by Gill Vickery
Jade was hustled outside. She wasn’t even given the chance to look back and make sure Mum was all right before she found herself on the way into Borgo Sant’Angelo. ‘I wish Amber was here,’ she said.
‘I know,’ Dad said, ‘me too, but you can tell her all about it on your next visit to the hospital.’
It wasn’t the same and Dario would probably be with her, which would definitely mean Amber wouldn’t be paying attention to anyone but him.
Caterina parked in the piazza and they went into the bar-cafe. Jade and Dad sat at the old-fashioned bar while Teo ordered and Caterina chatted to the locals. When Dad’s coffee arrived, he sipped it and a big smile spread over his face. ‘What’s this called?’
‘Caffè corretto,’ Teo said.
Dad repeated it. ‘I approve of that, coffee corrected with booze.’ He swirled the coffee round and sniffed at the grappa. ‘How’d you say, “I’d like another”?’
‘Ancora,’ Caterina said.
Dad pronounced it perfectly with no trace of his midlands accent.
‘How come you’re up for learning Italian properly, Dad? You never would at home,’ Jade asked.
‘No need. I picked up enough to know what was going on. I didn’t need to learn to speak it just ’cause your nonno said I ought to. Now . . .’ Dad waved his arm in a sweep taking in the bar, the town, the whole of Tuscany. ‘. . . I need to ask about the food, the history . . .’
‘And il calcio,’ Teo said.
‘Definitely the football.’
They chatted away, filling up the minutes until Caterina got a phone call to say it was time to go back to the Villa dei Fiori. All four of them were on edge as they went into the kitchen. Sofia was tasting a sauce. ‘You haven’t put in enough oregano.’
‘Really?’ Mum added half a handful of chopped herbs. ‘How’s that?’
Sofia tasted again. ‘Better. You are a good cook and I will teach you how to become even better.’ She waved the spoon towards Caterina, Jade and Dad. ‘Make yourselves useful, we have much to prepare for Sunday’s Easter feast.’
‘Sunday?’ Dad said. ‘That’s not for four days! How big’s this feast going to be?’
‘Huge,’ Mum said with a smile as wide as Caterina’s. ‘It’s at Mrs Baxendall’s house and everybody’s going including the Colliers. People are coming from miles around.’
That was a big change; Mum didn’t like large groups and always made excuses for keeping away from them. Dad was grinning all over his face too. Jade had never seen her parents this openly happy and she realised with a jolt that it wasn’t only Mum who’d made big sacrifices for Nonno, Dad had too. That was what he’d been trying to tell her. While Roberto had idolised his adoring granddaughters he’d cast a long dark shadow over many others down the years. Now the shadow was receding and Mum and Dad and Sofia were laughing, working together, at ease with one another.
There was even more laughter when Dario arrived with a man Jade hadn’t seen before.
‘Who’s that?’ Dad asked Jade.
‘I think it’s Carlo, Caterina’s husband. He looks like the man in the photos she showed me.’
There was a lot of hugging, kissing and loud talking and within moments Jade and Dad were swept up in introductions while the kitchen rang with the sound of chinking glasses and the gurgle of wine and water being poured. Jade leaned back against the wall trying not to be noticed. It was unreal: Mum chatting animatedly with the half-sister she’d only just met and whom she’d silently resented till now; Dad, who’d always refused to speak Italian on principle, scooping up the language like a five-year-old let loose at a sweetie counter. She’d never seen her parents this happy.
Why don’t I feel happy? What’s wrong with me? she thought.
She brooded on her restless unhappiness all through the day and late into the evening. She tried reading, listening to music – nothing worked.
There was a knock at her door and Dad poked his head around it. Jade waved him in as the city bells rang midnight. He sat on the end of her bed. ‘What’s up?’
‘I can’t get my head round Mum being friends with Sofia – cooking with her like they’ve been friends since forever. It’s freaky.’
‘They’re finding out they’ve got things in common, especially that their father hurt them and their mothers. Now he can’t hurt anyone so don’t you go and spoil it for your mum by making a fuss.’
Was she the only one who still believed something good about Nonno? It felt to Jade as if her whole family had turned their backs on her beloved grandfather. ‘It’s . . .’
Dad shook Jade gently by the shoulders. ‘Don’t say it’s not fair. Life isn’t fair. It wasn’t fair there was a war. It wasn’t fair I didn’t earn enough from doing what I loved to support my family and had to get a dead-end job in a factory. It wasn’t fair I had to move into your granddad’s house and listen to the miserable old bugger complaining for twenty years but, Hey! That’s life and you just gotta live it the best way you can.’
‘That’s Xtreme Measures!’
‘Yeah – poetry, isn’t it?’
Jade smiled.
‘That’s better. Lie down now and go to sleep.’ Dad tucked the covers round her as though she were still a little girl. ‘It’s time to forget the past, love, and look to the future. Remember, that’s what the partisans fought for – a future for their country. Don’t let that sour old man cheat you out of yours.’
Dad kissed her goodnight and switched off the light. Though she still wasn’t happy exactly, she felt better than before and managed to fall asleep.
Nico didn’t sleep well either. He’d got out all his notes on E. J. Holm and pored over them till one in the morning. In the end, he’d pushed the journals and books under his bed and gone to sleep. He dreamed that he went to Mrs Baxendall’s chapel. It was dark and lit by guttering candles. Mrs Bax was there and she laughed when she saw Nico. She pointed to the body swinging from the scaffolding. It swayed, slowly beginning to swing round. Before Nico could see the features, Mrs Bax cried, ‘This is E. J. Holm – you shall never see his face,’ and slashed the rope. The body fell on Nico, crushing him on the stone flags.
He woke in a sweat to the sound of bells chiming six. He staggered into the kitchen and made a cup of instant coffee. ‘I’m going to find out who you are if it kills me,’ he hissed at the faceless E. J. Holm. Then he remembered the end of the dream and wished he hadn’t said it.
There was another question too, one which I didn’t dwell on because I was afraid of what the answer might be. When I could no longer avoid thinking about why my wife never visited me I realised that I had known the answer all along: she was afraid to look me in the face. I didn’t blame her; I could barely look at myself in the mirror.
Shortly before my discharge from the hospital, my commanding officer paid a visit. I was sitting by the window overlooking a sloping lawn with a single birch tree in the centre. I stood. He gestured for me to sit and drew up the chair opposite.
The time had come to ask the question. ‘You’ve come about my wife, Rebekah?’ I said.
He nodded.
‘She’s refusing to see me, isn’t she?’
‘It isn’t that, Wolfe.’
‘Oh?’ There was only one other reason I could think of and I knew I was right as soon as the Major began to speak: ‘I’m sorry . . .’
‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’
‘She was killed in an air raid, just after you arrived here.’
‘My daughter too?’
‘No, she’s completely unharmed. At the moment she’s quite safe, evacuated to the country. She’s being well looked after by a nice couple.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Have you any questions?’
‘Not now, sir.’
The Major extended his hand. I shook it. ‘Good luck,’ he said and left.
&
nbsp; I sat and looked at the solitary tree until the nurse came in with supper.
CHAPTER XXIII
‘NO MAKE-UP?’ MUM asked.
‘No, not tonight,’ Nico said. He’d decided to be himself at Mrs Bax’s party.
Mum carried on blow-drying her hair, a small smile of satisfaction curling round her lips. It won’t last, Nico thought as he sat on the end of her bed, not when she hears what I’ve got to tell her. ‘Mum, I’ve been thinking.’
‘Oh dear!’ Mum switched off the hairdryer and looked expectantly at Nico.
‘You know I’ve been going to the Bargello a lot the last few days.’
‘Yes, doing those marvellous drawings of the Baptistery statues.’
‘I wasn’t just drawing.’
‘I know you’ve spent a lot of time with Jade while Amber’s been in hospital.’
Nico shrugged that off. It was true he and Jade had talked for hours, mostly about how Jade was upset with what she’d discovered about Roberto, and Nico with what he hadn’t discovered about E. J. Holm. They’d also discussed the bombshell Nico was about to drop on Mum.
‘I meant I’ve been talking a lot to Edoardo Rossi, the man who’s restoring Mrs Baxendall’s frescoes. He showed me round the conservation programmes in the museum.’
Mum waited expectantly.
‘I asked how you trained for that kind of work.’
‘But . . .’
‘No “buts”, Mum, listen! After school, I’ve got to do four years’ Art History at uni here and be able to pass my exams in Italian.’
‘That sounds all right,’ Mum said cautiously.
‘When I’ve done that it’s another four years at the Liceo Classico.’
‘You’ll be twenty-six before you’re finished,’ Mum said faintly.
‘It’s only the same as if I did a PhD. There’s nothing to stop me working as well; people do.’
Mum examined her hairbrush closely.
‘According to Edoardo the money’s good,’ Nico tried. Mum could boast about that to her book club. ‘And you can become a professor and head up a university faculty.’ She could boast about that to Dad. ‘What d’you think?’ Nico tensed for his mother’s barrage of objections.
‘From what you’ve said about Mr Mowatt I think we’d better get you a tutor if you’re going to get your Italian up to scratch.’
‘You don’t mind?’
‘You needn’t sound so incredulous.’ Mum reached out and touched Nico’s cheek lightly. ‘Italy’s changed you.’ A wistful expression drifted across her face. ‘I’ve tried to ignore it and I can’t. It’s hard though – we’ve been together against the world for such a long time, just you and me.’
Her forlorn face brightened, her back straightened. ‘To hell with your father – to hell with me – it’s your life. Do what makes you happy – it’s the only thing that matters.’
James stuck his head round the door. ‘It’s time to leave – you’ll have to get a move on.’ He peered at Mum. ‘Your hair’s sticking up, Hattie, about here.’ He patted his head to show her where.
‘And to hell with you too!’ Mum threw the hairbrush at him. It missed and bounced off the wall. She burst into tears and ran into the bathroom.
James stared at the brush lying on the carpet as if he’d just discovered a small dead thing. ‘What was that all about?’
‘Mum needs you,’ Nico said. It was the first time he’d admitted that and it wasn’t lost on James. He went after Mum, punching Nico awkwardly on the shoulder as he passed. Nico went to his own room, shutting the door behind him.
Although they arrived early Nico was amazed to see how many people were already at Mrs Baxendall’s party. Greetings flew from all corners of the dusky garden: ‘Ciao! Buona sera! Hello!’ There were young people and old and people in between; a sprinkling of professori and dottori; many signore and signori; a bishop and a priest and a lot of children who ran off as soon as the introductions were over and disappeared into the darkening garden. Alec was there too and he waved at Nico. James took it as a cue to join the group. Mum and Nico exchanged wry glances and followed him. Nico made the introductions and the partisans carried on with their reminiscing; out of politeness they spoke in English.
‘Do you remember,’ Gaetano said, ‘how we honoured Potente’s dying wish to fly his red shirt over Florence when it was free?’
There were murmurs from the group. ‘It was the 7th September, 1944,’ Professoressa Mussi said, ‘in the courtyard of the Fortezza da Bassa. It was packed with partisans and their families.’
Signora Minardi nodded. ‘A fourteen-year-old partisan boy sounded his trumpet to announce the arrival of the Allied commander. Everyone stood to attention and the Italian tricolore flew together with the American flag.’
‘And alongside it flew the flag of the Arno Division topped by the red shirt of Potente.’ Gaetano’s eyes shone with an emotion that Nico knew he’d never be able to understand. He wished that Jade were with him.
Teo brought Jade and her family to Mrs Baxendall’s house in the late afternoon while the last of the sun still loitered over the hills.
‘Welcome, welcome.’ Mrs Bax shepherded them through the house, slowly because Amber was walking with crutches. ‘We’re lucky to have a warm, late Easter. It means we can be outside till it gets too chilly.’
They joined a group made up of Sofia and Caterina and their family. Dario hurried over to Amber and sat her gently on a chair. Jade saw Nico with James and Hattie and a cluster of the old partisans including Signora Minardi, Gaetano and Alec. The Italians were all wearing red, white and green scarves, knotted to show the eagle motif at their throats. Jade went over to the group.
‘Buona sera,’ she said shyly. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking . . .’ She pointed. ‘Are those your brigade scarves?’
‘Yes indeed, we are the Uccello Band,’ the elderly priest said proudly. ‘Though we were a small band, we were an effective one.’
Gaetano barked a laugh.
‘He is il Falco,’ the priest said, ‘and I am Il Corvo.’
The falcon and the crow; they’d grown into their names, Jade thought, what with Gaetano’s beaky nose and the priest’s black vestments. ‘What was your name?’ she asked the Signora.
The other old people chuckled. ‘Ilaria was so small and thin we called her Il Passerotto, the little sparrow,’ Gaetano said.
‘You’re all codenamed after birds then,’ James said.
‘Apart from Il Lupo,’ Gaetano said. Murmurs and smiles rippled through the group.
‘Who’s he?’ Jade asked. ‘Why did you call him “the wolf” instead of a bird name?’
‘You’ve met him,’ Gaetano said with the nearest thing to a smile Jade had seen.
‘I have?’
‘He means me,’ Alec said. ‘As I worked with the brigade I had to have a partisan name. Since my surname’s Wolfe they called me Il Lupo.’
Gaetano drew on his cigarette and breathed the smoke out through his nose. ‘After the war, when he came to live here, he wanted to have a real Italian name. We chose Sandro for him. He has been our good friend for many years since then.’
‘We are all lucky to have lived so long,’ Alec said.
‘God watched over us,’ the priest added.
‘If you say so,’ the Signora said and Jade couldn’t help thinking she had a point.
‘I do say so,’ the priest said firmly and poured more wine into Ilaria Minardi’s glass. ‘Let us drink to that.’
The old partisans shared the toast, some with more enthusiasm than others.
Jade raised her glass to Nico and grinned.
‘What?’
She laughed and drew him away.
The dell was dotted with lanterns casting wavering shadows over the stone head making benevolent smiles flicker ove
r its mossy lips. Nico sat on a boulder, his arm around Jade. ‘What’s up?’ he asked, hugging her tightly.
‘Weren’t you listening to the oldies?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘Remember what they called Mrs Bax’s father.’
‘Sandro?’
Jade knocked gently on Nico’s forehead. ‘No, you dingbat – his code name, Il Lupo.’
‘The wolf? So?’
‘So his last name’s Wolfe and his first name’s Alec which might be short for Alexander. And his Italian friends called him Sandro, which is definitely short for Alessandro. Now,’ Jade said with exaggerated slowness, ‘what’s Alessandro Lupo mean in English?’
Nico made the connection. ‘Oh my God!’
‘The lights are on then.’
‘Cheeky cow!’ Nico kissed Jade. He ought to rush straight off and challenge Mrs Bax but somehow the kiss went on. In the end Jade pushed him away. ‘Not to be boring or anything, but shouldn’t you go and talk to Mrs Bax?’
Nico thought for a bit then said, ‘No,’ and leaned forward again.
Jade scooped up freezing water and threw it over Nico. ‘Cool off and go and talk to her! It is what you came to Italy for, isn’t it – to find out who E. J. Holm is?’
Jade was right. Nico went to find Mrs Bax. She was no longer in the garden and he went into the house. When he still couldn’t find her he went into the study. The computer showed several images of a hellebore. Nico went to have a closer look and noticed a small photo fixed to the side of the computer. It was the one Alec Wolfe had carried with him throughout the war. On the other side of the computer was another old black and white photo, of a youngish man in uniform. He was dark and good-looking, as Alec must once have been. Nico unpinned it and turned it over. An inscription on the back said, Captain Alexander Edward Jacob Wolfe – Daddy in childlike writing. Nico pinned the photo up again and sat in the swivel chair, spinning idly, looking at the pictures of Mrs Baxendall’s family, mother and child on one side of the computer, father on the other. A bit like my family, Nico thought, only I’ve got the Atlantic Ocean between my parents.
