Chapter 44
‘Stop fussing, Stella!’ Domenico tried not to sound too exasperated. ‘I’ve already told you I’m glad you are going out. It’s given me a chance to invite Goffredo over this evening.’
‘You should have done that before. I can’t believe you put him off on my account.’
‘You’re being an angel, cooking for me and looking after the shop. The least I can do is spare you having to spend your evening listening to two old men talking nonsense in dialect.’
Stella rummaged in her handbag. Was she ever going to go?
He’d already had to nod along to a list of dos and don’ts as though she were his mamma.
Okay, he’d burnt his hand on the kettle but that didn’t mean he was going to set the house on fire or let the sink overflow if he was left to his own devices.
‘Now, are you sure I’ve prepared enough meatballs for two?’
‘Stella, just go!’
His niece put her hands up. ‘Okay! I get the message. You’ll be fine.’
The door shut. He waited in the hallway until he was sure she wouldn’t reappear, having forgotten something.
Two minutes passed; he was safe. He opened the corner cupboard and retrieved a bottle of Basanotto; that would make an excellent aperitif.
There was plenty of the local red wine to hand and a rather nice bottle of white from the Cinque Terre.
He set four glasses on the coffee table, chuckling to himself.
He’d survived his fall with no broken bones, he had a new assistant starting in just over a week and Stella had even managed to sell that ridiculous Dolce and Gabbana kettle.
He deserved to celebrate. No tutting doctors, no bossy daughter, no overattentive niece to stop the fun.
His three old mates would be gone by the time Stella got home.
She would never know he’d thrown a little party.
* * *
Stella stood on Fernanda’s doorstep clutching a bottle of wine. After more than forty years, she had finally been invited in. But her curiosity about the home where her childhood sweetheart had grown up was nothing compared to the intriguing puzzle of Fernanda and Amy’s coin necklaces.
It was no longer just Stella, Gino and Fernanda eating together tonight.
Both Amy, who had settled back into her old room, and Leo were joining them.
If they all put their heads together, they might be able to work out if the existence of the two necklaces was more than one of life’s bizarre coincidences.
And if they couldn’t make head nor tail of it all, the evening still wouldn’t be wasted.
They’d taken the first step to overcoming the old family feud that threatened to keep her and Gino apart.
Fernanda welcomed her in. She took the wine, her beady eyes scanning the label. ‘Vermentino, my favourite. Grazie mille, molto gentile. Let us put this in the room where we are eating.’
Stella followed her into the back room where the oval table was set with placemats printed with scenes of Olde Liguria and cut glasses.
Above the cupboard on the near wall, a pale rectangle marked the place where Stella imagined Violetta’s portrait had hung.
It must have pained the old lady to take down the likeness of the sister she’d loved so much and to finally face up to Violetta’s part in the war.
The knocking at the front door interrupted Stella’s musings. Fernanda went to answer it, Stella following right behind.
‘Mamma!’ Gino hugged and kissed the old lady, then kissed Stella too.
Out of the corner of her eye, Stella could see Fernanda was actually smiling.
A moment later, Leo appeared, changed out of his overalls into a clean shirt for the evening.
Amy bounded out of the kitchen wearing a striped apron, a corkscrew in her hand.
The two youngsters hugged. Stella and Gino exchanged glances.
They all trooped into the small living room, Fernanda and Amy carrying in trays of antipasti.
There wasn’t quite enough seating, so Amy perched on the arm of a chair, glancing sideways at Leo as though she’d rather be sitting on his lap.
Fernanda pointedly moved her grandson’s glass onto a coaster.
Stella suppressed a smile. Fernanda had mellowed these last few days but there were still standards to uphold.
‘More fritelle, Stella?’ Fernanda asked. ‘When we’ve finished these we’ll have the rest of the meal in the dining room.’
‘The necklaces?’ Gino prompted. They were all waiting for Fernanda’s big reveal. She’d been playing them like a singer holding back her number one hit to tease her audience.
‘Allora… You have waited long enough,’ Fernanda said, ‘but I wanted everyone to have something to eat first. Amy, would you be kind enough to clear away these things?’
Amy leapt up, swiping the plates. Leo took the serving platters. They were back in a trice.
Fernanda laid the two necklaces on the coffee table, side by side, Amy’s now shorn of its broken golden chain. The other coin sported its original leather thong. They all craned forward for a closer look. Stella’s nose filled with the scent of Fernanda’s hairspray and Gino’s cologne.
‘They really are identical,’ Gino said.
‘But that’s not all. They are a pair. My sister Violetta’s necklace and Amy’s.’
With a flourish worthy of the Magic Circle, Fernanda flipped over the coins. The reverse of each was etched with a simple curve. She lined them up carefully, sat back and folded her arms.
‘It’s a heart!’ Stella said.
‘Only when they’re joined together,’ Amy added. ‘That means my Grandpa Lance and Violetta must have been in love. But how and when?’
Gino rubbed his forehead. He moved the coins apart and pushed them back together again. ‘Amy, your grandpa must have been in Liguria during the war, one of the prisoners transported from North Africa to the mainland.’
‘But Papà,’ Leo interrupted. ‘You told me yourself there were no escaped POWs here. The Germans didn’t find anyone like that when they swooped on the village.’
‘Perhaps they didn’t search properly,’ Amy said.
Fernanda shook her head. ‘No, those men were thorough. If anyone had been hiding here, they would have found them.’
‘Except there was one place they wouldn’t have looked. In your home, Mamma. Everyone knew Violetta fraternised with the Germans. They wouldn’t have searched her house.’
‘That’s absurd. Where do you think Amy’s nonno was? In our basement, or under the bed? I was an inquisitive little girl, always playing. I was in and out of every nook and cranny in that house, no one could have been hiding there. And my sister was a fascist, through and through.’
‘I know it sounds far-fetched but perhaps she met Lance and fell in love with him despite her politics,’ Gino said. ‘Stranger things have happened. And if she did, there’s one place she could have let him hide. Somewhere you never went, Fernanda.’
‘Your grandparents’ old rustico?’ Stella said.
‘That’s what I’m thinking.’
‘If my great-aunt was secretly in love with Lance, that must have weakened her commitment to the fascist cause. Surely she wouldn’t have betrayed the village by giving a list of names to the Germans?’
‘Perhaps it wasn’t her,’ Amy said.
Fernanda patted her arm. ‘That’s a sweet thing to say. But it is just wishful thinking. My sister had Mussolini’s photo on the wall.’
‘What about the necklace?’
‘Violetta could have found it. There’s no proof Lance gave it to her.’
‘Wait!’ Amy brought her hands to her face. ‘I almost forgot. Grandpa left me two postcards. One a picture of Alassio, where he grew up, the other was this village.’
‘And you showed me a message on the back.’ Stella felt her heart start to beat a little faster. ‘There’s no name but Fernanda, you might recognise the handwriting. Have you got it with you, Amy?’
Amy jumped up. ‘Yes, yes, I have. It’s here in my bag. Here, Fernanda.’ Her hand trembled as she handed over the postcard.
Fernanda glanced at the black and white photograph for a mere second, flipped it over and gasped.
‘What is it? Is it Violetta’s handwriting?’ Amy said.
‘This is not my sister’s beautiful hand, but she wrote it, I know she did.’
‘I’m confused,’ Stella said. She glanced around at the equally puzzled faces.
‘Violetta disguised her writing and crossed through the name of the village, but there’s one thing that gives it away, a little touch she couldn’t resist.’ Fernanda smiled. ‘Leo, would you fetch something from the middle drawer over there? A small olive-green leather folder.’
‘Of course, Nonna… There you are. What’s in here?’
‘Just cards and sentimental nonsense.’ Fernanda loosened the faded ribbon. She held up a crayon drawing of a space rocket. ‘You drew this when you were only three or four, Leo.’
‘You’ve kept it all this time!’ Leo shook his head.
‘Ah, here is what I am looking for.’ Fernanda retrieved what looked like a homemade card decorated with pink and orange flowers.
‘We couldn’t afford to spend money on birthday cards when I was a child.
We always made them ourselves. This was the last one Violetta gave me, a few weeks before she was killed.
Look at the way she finished off the letter “I” in her name with a heart on top, a little flourish just for me.
And there on your grandpa Lance’s card she’d topped the I in baci just the same.
That postcard is from my sister, I am sure of it. ’
An escaped Allied prisoner and the most ardent fascist in the village had fallen in love. It was the strangest thing Stella had ever heard.