Valentina turned and smiled. This time her smile was wide and full of humor. “Mamma must think very highly of you,” she said. “She doesn’t give her precious soap away to just anyone.” Thomas was shocked that her mother allowed her to walk alone with two strange men. She must indeed think very highly of them. Valentina held out the little parcel. “Take it and enjoy it. Make it last.” Thomas took it, once again irritated that Jack was standing by, about to spoil the moment with a bad joke, no doubt.
“Will you join us?” Jack asked, grinning mischievously.
Valentina blushed and shook her head. “I will leave you to bathe in private,” she replied gracefully.
“Don’t go!” Thomas gasped, aware that he sounded desperate. He cleared his throat. “Wait until we’re in, then stay and talk to us. We know nothing of Incantellaria. Perhaps you can tell us a little about it.”
“I used to sit and watch my brothers,” she said, pointing to the bank that lay in a large sun trap. “They splashed so much.”
“Then sit there for us,” Thomas insisted.
“We haven’t had the company of a woman for a long time. Certainly not one so lovely to look at,” Jack added, used to charming the girls. Under normal circumstances Thomas would have stood aside and let him woo her with his irreverent wit and raffish charm. After all, it was Jack to whom the girls were always drawn, not him. But this time, he had no intention of letting him dominate.
“Mamma wouldn’t like to think of me alone in the company of bathing men.”
“We are British officers,” said Thomas, trying his best to look the part by standing tall and nodding his head formally. It was what Freddie would have done. “You are in very safe hands, signorina.”
She smiled coyly and walked over to sit on the bank, averting her face while they undressed. When she heard their splashes she turned around.
“It’s splendid!” Jack enthused, gasping as the cold water shrank his ardor. “Just what I needed, I suppose!”
Thomas rubbed the soap between his hands and washed his arms. He was aware that her eyes were upon him. They were brown, but in the sunlight they appeared almost yellowy green, the color of honey. When he looked up, she smiled at him. He was sure it was flirtatious. When he turned, he saw that Jack had ducked under the water. He knew then that she had smiled for him alone.
Once bathed, they sat in their underwear drying off. Thomas would have liked to have drawn Valentina there, with the sun in her hair and on her face, her head tilting forward, looking up at them from under her brow so that she didn’t have to squint. She seemed shy. Thomas and Jack talked for her. They asked her questions about the town. She had grown up there. “It’s the sort of town where everyone knows everyone else,” she said, and Thomas was sure that even if it were the size of London, everyone would know who she was.
Once dry, they dressed and returned up the narrow path, refreshed after their swim. Valentina fired them both and gave them the feeling of having boundless energy and enthusiasm for life.
When they entered the house, the smell of cooking filled their nostrils and roused their hunger. Immacolata led them through the rooms to a vine-covered terrace fragrant with jasmine. On the grass beyond, a few chickens pecked at the ground and a couple of goats were tethered to a tree. The table was laid. A basket of bread sat in the middle, beside a brass agliara of olive oil. Lattarullo had returned to town, promising to collect them after dinner. He had suggested they return to La Marmella the following morning with a team of men to retrieve the rest of the haul. Thomas doubted there would be much to collect; he didn’t trust Lattarullo any more than he would trust a greedy dog to guard a bone. It didn’t bother him. He was fed up patrolling the coast. The action was up north now, in Monte Cassino. How could he, in his small boat, with only a handful of men, compete with the bandits? Corruption was as ingrained into the culture as machismo. He glanced across at Valentina’s profile and decided that, whatever happened, he would contrive reasons to stay for as long as possible.
Immacolata instructed them to take their places for grace. She spoke in a low, solemn tone and wound her fingers around the cross that hung about her neck. “Padre nostro, figlio di Dio…” Once she had finished, Thomas pulled out Valentina’s chair for her. She turned her soft brown eyes to him and smiled her thanks. He wanted to hear her speak again but her mother presided at the table and it would have been impolite to have ignored her.
“My son Falco was a partisan, Signor Arbuckle,” she said. “Now there is no fighting to be done here. With four sons it is not surprising that my family almost represents every faction of this war. Thankfully, I do not have a communist. I could not tolerate that!” She filled their glasses with Marsala, a sweet fortified wine, then raised hers in a toast. “To your good health, gentlemen, and to peace. May the good Lord grant us peace.” Thomas and Jack raised their glasses and Thomas added,
“To peace and your good health, Signora Fiorelli. Thank you for this fine meal and for your kind hospitality.”
“I don’t have much, but I do see life,” she replied. “I am old now and have seen more than you will ever see, I am sure. What is your business here?”
“Nothing serious. Some armaments left behind by the retreating German army. Although there is not much of it left.”
Immacolata nodded gravely. “Bandits,” she said. “They are everywhere. But they know better than to rob me. Even the all-powerful Lupo Bianco would have trouble penetrating my small fortress. Even him.”
“I hope you are safe, signora. You have a beautiful daughter.” Thomas felt himself flush as he referred to Valentina. Suddenly her well-being was more important to him than anything else in the world. Valentina lowered her eyes. Immacolata seemed pleased with his comment and her face creased into the first smile she had deigned to give.
“God has been kind, Signor Arbuckle. But beauty can be a curse in times of war. I do what I can to protect her. While we are in the company of British officers we need not fear for our safety.” She lifted the basket of bread. “Eat. You never know when you will eat again.” Thomas helped himself to a piece of coarse bread and dipped it in olive oil. Although chewy it tasted good. Immacolata ate with gusto. She had obviously gone to great pains to cook the pasta, which she had prepared with a fish sauce. There was very little food around and yet, as at the trattoria that morning, she had managed to give them the kind of feast they might have expected before the war. As if inspired by the banquet, her conversation turned to the golden days her family enjoyed under Imperial Rome.
“They were civilized times. I try to bring a little of that civilization into my house regardless of what is going on in the rest of the country, for my daughter.” She then proceeded to tell them about her ancestor who was a count: “He fought with Caracciolo in the war against Nelson and the Bourbons, you know.” Thomas listened with half an ear; the rest of his senses were focused on the silent Valentina.
“How long will you be staying?” she asked when dinner was over and they sat feeling drowsy with wine and full bellies.
“As long as it takes to shift the arms,” Thomas replied.
“There are many more, you know. The hills are full of guns and grenades. It is your job to make sure that they don’t fall into the wrong hands, is it not?”
“Of course,” Thomas replied, frowning.
“Then you must stay. This place may look enchanting, but there is evil in every shadow. People have nothing, you see. Nothing. They will kill for a morsel of food. Life has little value nowadays.”
“We will stay as long as we are needed,” he said confidently, although he knew that there was very little he could do against the sort of evil of which she spoke.
While the setting sun singed the sky pink, they sat chatting beneath the vine. Immacolata lit candles, around which moths and mosquitoes fluttered, their tiny wings ever closer to the lethal flame. Thomas and Jack smoked, both acutely aware of Valentina. When she spoke, they listened. Even Jack, who understood little
of what was said, sat back to let her soft, beautifully articulated voice run over him like a delicious trickle of syrup. Jack had to let Thomas dominate the conversation; his Italian was far more fluent. However, he did have his lucky charm and, when he felt that he was disappearing with the sun, he let Brendan scamper up his sleeve to sit on his shoulder. As he predicted, the squirrel caught her attention and to the little creature’s relief she didn’t show the slightest intention of eating him. “Ah, che bello!” she sighed, stretching out her hand. Thomas watched her slender brown fingers caress the ginger fur and couldn’t help imagining those same fingers caressing him. He didn’t catch Jack’s eye in case his friend raised a suggestive eyebrow. But Jack was also taken with her loveliness and was well aware that his lewd jokes had no place at that table.
At about ten thirty the car arrived in a cloud of dust. “That will be Lattarullo,” said Thomas. He wished he had had the opportunity to talk to Valentina, but Immacolata had dominated the conversation. Valentina hadn’t seemed to mind. Perhaps with so many brothers she was used to being in the shade.
Lattarullo appeared on the terrace, his brow glistening and his beige shirt stained with sweat. His belly had swollen in the heat like a dead pig and mosquitoes buzzed around his head. He was an unpleasant sight. He informed Thomas and Jack that the rest of the crew had danced all evening in the trattoria. “The singer has entertained the whole town!” he enthused. Judging by the sweat on his shirt the fat carabiniere had been dancing too.
Thomas felt a wave of panic. When would he see Valentina again? He thanked Immacolata for her hospitality, then turned to her daughter. Valentina’s dark eyes looked at him with intensity, as if she could read his thoughts. The corners of her mouth curled into a small, shy smile and her cheeks flushed. Thomas searched for words, any words, but none came. He lost his train of thought in her gaze. The sun had disappeared behind the sea and the light from the candles seemed to turn the brown of her eyes to gold. “Perhaps we will have the pleasure of seeing you again,” he said finally and his voice was a rasp. Valentina was about to reply when her mother interrupted.
“Why don’t you come for the festa di Santa Benedetta tomorrow night?” she suggested. “In the little chapel of San Pasquale. You will witness a miracle and perhaps God will grant you luck.” She toyed with the cross about her neck with rough hands. “Valentina will accompany you,” she added.
“Mamma has a role to play; I will be alone,” Valentina said, lowering her eyes as if embarrassed to ask. “I would very much like you to come.”
“It will be a pleasure to accompany you,” said Thomas, enchanted by her diffidence. This was one excursion he would take alone.
Once in the car Jack burst into commentary. “That Valentina is a real smasher!” he said. “Even Brendan was impressed and he’s very hard to please!”
“I’ve lost my heart, Jack,” Thomas announced gravely.
“Then you had better find it,” he replied with a chuckle. “We won’t be hanging around for long.”
“But I must see her again.”
“Then what?” Jack now pulled the same fish face as Lattarullo and raised his hands to the heavens. “Nothing will come of it, sir.”
“Perhaps not. But I have to know.”
“Now isn’t the moment to fall in love. Certainly not with an Italian. Besides, her mother gives me the creeps.”
“It’s not the mother I’m interested in.”
“They say one should always look at the mother before making a play for the daughter.”
“Valentina’s beauty will never fade, Jack. It’s made to last. Even you can see that.”
“She is extraordinarily beautiful,” he conceded. “Do what you must, but don’t come crying on my shoulder when it all ends in tears. I have far more important things to think about. If I don’t get laid tonight I’m going to bugger Brendan!”
But when they arrived back in town neither felt like dancing. Instead they wandered along the sea front. A couple of old men sat in their boats mending sails, their wrinkled, toothless faces lit up by hurricane lamps. On closer inspection it was clear that they were using stolen tapestries for their purpose. Someone sang “Torna a Sorrento” to the accompaniment of a concertina, his doleful voice echoing eerily through the streets. The sky blue shutters were all closed and Thomas couldn’t help but wonder what went on behind them, whether the occupants were asleep or peeping through the cracks. Reluctant to return to the boat, they ambled up one of the narrow alleyways. A young woman appeared. Jack’s face lit up. She was one of the girls he had admired that morning. With long curly hair and brown skin she was comely with a loose, dreamy smile.
“Come and see what Claretta can do for you. You look weary,” she purred as they approached. “Italian women are famous for our hospitality. Let me show you. Come.”
Jack turned to his friend. “I’ll be five minutes,” he said.
“You’re mad.”
“You’re the madman. At least I’ll come out with my heart intact.”
“But your cock might not be.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“I don’t want a sick number one. I can’t replace you.”
“A man needs a fuck. I’m sure I’m going blind. A blind ‘Jimmy’ is no use to you either! Besides, I’ll be helping the economy. Everyone needs to earn a living.”
Thomas watched as Jack disappeared into the house. He leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette. Alone in the empty street he thought once again of Valentina. He would see her the following evening for the ceremony of Santa Benedetta. He couldn’t bring himself to think further than that. If he could sketch her then he would have something to remember her by. To take away with him. He felt sick in the stomach with longing. He had read love poems and the works of Shakespeare but never believed that such intensity of feeling really existed. Now he knew better.
A few minutes later Jack emerged with a large grin, still doing up his fly. Thomas dropped the butt of his cigarette onto the ground and scrunched it into the stones with his foot. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go back to the boat.”
In the morning they awoke to a magical sight. The MTB was adorned with flowers. Red and pink geraniums, irises, carnations, and lilies. They were carefully woven around the railings and scattered like confetti on the deck. Rigs, who had been on watch, had fallen asleep. He had seen nothing but the large audience in Covent Garden which had applauded his dream rendition of Rigoletto. Thomas should have been furious. To fall asleep on watch was a serious offense and one which could cost them all their lives. But the sight of those flowers, bright, vibrant, and innocent, softened his anger. He thought of Valentina, of the evening ahead, and he slapped the offending sailor on his back and said, “If you catch the criminals who did this, sleep with them at once.”
9
T hat morning, as predicted, they reached the barn to find the arms were gone. Lattarullo groaned and shrugged. “Bandits! We should have come earlier,” he said, shaking his head. Then, in a bid to win their favor, for he knew he was the major suspect, he told them of more dumps he had just been informed of. Thomas laughed. It was what he had expected. After all, this was Italy. What’s more, he needed an excuse to stay another day and Lattarullo had given him that excuse. He patted the carabiniere on the back. “Then we will have to find the others before Lupo’s men do, shan’t we?”
Once Lattarullo had gone, the two men ambled off to the trattoria for a drink. They found Rigs and the others sitting in the sunshine surrounded by girls. Rigs only knew opera Italian but this seemed to satisfy the girls, who were all laughing with him, caressing his cheeks and stroking his hair, much to the chagrin of the more handsome of the crew members.
“Who said he’d never win a woman with his singing?” said Thomas with a chuckle. “I’d wager he could have any one of those girls he wanted.”
“If he hasn’t already,” added Jack. “Here I come to break up the party with my lucky charm.” Brendan was now permanently per
ched on his shoulder.
“This could be interesting,” mused Thomas. “The voice versus the rat!”
“How many times do I have to tell you, he’s not a rat!” snapped Jack.
“A rat with a tail.”
“Ah, but what he can do with that tail is nobody’s business,” he said with a leer.
Thomas screwed up his nose. “I don’t wish to know what you put that poor animal through.”
“Let’s just say he’s definitely a breast man!”
“Christ, there’s no end to your perversions!”
Immacolata didn’t appear for lunch. According to the waiter she was preparing herself for the festa di Santa Benedetta, a highly religious ceremony that required all her energies. However, she had suggested they eat ricci di mare. Thomas and Jack had never eaten sea urchins, and the thought of swallowing those shiny innards made their own innards churn. When the dish was put before them, one of the girls showed them how it was done. With expert hands she cut one in half, squeezed lemon onto the still quivering insides, then scooped them out with a spoon, straight into her wide, open mouth. “Che buono!” she enthused, licking the lipstick off her lips.
“I’ll tell her what else she can put in that mouth of hers,” quipped Jack with a smirk. The sailors guffawed uproariously and the bewildered girl, not understanding what he had said, laughed too.
Soon they were the town entertainment once again. It made Thomas uncomfortable to eat in front of a herd of salivating onlookers. After a while il sindacco appeared, starched and smelling of cologne, to herd them away as a farmer would his cows. Flicking his fingers importantly he summoned a waiter. “Ricci di mare,” he said, swallowing the saliva that had gathered in his mouth at the sight of the Englishmen’s plates.
As the sindacco carefully spooned his first mouthful, Lattarullo appeared with a stiff envelope of crisp white paper. Thomas took it and frowned. His name was written in ink in the most exquisite handwriting. He spent a few minutes staring at it, trying to guess whom it was from. Lattarullo knew, but he didn’t say. He didn’t want to spoil the Englishman’s surprise. He stood in the heat, dabbing his grubby brow with a rag, longing for a nap. “For God’s sake, sir, open it!” said Jack impatiently, as curious as he. Thomas tore the envelope and pulled out an elegant card with the name Marchese Ovidio di Montelimone engraved on the top in navy blue. Beneath, in that exquisite hand, was an invitation to tea at his home, Palazzo Montelimone.
Last Voyage of the Valentina Page 11
