gino leant back in his chair and took a great swig of wine.
‘I appear ancient to you two, I am sure. So, Amy, have you found out anything more about your nonno? Since I met you, I have been thinking. Perhaps he found himself back in Liguria during the war? There were places in the woods up in the hills where they say escaped Allied prisoners of war hid out in makeshift shelters and outbuildings.’
‘Mum did say something to me once about Grandpa escaping from a prisoner-of-war camp, but he fought in North Africa. He was captured in Libya.’
Gino leant forward in his chair. ‘Then he could have been here!’
‘How? Did he swim?’ Leo joked.
Gino tutted. ‘Did you pay any attention at school? Many Allied prisoners taken captive in North Africa were shipped to Italy, some to Sicily then on to the mainland, to Naples and on to other camps. Plenty ended up in Liguria. In the chaos after the 1943 armistice, English POWs broke out of the camps and fled to the countryside. Now, Amy, let me take another look at that postcard of yours.’
She took it from the bag she’d set down on the floor. He examined it carefully.
‘The placename is crossed through. That makes sense if your nonno was in hiding. A person from this region might recognise this picture but if your nonno was stopped somewhere en route home, a German soldier would not have a clue where he had come from.’
‘I suppose it makes sense. I always wondered about how Grandpa could have made it all the way back to England from Libya. It was one of the stories he was finally going to tell me. I was going to write them all down and type them up for him. We might have put them into a book or something. But now…’ She bit her lip.
‘I’m so sorry, Amy.’ Leo squeezed her hand.
‘I don’t believe there were any English POWs hiding in this village but he may have passed through,’ Gino continued.
‘Certainly, in the countryside around here there were those who risked prison and even death to aid them. Some helped because they despised the fascists, some because they hoped someone might be doing the same for their own sons somewhere, others just because they had good hearts. Yet there were other Italians who called them traitors.’
‘Those who supported the fascists like Great-Aunt Violetta,’ Leo said.
Gino looked at him sharply.
‘It’s okay,’ Leo continued. ‘Nonna has been telling Amy her old stories.’
‘Really?’ Gino glowered into his wine. Amy fiddled with her glass.
‘I will go and check on the food.’ Leo left the room, leaving her and Gino sitting there.
‘It is easy to condemn women like Violetta,’ Gino said carefully.
‘But our country was divided: bombs falling, food shortages. It was a terrible time. Violetta was a young woman trying to survive. Her parents were both dead, she had her young sister to take care of. Violetta sold her hats to those in power, she dated German soldiers who might protect her and Fernanda – these things might have seemed logical choices. She should have done things differently, I do not doubt that, but none of us know what we might do if we were in her position.’
She should still have known right from wrong, Amy thought. But Gino had a point. Amy liked to think she would behave honourably but she had never lived through a war. She had never been tested.
‘I am glad I have never had to make those sorts of choices,’ she said. ‘I guess I will never know if Grandpa was given food or a place to stay by people here in Liguria, but it is nice to know there were those who would have been willing to help.’
‘You have no other clues? Only this postcard?’
‘I have a necklace; a love token, I suppose.’
‘You have it here? It cannot be the one you are wearing, that looks very modern.’
She touched the silver raindrop dangling around her neck.
‘No, this is just something I was given last Christmas. The one Grandpa gave me needs a new chain. I left it with Stella – the woman in the general store – she’s going to find one for me.
Maybe you know her; she said she grew up around here. ’
Gino’s eye twitched. He laced his fingers together. ‘Yes, I did know Stella but it was a long time ago. She left here when she was a teenager. It is a little strange to find her back in the village with her fiancé.’
‘A fiancé? Not any more. I ran into Stella on the way here and she told me her fiancé had gone off with another woman.’
‘She must be devastated.’
‘To be honest, she seemed more relieved than upset.’
Leo’s voice called from the kitchen: ‘Papà, Amy! The food is ready!’
Amy stood up. Gino hesitated. He picked up a paperweight from the coffee table, inspected it and put it down again.
‘Did Stella say anything else?’
‘Err… Not really.’
‘I see. It does not matter anyway. Let us go and eat.’
Amy followed him into the kitchen. Their conversation about Stella was over but she strongly suspected Gino was still thinking about her.