By the time he had hopped out and jogged around to open her door for her, there were three young women in sky blue uniforms standing on the steps of the building.
He led Kitty to them, then gave her a small bow.
‘I leave you with them for now. See you for dinner. One hour! Chao!’
He gave the women a wide, movie star smile, then jogged back to the autocar, jumped in without bothering to open the door and went racing off.
Kitty caught the longing looks on the women’s faces as they watched him go and she half expected at least a couple to swoon dramatically. One of them caught her watching and giggled, blushing. ‘Is very handsome, no?’
Kitty shrugged. ‘I suppose.’
The woman giggled again, then turned to go back into the building. ‘Come! We dress for dinner.’
The women, all junior officers with very little English, who worked in the signals shed, took her to their quarters where she was stripped of the rough men’s clothes she was wearing - all that could be found in her size that was suitable to travel in - and thrust into the shower. She was then rushed into their room, where there was a dress laid out ready for her. It was a ball gown in a lovely cornflower blue, which was probably the closest they could find at such short notice to the rather unfeminine colour of the RAC uniforms. She put it on and stood still while one of the women pinned it with the practised skills of a seamstress, then removed it again so that adjustments could be made on a sewing machine sitting in the corner. While that was being done, she was sat in front of a mirror and fussed over by the other two women. One brushed her matted hair, causing her to wince in pain every few seconds, while the other began pulling bottles and vials out of a large makeup bag. Kitty stepped in before they could start work, though, guessing their intentions and told them in broken Spanish and using quite a few gestures, that she would take care of herself.
The women pouted, disappointed, but agreed, and left her to her own devices while they worked on their own appearances.
A few subtle touches had Kitty looking less a shipwrecked mariner and more her usual self again and she sat and watched as the women hurried around the small four-person room, putting on far too much makeup for her liking and curling their hair into overly elaborate styles, making her feel very glad she had insisted on doing her own. They were impressively efficient, though, and in less than twenty minutes, something unheard of in Kitty’s experience with her sisters, they were all dressed and ready and hurried out into the night.
A passenger wagon was waiting for them and they climbed in, joining a dozen other women already waiting inside. As the wagon trundled around the perimeter track, the women chatted animatedly, speaking far too quickly for Kitty to have any hope of understanding any of it, although she didn’t care too much, she was enjoying just watching them; there was so much gesticulation going on that it was almost as if they were putting on a puppet show.
The wagon took them to another air base about half an hour away. This one had smaller hangars and Kitty thought she recognised it from the reconnaissance photographs as being home to a couple of Italian fighter squadrons. It was in more or less the right place, about fifteen miles north of the main airship base, near Caltagirone, one of the larger Sicilian towns.
She sat up and pressed her face to the window, wanting to get a closer look at the Italian operation and machines, but they didn’t go onto the base itself. Instead they went past the main entrance and turned onto a track that went around the outside of the perimeter fence. Once past the hangars and other service buildings they came to a secondary, smaller entrance round the back of the barracks buildings and there they turned away from the airfield and onto a gravel driveway.
Kitty couldn’t help but stare in awe as their destination came into sight. Much like Bagshot Hall, the airfield had been built in the grounds of a stately home. However, instead of the quintessentially English mansion, this one had a sprawling Roman villa as its centrepiece and it and its grounds had been dressed up to create a fantasy setting, like something out of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
The driveway was lined by cypress trees, each of which was hung with hundreds of tiny electric lights, creating a magical passageway at the end of which a spray fountain spread its wings, the high plumes of water creating shimmering rainbows as the tiny water droplets drifted inexorably earthwards, shrouding the faerie world behind it in mystery. Beyond, two immensely powerful anti-aircraft searchlights thrust two thick, seemingly solid columns into the sky, creating a gateway that visitors must brave if they would have their audience with the Queen, Titania. But, even if they plucked up the courage to pass through, there was no guarantee that entry would be granted, because rank upon rank of soldiers in burnished and shining bronze armour, holding aloft flaming torches, stood guard on either side of the entrance to the house itself.
The Italians had managed to create something wondrous in the middle of a world that had turned very ugly and Kitty found tears in her eyes as once again the realisation that she couldn’t share it with Gwen sprang unwanted into her mind.
There were a dozen or more vehicles parked unobtrusively to one side in the shadows, including several wagons much like the one that had brought them, and quite a few private autocars, among them a familiar red sports autocar, but the wagon didn’t join them. Instead it went around the fountain, passing through the spray, then stopped in the centre of the driveway, directly opposite the villa.
The women looked at each other, wondering what was happening, but then the door opened and the colonnello boarded. He stood at the front of the bus, searching the faces of the passengers until he found Kitty.
He gave her a smile that brought forth at least a couple of sighs from the women around her and held out his hand. ‘The guest of honour is here at last. Please?’
Conscious of the envious glances being thrown her by most of the women, Kitty made her way down the aisle and allowed him to hand her down onto the driveway, where a long red carpet had been laid, as if at a royal banquet.
The villa sat on top of a low mound with a wide stone stairway leading up to it and waiting for her at the bottom of them was a delegation of four officers. A couple were in air force uniforms similar to Colonnello Vitelli’s and another was in a dark blue uniform with white trim and a flat cap, but the last was in what could only be described as a Roman officer’s uniform, complete with red plume on a shining gold helmet, red cape, leather kilt and an anatomically correct golden breastplate with exaggerated musculature and, of all things, nipples.
She’d thought the soldiers standing guard in front of the house were just wearing costumes, but apparently that was now the Italian army’s dress uniform. Unless, of course, the elderly man with scrawny legs and hairy toes in his leather sandals had actually chosen to dress that way.
Vitelli brought her to a halt in front of the group and saluted the senior air force officer, who was a dignified white-haired man in his sixties, with so many medals on his chest and gold on his shoulders and cap that it was a wonder he could stand.
‘Aerial Officer Wright, may I present our host for the evening, Generale De Luca, commander of the Legione Aerea forces here on Sicily. Generale, this is Aerial Officer Wright of Misfit Squadron. ’
The man smiled and gave her a small bow. ‘Welcome, Aerial Officer Wright.’
‘Please, I’m not in uniform. Call me Kitty, or Miss Wright if you feel you have to.’
De Luca inclined his head in agreement. ‘Very well, Kitty. And you must call me Giovanni.’ He smiled widely, then turned to indicate the other men, who nodded in turn as he introduced them. ‘My second in command, Generale Mancini. My counterpart in the navy, Ammiraglio Costa. And the overall commander of the Imperial Italian forces here on Sicily, Generale Jilani.’
He introduced the army officer in the Roman uniform last and the man stepped forwards to offer his arm to Kitty.
‘Would you allow me to escort you, Miss Wright?’
Vitelli shifted at Kitt
y’s side and she glanced at him. He had obviously hoped to enter the party in triumph with her on his arm as his trophy and was looking quite miffed to have rank pulled on him by the army general. Kitty flashed him one of her most winning smiles, which brightened his expression somewhat, then turned back to Generale Jilani. ‘I’d be delighted, Generale.’
The fact that the elderly man had chosen to call her “Miss” made it quite obvious that he was used to the manners of the past and she adjusted her behaviour to match, taking his arm as if they were entering a ball.
Despite being in his seventies or possibly eighties, there was nothing infirm about Jilani and his arm was solid corded muscle beneath her hand as he escorted her through the searchlight gateway then slowly, but steadily, up the stairs towards the villa.
When their feet touched the top step, the ranks of legionaries thrust their torches aloft as a fanfare blared out on both sides from soldiers holding huge curled brass horns straight out of the history books.
Kitty jumped, startled and squeaked before she could stop herself; she was used to guns and explosions, but not sudden assaults by musical instruments.
The old general chortled in delight, but not unkindly, and leaned in close to speak in her ear. ‘Sometimes there are distinct advantages to being half-deaf, Miss Wright; it would not be dignified for someone of my rank and position to have a heart attack every time a few trumpets play.’
Kitty chuckled, not at all offended, but then her breath caught in her throat as they passed through the wide doorway and into the atrium where the party was being held.
Jilani brought her to a halt just inside, both so that she could take in the spectacle and also so that she could be seen by the hundreds of people waiting for them. For her.
The generale had managed to let go of her without her noticing and he took a step back, leaving her completely alone in the limelight, as a brass band, stationed near the back of the room, broke out into the national anthem of the United Federation of American States. She cursed him under her breath, even as she kept her smile firmly in place and held herself to attention.
She would have thought the Italians would have hard feelings towards her, after all, the Misfits, and the Hal Far Fighter Force before them, had sent a lot of their pilots to meet the Dark Scythesman, but all she saw on the faces gathered in the room was respect for the anthem being played and anticipation of a good night ahead. There was nothing of hatred or resentment that an enemy should be treated so well and she relaxed ever so slightly, knowing she wouldn’t have to suffer through the veiled insults and whispering behind her back that she’d had to in the formal occasions she’d been forced to attend back home.
Unlike her sisters, Kitty didn’t enjoy being the centre of attention, but thankfully the band only played the short version of the Sousa march before Jilani reclaimed her arm and led her forwards, as the men and women applauded.
‘Do you dance, Miss Wright?’
Kitty grimaced; she enjoyed dancing and had been told she had a talent for it by her teachers, but balls had also been more her sisters’ style. ‘I have been known to.’
‘Just as well.’
When the two of them reached the centre of the floor, the band began to play again and Kitty sighed in relief when she heard a waltz, something even she couldn’t mess up.
The generale moved her across the floor, competently and elegantly, but the climb up the stairs had taken its toll and he almost immediately began to tire. He was saved from making an embarrassing spectacle of himself, though, when they were joined by the other senior officers and their partners, the colonnello leading Luisa, the woman who had said he was handsome when he’d dropped Kitty off. That was the signal for the rest of the couples to swarm onto the floor and gave Jilani the opportunity to retire gracefully from the dance floor. He led Kitty to a long bar at the side of the room and got them both drinks, before turning with her to watch the dancing.
Kitty was more interested in their spectacular surroundings, though. The anachronistic nature of the two-thousand-year-old Roman army uniforms among the modern military ones was reflected perfectly in the setting, where the past had been juxtaposed with the present: the atrium had once been open to the sky, but at some point it had been covered over by an immense glass ceiling, the large panels supported by entwined wrought iron in the shape of an enormous cog wheel. A single massive golden chandelier hung from the centre of the wheel, illuminating the dancers with the soft light of hundreds of candles. Now that she had a chance to look properly, Kitty noticed that the floor they spun around was actually a giant mosaic, as she imagined it would have been when the villa had been built. The spiralling pattern of tiles was entirely modern, though, and, instead of ceramic tiles, it appeared to be made up of gold, brass, a shiny black stone like obsidian, and some kind of crystal which sparkled in the candlelight, an ode to Italian extravagance as it had been before the war. The rest of the atrium retained much of its original form, however; the smooth walls were painted in red and gold and the walkways around the outside of the slightly sunken mosaic still had their terracotta awnings, despite the glass and iron roof rendering them unnecessary.
Kitty tore her eyes from the sight and turned to Jilani. ‘Do you always throw such extravagant parties?’
He shook his head. ‘No. This is all to honour you - a gallant enemy.’
Kitty sipped at her drink, a superb Italian white wine which Derek would probably have had a fit over, then set it aside regretfully. ‘Thank you, but I don’t think I’ll be able to enjoy myself very much; I am after all a prisoner.’
‘On that matter, we have already been contacted by your superior, Commodore Campbell, and your exchange will be arranged soon. So, until then you must please consider yourself not a prisoner, but rather our honoured guest.’
She blinked at him in surprise, then slowly grinned. ‘In that case.’ She picked the wine up again. ‘Cheers!’ She saluted him with the glass then took a long drink.
He laughed and did the same, before turning back to the room with her.
The mosaic floor where the dancing was taking place was a foot below the walkways around the edge of the room - it had probably been a pool at some point - so Kitty had a good view of the people dancing and she wasn’t surprised to find that, as well as women in civilian clothing, there were a good few in uniform. Unlike Prussia, Italy didn’t forbid its women from joining the armed forces, they did however keep them firmly in support roles and away from any real fighting. They would never have a chance to show how well they could pilot an aircraft, for example, which was a shame; Tanya had apparently never flown an aircraft before the war but she had quickly become one of Misfit Squadron’s best pilots, rivalling even Chastity and Abby. Would one of the vivacious women she’d shared the wagon ride with proven to be just as talented if she’d been given the chance?
She spotted Luisa and Vitelli in the crowd. The woman was enjoying herself immensely and it looked like the colonnello was too. She smiled; perhaps, because of her capture, there might be a few romances started that night and it looked like she would be able to resume her own in just a few days.
The thought of Gwen brought a warm feeling that had nothing to do with the alcohol, but it was banished almost immediately when she spotted a black uniform in amongst the shades of blue and shining breastplates. She remembered what Drake had said about Gruber’s dress uniform and almost panicked at the thought of him being at the party, but then saw that there were a few other men in similar uniforms scattered about the room. She didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed them before; they were making a lot of noise and a few of them looked like they were already drunk. She frowned at one, a portly man who was laughing while he swayed unsteadily on his feet, pawing at an unfortunate woman in a dark blue uniform who he had trapped up against one of the columns. He caught her staring and shot her a look of such hatred that it made her reel back and bump into Jilani.
The generale looked at her in concern. ‘Miss Wright?�
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‘Sorry,’ she smiled at him. ‘I was distracted. Who are the men in black?’
Jilani’s nose turned up. ‘They are le Camicie Nere, the black shirts, the Emperor’s bully boys. They are the ones who make sure that everybody does what they can to realise his vision of a new Italian Empire and punish those who resist.’
Kitty shuddered at the thought of being forced to conform to a megalomaniac’s whims; it went against every value of freedom that she had grown up with and fought against for years. She smiled sympathetically at the man. ‘So, now I know why you wear that ridiculous uniform without complaint.’
The man laughed, but then stopped abruptly and looked around in concern. ‘Please,’ he hissed, ‘don’t say things like that too loudly; even as a foreigner and my guest you are not beyond their reach.’
‘And you? Are you beyond their reach?’ Even as she asked the question, Kitty knew the answer - the man wouldn’t have looked so worried that they’d been overheard if he wasn’t accountable to the black shirts himself.
The man brushed aside the question by putting his glass on the bar and holding his hand out to her. ‘I am recovered now, would you dance with me a little more?’
Kitty knew when not to press her luck and gave him a small, but extremely elegant curtsy - one of the few things her teachers had been satisfied with. ‘Of course.’
She took his hand and allowed him to lead her back onto the dance floor. However, Jilani only danced for a couple of minutes before pleading that he needed to rest. He thanked her for “humouring an old man” then led her to the side of the floor and handed her off to Giovanni De Luca, the generale in charge of the Legione Aerea, who bowed to her and immediately spun her back onto the floor for a quickstep.
The Maltese Defence Page 25
