“But…” stumbled Rachel.
Tomas reached for her trembling hands and squeezed them gently.
She took a deep breath. “But my insider contacts at the Italian army’s munitions stores, as well as relationships with informants such as teachers and priests, are invaluable. Especially in the regions where the Allies are struggling to gain hold. Those ears are on the ground and they will tell me everything I need to know. Everything you need to know.”
“The Allies have their own men—ones who have spent years honing skills. Your contacts are good, but I am not so sure they hold much weight. Everything has changed.”
“They don’t know the mountains like we do.” She crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side.
“They’re not going to listen to us,” Spina countered.
“Isn’t it worth a try? We all want the same thing.” Rachel’s speech had now morphed from hesitant to self-assured.
“Let me think about it and I’ll get back to you.” Spina looked from Rachel to Tomas. “And you and I have to discuss your new role. Meet me here tomorrow. Same time.” He raised his eyebrows and that gesture alone made Tomas nervous. Spina’s new plans meant Tomas would have to sever ties with his own world, even though he’d just returned home and smoothed things over with his family.
Spina stood, and Donato, Rachel and Tomas followed suit. They said their farewells, and Tomas and Rachel left the building, stepped onto the dimly lit street and took off toward Tomas’s house.
He didn’t need to look over at Rachel to know she was beaming from ear to ear.
“You did well,” he said.
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
A cold gust of wind blew past, flaring out Rachel’s skirt. Tomas tried not to look at her legs, but it was very hard not to notice the perfect curve of her calves.
“Tomas?” she asked.
“Pardon?” He chastised himself for getting so distracted.
“I asked what Spina meant about a new role for you.”
A layer of dread formed around him. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Obviously it does if someone like Spina is having a one-on-one.” She looked at him, her eyes wide. “What’s he making you do?”
“He’s not making me do anything,” he said. Why did she have to ask so many questions? “It’s right for the cause and that’s what I have to remember.”
“What is?” she asked.
“Let’s just leave this alone. I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anyone.”
“Fine,” she mumbled. “I’m not happy about you not telling me but I understand the need for secrecy. I don’t have to like it, though,” she said. “Just as well you’re still in my good books.”
“I am?” He smiled, happier than he probably should be.
“You’ve been nothing but caring, even when I’m being difficult. You take it all in your stride. Not many men will do that.”
A cold breeze stirred and Rachel shivered. Tomas took off his jacket and placed it on her shoulders. Her hand gripped his. A shot of electricity zapped up his spine.
“Rachel…”
She stopped, looked up, her face hidden by the shadows. “Don’t spoil this.”
“With all that’s happened to you, I just don’t think—”
“Don’t think. Feel.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled herself close. Her hair smelt of fresh apples and her soft, warm body sent his senses into overdrive.
“I want to, I do, but it’s not a good idea.”
She stepped back and glared at him. “Why not?”
Where did he start? “First of all, your brother—”
“He’s got nothing to do with it.”
“I doubt he would see it that way. Then there’s the…uh…your—”
“He’s not a threat anymore. I should have known better than to keep going back to him.” Rachel moved closer. “Tomas…”
God, he wanted her, but he couldn’t. She needed time to heal. And getting involved with Rachel would only cause angst with Abato and no one needed that. Besides, with Tomas’s possible new position and the Allied troops making ground, no one knew what the next day would bring. The next week. The next month.
“I…can’t,” he finally said. It nearly killed him.
“See? This is what I mean. I’m of no consequence.”
Memories of their conversation in Nonna’s kitchen crowded in on him. I lacked confidence. I always felt I was in the shadows. I was never noticed. I didn’t exist.
“You’re just like everyone else!” She yanked his jacket off her shoulders and threw it at him.
Rachel took off across the piazza and ran down the main road. For someone so small, she set a cracking pace and it took all his effort to keep her in sight. His legs ached and chest burned as he rounded a corner and ground to a halt. She sat in the gutter, rubbing her head. Raised voices and music came from the bar a few doors down.
Rushing over, Tomas knelt and helped her stand. “What happened?”
“I…I…tripped.” Her breathing steadied and the shaking stopped. She let out a long, hearty laugh. “I think I may have knocked some sense into myself.” This time when she looked at him, the fear and anger had left her eyes. A newfound strength had surfaced instead. “You are right.”
“I am?” Now it was his turn to doubt himself. “About?”
“About so many things. But you are wrong about one.” She leant toward him, her lips so deliciously close.
He could have her.
Now.
But…
“You dirty whore! This is who you’ve been fucking?” The shadows hid the face of a mountain of a man who lunged at Rachel. Tomas instinctively blocked the blow. His arm smarting from the brute’s punch, though better for Tomas cop the pain than Rachel, who now stood by, screaming for help. Not one light in the neighboring houses switched on.
A beefy arm wrapped around Tomas’s neck as Rachel yelled, “Get off him, Paolo! Leave him be!”
Punches hit Tomas’s torso, his kidneys taking the brunt. Pain came with every blow, but Tomas would not give in. He couldn’t. He knew these types. If he gave even the slightest hint of weakness, he’d be done for.
A painful blow in the gut sent Tomas over the edge. He gasped for air then grabbed the swine in a headlock while trying to avoid Paolo’s fists, which flew in all directions. In a split second, Tomas lost his grip and Paolo ducked and freed himself. They stood eye to eye, chests heaving, fury raging.
With lightning speed, Paolo reached behind and pulled out a knife that glinted in the low streetlight. He brandished it menacingly as he and Tomas circled each other. In the background, Rachel pleaded with them to stop.
“How do you like her, huh? The dirty little whore will do anything,” Paolo snarled.
Tomas glanced at Rachel, willing her to run. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her bend over and pick up a broken bottle.
“You’re coming with me, puttana.” Paolo sneered at Rachel, who clutched the broken bottle behind her skirt.
“I am nobody’s.” Her voice sounded alarmingly calm.
Paolo spun and lunged for Rachel, but she moved to the side. He crashed toward the pavement and as he did so, he grabbed her skirt and pulled her down. The broken bottle rolled into the gutter. Tomas ran toward Rachel, intent on pulling her from Paolo’s grasp, but the thug already had her pinned to the ground, knife against her neck, a thin line of blood on her pale skin.
“Let her go,” growled Tomas.
“You’ve got to be fucking joking.” Paolo grabbed her hair, yanking her up.
Tomas moved forward, his fists clenched.
“Leave it, Tomas,” she said, her eyes wide.
“No.” He stood his ground, his body tense, ready to lunge at any moment.
“Pleas
e,” she gasped.
“You’re coming with me.” Paolo yanked Rachel’s hair again and tried to drag her away.
Rage roared through Tomas as he lunged and knocked the knife out of Paolo’s hand. Tomas pushed him to the ground, but Paolo still had a firm grip on Rachel. Her arms and legs flailed in all directions. She fell headfirst, a sickening thud as her skull crashed into the steps of a neighboring house.
Tomas and Paolo wrestled on the hard pavement, both reaching for the knife, though Paolo was a fraction faster.
At first, the pain didn’t register. All Tomas remembered was the flash of light then the cold, hard steel plunging into his skin, just missing his eye. Then hot pokers burning his flesh. He grabbed his face in agony, blood oozing between his fingers.
Paolo scrambled to his feet. He glanced at Rachel, who lay unconscious and a moment later, Paolo took off, disappearing into the darkness.
Tomas crawled over to where Rachel lay, unmoving. He lifted her limp body and held her close, searing pain rushing along his cheek. “Rachel, please. Wake up.”
She remained motionless.
“Rachel…” A thick, hot liquid spread across his hand. “Oh god.”
Tomas gently rolled her over to inspect the source of the blood. His chest hollowed. A steady trail of red viscous fluid ran from her ear and down her neck. When he checked her breathing, there was nothing.
“Jesus, no.” Tomas laid her flat on the ground, checked for a pulse, but couldn’t feel anything. Hot, salty tears stung the gash beneath his eye, though it was nothing compared to the pain in his heart.
Chapter 25
Rosie helped her father toward the back of the house, her hand under his elbow while his pale wrinkled hand clutched the walking stick. Since taking him outside a couple of days ago, he’d been keen to get out daily to spend time on the verandah so he could view his beloved Tulpil. She prayed he wasn’t worrying that this view may not be his for much longer.
With help, her father eased into the large chair in the corner where he could enjoy the last rays of the day. In the distance, the voices of the men working the fields drifted toward the house, an array of languages and heavily accented English. The chatter of the workers always soothed Rosie, reminding her that family didn’t need to be blood related. In her eyes, Sefa and his men were family, as well as Kitty. She imagined the Contis could become part of that close circle, but a few obstacles needed to be conquered before that could ever happen.
Damn. She missed Tomas like crazy and it irritated her that she couldn’t shake him from her mind.
“Ow!” Her mother’s cry echoed down the hallway. Rosie rushed to the kitchen and found her mother trying to wrap a tea towel around her hand.
“What happened?”
“I cut my finger. I’ll be fine.” A steady flow of blood spread across the white fabric.
“Sit down.” Rosie guided her to a chair then pressed the tea towel against the wound and raised her mother’s hand above her head. She glanced over to where a pile of sliced potatoes lay splattered in blood. “Here, let me take a look.”
She gently peeled the tea towel away, all the while watching her mother out of the corner of her eye. Her face had gone pale, and the rims around her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying. Yet again, a blanket of alcohol hung around her mother.
Rosie took a look at the cut but it didn’t need stitches. She dashed to the pantry and retrieved the kit with bandages and antiseptic and set to work on her mother’s finger while Cecile observed quietly.
“There,” Rosie said, happy with her handiwork. “Try not to get it wet for twenty-four hours or so. I’ll do the dishes tonight.”
“You’re very good to me,” her mother said quietly.
Rosie occupied herself with tidying up the medical kit. “It’s all right, Mum.”
“No, it isn’t. Lord knows I’m not much of a help these days.” Guilt clouded her petite features. “I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“I’m sorry you have so much going on. With your dad, with Alex, with…” She gulped. “With me. I know I’m not the best mother in the world.”
“I’m a grown woman, I can look after myself.”
“I know you can, darling, but a girl should always be able to turn to her mother when she needs support.” Cecile’s smile looked so sad. “I miss my mum every day.”
This topic always left Rosie sad because it reminded her that one day she may not have Cecile in her life. Her health was getting worse and it concerned Rosie immensely.
“What’s wrong?” her mother asked.
“What?”
“You look worried.”
“Actually, I am concerned about you,” said Rosie.
“Why?”
Rosie groaned inwardly. How could her mum not get it?
“Mum, I think you should talk to someone.”
“Who, darling?” Her bright response broke Rosie’s heart. Her mother constantly flitted in and out of the real world, not fully registering conversations or happenings.
Taking a deep breath, Rosie said, “I think you should talk to a doctor…or with the minister of your church.”
“I talk with Minister Robertson every Sunday!” Her mother’s laughter sounded hollow, as if all the happiness had permanently fled. “It would do you well to go back to church.”
Rosie ignored the barbed comment. “I mean really talk to him about…” This was harder than she’d imagined. “About your…problem.”
“What problem?”
“Alcohol.”
“I do not have any problem and I do not appreciate the insinuation that I do.” Her mother arched a brow, then rose and went over to the bench to scrape the blood-spattered potatoes into the compost bowl.
“Mum…”
“Gosh darn it, Rosie! Stop sticking your nose into everybody’s business! Why don’t you work on your own problems instead of inventing bigger ones for others?”
A tidal wave of hurt washed over her and she stared at the woman who had changed so much in recent years. What had happened to the fun-loving mother who sang all the time and danced with her husband in the kitchen?
War.
Bloody war.
The bloody war that stole Geoffrey and took Alex away for so many years, only to return him as a shell of his former self.
And in the process it had changed her mother into a skittish, fragile human who couldn’t see the real world thanks to a self-induced haze. When Geoffrey had first died, she’d sat in a dark room for hours then come out all sunshine and smiles, only to retreat to the darkness once more. Rosie and her dad had tried to ignore the alcohol fumes following Cecile wherever she went, hoping it was her way of coping in the short term. How wrong they’d been…
“Mum, I—”
A loud knock at the front door drew her attention. Perhaps it was best she left this conversation where it was for now. The hurt surging through Rosie would only cause more grief if she further expressed her thoughts.
Moving quickly along the hallway, she saw a familiar silhouette through the screen door.
“Hello,” she said, her tone even. Rosie reached the door but didn’t open it.
“Please, can we talk?” His thick accent melted her heart despite her wish to remain cautious.
“I’m busy.”
“Please.” Through the fly wire screen she could see his beautiful eyes and any resolve to remain aloof melted away.
“We can talk for one minute,” she said firmly as she exited the house and led him to the far end of the verandah so they’d remain well out of earshot. Rosie crossed her arms, aware this caused a barrier between them.
“I owe you an explanation.”
“You don’t owe me anything.” She should take the edge from her tone but found it impossible.
“I can see you a
re still mad.”
“I’m not mad, I’m just…I don’t know what I am.” Her arms fell to her sides. “I’m annoyed at myself for getting upset when you wouldn’t share more details. I should have understood that sometimes we change our mind about saying something because we lose courage.” How many times had she done that recently? “I wanted to know what happened even though it’s none of my business.”
Her mother’s harsh words echoed in her ears. Maybe Rosie did spend too much time getting involved in other people’s problems.
A slight breeze shook the branches of the eucalypts. The heady scent, mixed with Tomas’s cologne, danced through the air.
“Rosalie, I came here to explain because I like you very much and wish for us to continue as friends.”
There was that word again. Friends.
“But,” he said, “I must find the strength to tell you what is very difficult to say.”
“Go on.” She gave a nod, still scared about what the truth may hold.
Tomas inhaled deeply as he rested his hands on the rails and looked at Il Sunnu in the distance. “It all happened so fast.”
His grip tightened on the railing and his body stiffened, as if memories he’d rather forget swamped him. She moved to squeeze his hand, but stopped.
Tomas stared at the fields, uncertainty in his eyes. The late afternoon sun beat down on her skin, and although she was accustomed to this climate, it felt like her body was cooking.
“Let’s go sit in the shade, it’s more private,” she said quietly and motioned for them to head over to a corner of the garden that was protected from the sun and prying eyes. Tomas followed. She sat on the wooden bench while he paced the lawn, hands clasped behind his back, eyes concentrating on his moving feet.
He eventually stopped and stood still. “I will tell you all and when I am done, I pray you can forgive me.”
Tomas started pacing once more and Rosie leant forward. As the words tumbled from his mouth, the light breeze turned cool and sent a shiver down her spine. Gray clouds swirled above. Tomas strode, threw his arms out as the story unfolded about Rachel. His gestures emphasized the trauma he had suffered—continued to suffer.
Burning Fields Page 22
