Chapter 46
Fernanda rinsed the tureen under the running tap and set it on the draining rack. Last night she’d gone to bed without washing up. The revelations about Violetta had left her so mentally exhausted she had barely managed to brush her teeth.
The radio was playing, sun streamed through the window highlighting flashes of purple on the bubbles in the sink.
Another beautiful morning; a new day in every way.
Carefully, she dried the pink and white tureen.
It was one of her favourite pieces, oval with a pretty toile de jouy pattern.
To think that she had hesitated to use it for her guests because it had belonged to Violetta.
Now she planned to search through every drawer and cupboard, pulling out the few things she owned that her sister had once touched and display it all with pride.
She wanted to run down the street telling everyone she met they’d got Violetta all wrong – that she’d helped an English soldier on the run, that she was no fascist collaborator.
Fernanda wanted to hang a banner from the facade of Sant’ Agata’s, hire a light aircraft trailing plumes of red, white and green smoke, writing Violetta’s name across the sky!
She laughed out loud. How fanciful she was being! All she really wanted was a quiet acknowledgement of her sister’s bravery. And a shamefaced apology from those who’d said things behind her back wouldn’t go amiss.
There was one dish left to wash up; this one needed the metal scourer despite its overnight soak.
She made a face and turned the radio up.
It took her a moment or two to realise that the intermittent knocking sound she could hear wasn’t part of the beat.
She peeled off her rubber gloves and went to open the front door.
Domenico stood on the doorstep holding a potted cyclamen in a vivid shade of pink. In the other hand he clutched a squashed and battered cocktail hat.
‘Buongiorno,’ Fernanda said.
‘Buongiorno.’ Domenico stood awkwardly.
Fernanda stepped backwards into her hallway. ‘I suppose you had better come in.’
* * *
Amy climbed into the back of Gino’s car and grappled with the seatbelt.
‘We will drive most of the way and then we will have to walk,’ Gino said. He glanced in the mirror and pulled out of the village car park.
‘Did Leo show you the rustico before?’ Stella asked.
‘I walked over there the other day, going the long way round, down past the old water mill. I didn’t see a reason to go inside then but now I’m itching to. I know it’s not very likely that I’ll find any clue that Lance and Violetta were meeting there but you never know.’
‘It gives us a good excuse to go back again, doesn’t it, Stella?’ Gino said, glancing over his shoulder. A car horn tooted. ‘Oh, better keep my eye on the road.’
‘Please do,’ Stella said. She looked happy and relaxed today.
Even her short hairstyle seemed to have grown out slightly, giving her a softer look.
But Amy knew it wasn’t the tan or the hair or even the loose linen dress Stella was wearing that gave her that glow.
It was the man driving them and knowing the weight of history was no longer standing in their way.
The car pulled up on a scrubby bit of land. Amy clambered out. She walked beside Stella as Gino led the way.
He turned his head. ‘Have you told Amy about our plans?’
‘Our very tentative plans? No, I haven’t.’ A cloud crossed Stella’s face.
‘I’m planning to sell up in Alassio and move back here,’ Gino said.
‘I’ve spoken to my daughter, Isabella, and she’s relaxed about it so that’s one hurdle out of the way.
Stella and I want to buy a place in the village and revitalise my grandparents’ land.
We will produce our own olive oil, perhaps diversify into some wild herbs and maybe even get a few goats. ’
Amy glanced at Stella, wondering why she hadn’t mentioned any of this.
‘I didn’t want to tempt fate by talking about it,’ Stella said.
‘There’s still a lot to sort out and I’m not sure how it will work – in practical terms, I mean.
To tell you the truth, Amy, I was hoping to keep some hours at Domenico’s shop but he’d already promised a job to Signora Togliatti’s grandson. ’
‘We’ll work something out.’ Gino took Stella’s hand.
Amy trotted along behind the two of them until the path narrowed and they all had to walk single file.
It was particularly beautiful to approach the rustico this way, through the heathery yarrow and the hawthorn trees.
She inhaled a great lungful of fresh air.
Ahead of them the olive grove stretched away, the rustico just visible beyond the trees.
This place was glorious, she didn’t want to think about leaving.
Gino’s stride lengthened; the two women hurried along behind him, neither speaking, both lost in their own thoughts. They stopped on the edge of the olive grove. Gino ran his hand along a twisted branch. His face softened.
‘All the years I’ve lived in Alassio whilst some other family farmed here, I dreamt of coming back to Leto. But there was always something missing from the picture I created in my mind that stopped me. I didn’t know what it was until I saw you again.’ He reached out and touched Stella’s cheek.
Amy looked away. She was happy for them, of course she was, but it made her own inevitable departure feel worse.
‘I’m going to walk around here and inspect the trees,’ Gino said. ‘Why don’t you two go inside?’
‘Come on, Amy,’ Stella said. They walked up the gentle incline to the back of the property. Amy glanced behind her. Gino stood, one hand shielding his eyes, gazing out across his family’s land.
Stella unlocked the door, pushing her sunglasses up on top of her head. Amy blinked, the light was dim after the brightness outside. Where the light did get in, dust motes danced in the air.
Stella waved an arm. ‘It’s quite a mess: old farming equipment, wooden poles and olive nets.’
‘And a bed!’
‘Fernanda moved some old furniture in here that she couldn’t bear to get rid of,’ Stella said, her cheeks strangely flushed.
‘So, my grandpa couldn’t have slept on that.’
‘No, the chest and the bed and the other bits wouldn’t have been here then. Lance would have had to make do with some sacking on the floor. But it would have been dry and better than sleeping in the open air.’
‘Do you really think he was here?’ Amy said.
Stella ran her finger through a trail of dust on the windowsill.
‘We can never know for sure but it would make sense. And when he realised something had happened to Violetta and she wasn’t coming back, he probably made his way up through the woods and into the hills.
I wonder how long he stayed here and how often they met.
Gino and I used to come here to escape our families, it was our special place.
We carved our initials on a pillar, I’ll show you.
’ Stella paused, the nostalgic look in her eyes vanished; a huge smile split her face.
‘I’ve just had a thought. Some other kids left their marks here too but maybe they weren’t the only ones. ’
‘Do you think…?’ Amy’s heart beat a little faster.
‘Oh, I hope so,’ Stella said. ‘It’s that pillar over there.’
Amy crouched down beside her.
‘There,’ Stella pointed. ‘G +S sempre – that means “always”.’
‘How romantic,’ Amy said but she wasn’t looking at the graffiti Gino had left. Her finger was tracing a tiny heart scratched into the woodgrain, so faint she’d almost missed it. ‘Stella, look!’
‘I wish I’d brought my reading glasses,’ Stella tutted, sitting down cross-legged on the floor.
‘Here.’ Amy moved Stella’s hand.
Stella’s fingers traced the faint indentations. ‘L + V. I think we’ve found the last piece of the puzzle.’
Amy sat down beside her, not caring how filthy her shorts would get. ‘You really think it was them?’
‘Why? Don’t you?’
‘Yes, yes, I do.’ She could already picture them here: him tired, hungry, unshaven, too thin; her with a pretty smile and a parcel of smuggled food, willing to risk everything.
‘I wish he was here.’ Amy sighed. ‘If only I could speak to him one more time.’
‘What would you say?’ Stella said softly, absentmindedly drawing a letter G in the dirt.
‘I’d ask him if he still thought of Violetta every day, or whether she was just a fond memory. He always seemed so happy with Grandma but now I feel bad for her.’
‘Violetta was a beautiful young woman killed before she and Lance could meet again,’ Stella said.
‘And she almost certainly saved his life. But my guess is that after the war he blocked out those old memories and tidied them away with the postcards he left you and that broken heart necklace. A stiff upper lip you might call it, but that was the way so many people dealt with losing their loved ones in the war. But loving someone once doesn’t mean you can’t love again.
I’m sure that nothing that happened between your grandpa and Violetta diminished the love your grandparents had for each other. ’
‘You’re so wise, Stella.’
‘Not me.’ Stella laughed. ‘It’s taken me more than half a lifetime to realise my future is back in this village.’
Amy got up, swiping the dirt from her shorts. She didn’t want to think about the future. She’d rather think about Grandpa and Violetta and what happened in the past.
Stella clambered to her feet too, making a huffing sound. ‘Let’s go and find Gino. Then we’ll drive back.’
‘Sure.’ Amy shot one last glance at the wartime lovers’ initials – proof of Grandpa’s Italian adventure, eighty years before. She couldn’t wait to tell her family what she’d found. That up in the Ligurian hills, a little of Grandpa Lance lived on.