The hike up to the top started off gently, and she was able to appreciate the orange and lemon trees burgeoning with unpicked fruit. The air was scented with a familiar smell she couldn’t put her finger on.
She stopped and sniffed. ‘What is that smell, Stefano?’
‘Close your eyes,’ he said.
‘Why?’ She smiled. ‘What’re you going to do?’
She could hear him rustling in the vegetation, and then came the overpowering smell of lavender as he held a sprig to her nose.
‘I thought I recognised it,’ she said, opening her eyes and taking the sprig off him.
‘It helps if you block one of the senses. You could no longer see and so you had to concentrate on your sense of smell instead. It worked, no?’
‘Well, you did shove it right under my nose, so . . .’
Stefano laughed. ‘This is true.’ He indicated the path ahead. ‘Shall we?’
By the time they reached the top, Candice was out of breath and conscious of the dark stripe of sweat she was sure must be staining the back of her grey vest. She placed her hands on her hips for a breather. ‘Phew. I’m knack . . . erm, I mean worn out.’
Stefano took hold of her hand. ‘Come on, only a few more steps to go. We can sit in the church for a rest. It will be cool in there.’
He pulled her up the final few steps as though she were a reluctant toddler. ‘You made it,’ he said, letting go of her hand. ‘Here we are.’
Candice gazed up at the tiny church. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she breathed. ‘Imagine getting married here.’ She cast her hand around. ‘Surrounded by the ocean.’
‘Follow me,’ instructed Stefano, retrieving a paper bag from his rucksack. ‘We will go inside. I have special treat.’
They sat side by side on a hard wooden pew, ingrained with years of beeswax. ‘Why are church pews always so uncomfortable?’ Candice asked, rubbing her back.
‘It is so you don’t fall asleep during the sermon.’ Stefano offered her the paper bag.
She peered inside. ‘Ooh, cherries. Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever tried fresh cherries before. The only ones I’ve had have been on the top of a Mr Kipling’s cherry Bakewell.’
‘These are spectacular, Candice. They will stain your lips with their sweet ruby juice and fill your heart with joy.’
‘Who knew cherries had such super powers?’ She popped one into her mouth. ‘Is this church still used, then?’
‘Every third Sunday of the month, that is all,’ Stefano replied. ‘But you can come and worship here whenever you want.’
‘It’s so peaceful. I can see why someone would drag themselves up here to pray. I bet it makes them feel closer to God.’ She looked at him. ‘I’m not that religious meself, but if praying helps people to get through the terrible things in life, then why begrudge them that comfort, eh?’
‘Esattamente. To each their own.’
‘It’s such a romantic place to get married, though, don’t you think?’
‘It is indeed, although you can only marry here if you are a resident of Cinque Alberi.’
She picked another cherry out of the bag, twisting it free of its stalk. ‘Jenny got married here, you know.’
Stefano raised his eyebrows. ‘She did?’
‘Yes, back in 1942, I think she said. She married an Italian, that’s why she ended up living here.’
Stefano’s interest was piqued. ‘Do you know his name?’
‘Yes, it was Nico, well, Domenico actually, and his surname was . . .’ she pinched the bridge of her nose, ‘um, it began with a B . . . Bernardi. That was it. Domenico Bernardi.’
He turned to face her. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, why? Have you heard of him?’
He rose from the pew, screwing the empty paper bag into a tight ball. ‘Everybody round here has heard of him,’ he said eventually. He nodded towards the door. ‘You’d better follow me.’
48
1943
The weight of his hand on her shoulder startled her. ‘What are you doing, Jennifer?’ A week he’d been back, and she was still surprised whenever she heard his voice.
‘Nico, you gave me such a fright, creeping up like that.’ She covered the writing paper with a book. ‘I’m just reading.’
He quietly removed the book and slammed it shut. ‘No you’re not. You’re writing a letter. Why do you lie to me?’ He picked up the paper. ‘Darling Louis.’ He tore it in half. ‘What is the point, Jennifer? It is killing you to keep writing and not getting anything back. I don’t think you should write to him any more. Your life is here with me now.’
‘I can’t give up on him, Nico.’
‘I don’t see why not. He’s obviously given up on you.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘The Germans are in charge now.’ His fingers caressed the back of her neck. ‘They won’t allow private letters to get through. They’ve said this.’
‘They might. There’s no harm in trying.’
He crouched down beside her, taking both her hands in his. ‘You love me, don’t you?’
‘You know I do.’
‘Well then, it’s time to let go of the past.’
‘Louis will never just be part of my past, Nico. He’s my flesh and blood. I love him.’
He squeezed her hands a little harder. ‘I know you do, mia cara.’
‘It’s just that . . . I don’t know . . . seeing Eva on the beach last week . . .’
‘Who is Eva?’
‘I told you. The little girl on the beach. The one with the plaits. Just before you came back, she gave me a pebble from her bucket and it made me think of our Louis. They’re about the same age. He would love it here. Can’t we—’
He pulled her to her feet. ‘No, we can’t. Come on, we’ve been apart for so long. It’s you and me now, Jennifer. Just you and me.’ He kissed her forehead, letting his hand wander to her belly. ‘That is until we have a family of our own.’
Nico called out to his parents as he fiddled with the knobs on the radio. ‘Mamma, Papà, come here now. There is going to be a broadcast by Il Duce.’ Jenny sat opposite, her hands cradling a mug of warm milk. It had taken the Germans less than two months to discover the location of the country’s most closely guarded prisoner of war. Mussolini was being held in a hotel high up in the Abruzzi mountains before German paratroopers rescued him and flew him to Hitler’s headquarters in Germany. There was general confusion over what this meant for Italians.
The four of them huddled around the radio to hear Il Duce talk about his dramatic rescue and his plans to form a new Republican Fascist Party. Jenny’s Italian was nowhere near good enough to keep up with him.
‘What’s he saying?’ she asked.
Nico shook his head. ‘He sounds broken. His speech is slurred, as though he’s drunk.’
Enzo folded his arms on the table. ‘I do not understand. I thought we were rid of him, and now this.’ He flung his hands in the air. ‘We’re supposed to be free, we have surrendered, what is all this nonsense he is talking?’
Lena spoke, her voice unusually soft. ‘Don’t upset yourself, Enzo. This is no good for you. Everything will be all right. We won’t let this man rule our lives again. We’ve come too far as a nation.’
‘I wish I had your faith, my dear Lena, but I don’t know . . . you can’t trust these people.’
The weeks that followed were fraught with uncertainty. Enzo had been right to be worried. Italy was now officially part of the Allied forces, and, with the King and Badoglio hiding safely behind Allied lines in the south, had declared war against Germany. Mussolini, installed by the Führer as leader of the new Italian Social Republic, was calling up all fit young men to serve in its fighting force or else volunteer to work for the occupying Germans.
‘It’s an impossible choice, Nico,’ Jenny said, as she hung onto his arm. ‘You can’t go away. It’s not fair, and you promised you wouldn’t leave me again.’
‘I will not fight for or
work with the Germans but I can’t do nothing, Jennifer.’
Enzo cleared his throat and spread his hands on the table. ‘There is another option.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Up there, in the mountains, there are bands of men and women who are working for the Resistenza.’ He looked Nico in the eye. ‘You could join them.’
‘Isn’t that very dangerous?’ asked Jenny. ‘What if you were captured? Nico, I don’t think you should do it.’
He removed her hand from his forearm. ‘It will be my decision, mia cara.’ He smiled and flicked her under her chin. ‘And I don’t take orders from my wife.’
His playful response had failed to take the sting out of his words, and she was momentarily stunned into silence. ‘I . . . um . . . it wasn’t an order; it was an opinion.’
Nico winked at his father. ‘Are women allowed to have opinions, Papà?’
Enzo laughed and clinked his glass against his son’s. ‘Don’t let your mamma hear you talking like that.’
Lena returned from the kitchen, perspiring from the heat of the oven. She placed a tureen of watery minestrone on the table. ‘What are you talking about? What am I not meant to hear?’
Jenny jumped in first, determined to get her mother-in-law on her side. ‘They think Nico should join the Resistenza.’
Lena removed the lid from the pot and momentarily disappeared behind the whoosh of steam. ‘I think it is a good idea. In fact, I think we should all do what we can in the fight against the fascists and the Nazis and whoever else thinks Italians are unable to defend the country they love.’
Nico helped himself to a bowlful of soup and tore off a piece of hot focaccia, speaking with his mouth full. ‘It is man’s work, Mamma. No need for you to get your hands dirty.’ He waved his bread in the air. ‘You and Jennifer just stick to what you’re good at.’
Lena glanced at Jenny, her mouth set in a stubborn line. ‘Nico, when I say I’m going to get involved in the Resistenza, this is what I mean. You cannot stop me.’
Jenny lifted her chin. ‘Well if Lena’s getting involved, then so am I.’
Nico and Enzo looked at each other, but Lena continued. ‘There is an old Italian proverb: “When women take up a cause, you can assume it has been won.”’ She squeezed her daughter-in-law’s hand. ‘You can count on Jenny and me.’
Later, after they had retired to their bedroom, Nico stood staring out of the window, perfectly still apart from the rise and fall of his chest. Jenny crept up behind him and circled her arms around his waist.
‘Penny for them.’
His body was rigid as he continued to gaze at the horizon.
‘Nico,’ she tried again. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘The tragedy is, I actually think you don’t know.’
She twisted him to face her. ‘Look at me, Nico. What are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about you embarrassing me like that in front of Mamma and Papà.’
She frowned. ‘Embarrassing you? What on earth do you mean?’
‘Do not play innocent, Jennifer. You know what I’m talking about. I forbid you to get involved with the partisans and yet you carry on as though I hadn’t spoken. You made it look as though I have no control over my wife.’
She took a step backwards, her expression darkening. ‘Control? No, you don’t, Nico. You do not have control over me.’ She raised her voice. ‘I am my own person, not your puppet, and you don’t forbid me to do anything.’
He grabbed her arms, squeezing tightly. ‘Shush, stop shouting. Mamma and Papà will hear you.’
She shook him off. ‘Don’t you dare put your hands on me like that.’
He let his arms drop and turned to face the window again. ‘I’m sorry, Jennifer. Forgive me, please. It’s just that I love you so much and I couldn’t bear anything to happen to you. It would kill me.’
She hesitated before placing her palm on his back. ‘Come to bed, Nico. Let’s forget about it.’
‘I just want to keep you safe, that’s all, and if that’s a crime, then I’ll plead guilty as charged.’
As he turned back to face her, she locked her eyes onto his and began to unbutton his shirt. He fumbled with the buttons on his fly, his breathing growing more urgent. Once he was naked, she gripped the hem of her nightdress and pulled it over her head. He stared at her body and smiled. ‘You’re so perfect.’
‘Touch me,’ she breathed.
She closed her eyes as she felt his hand on her breast, his exquisite touch so light she was forced to cry out as her legs trembled, threatening to give way. ‘Please, Nico, I want you to . . . I . . . I need you to . . .’ She was too embarrassed to say more, but words were redundant as he scooped her into his arms and carried her over to the bed.
49
2019
Candice was sure she couldn’t be this unfit. It had to be the heat and the altitude. ‘Stefano,’ she breathed as she bent double, her hands on her knees. ‘Wait for me. I’m not a bloody mountain goat.’
He laughed as he watched her scramble up the narrow path above the church. ‘You can do it, Candice, only a few more metres.’
She joined him at the top as he stood under the shade of one of the five pine trees. ‘Phew! I’m glad that’s over.’
He pulled a bottle of water from his rucksack and offered her a sip.
‘Thanks,’ she said, taking a slurp and, in the absence of a sleeve, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘Right, what did you want to show me?’
He swept his arm around. ‘Let us just take a minute to appreciate this incredible view.’
She placed her hands on her hips, feeling her heart rate slowly returning to normal as she gazed at the swirling sea hundreds of feet below. ‘I’m running out of words to describe this place, Stefano. It’s truly stunning.’
He held out his hand. ‘Come with me now, and be careful. Don’t let go.’ He guided her to the edge of the cliff and stopped beside a white headstone. ‘There.’
She removed her sunglasses and stared at the carved inscription. Domenico Bernardi. 8 Agosto 1918–12 Giugno 1946. Eroe della Resistenza. Riposare per sempre in pace.
She instinctively took a step back from the edge. ‘My God, that’s Nico.’ She nodded at the inscription. ‘What does it say?’
‘It says, “Hero of the resistance. Forever rest in peace.”’
‘What happened?’
Stefano took off his sunglasses and held them to his chest. ‘It was terrible.’ His voice was quiet as he gazed out to sea, shaking his head. ‘He fell to his death.’
She had declined Stefano’s invitation to stop for grilled sardines on the harbourfront, even though he insisted she would never taste anything so simple and yet so utterly divine in her entire life. Just a squeeze of lemon juice and a twist of black pepper, it is all they need. It was a difficult choice, because she would have liked nothing more than to spend another hour in his company, but she really needed to get back to Jenny, who’d been on her own all afternoon.
The young receptionist collared her on her way up to the bedroom. ‘Erm . . . Miss Barnes, I have a message for you.’
Candice stopped. ‘For me?’
‘Sì, sì, here.’ The girl handed her a piece of paper. ‘He call many times.’
Too impatient to wait around for the lift, Candice sprinted up the two flights of stairs, her legs burning with the effort after all the exertions of the day.
‘I’m back,’ she cried as she entered the room. ‘Jenny?’
There was no answer, but she could see the old lady lying on a sunlounger out on the balcony, an open magazine resting on her chest.
She slid back the door and gently touched the back of Jenny’s hand. There was no response. She knelt down. ‘Jenny? Jenny, can you hear me?’ She swallowed her rising panic and blew out several short breaths. ‘Oh God, please, no.’
She picked up Jenny’s wrist and felt for a pulse. Nothing. A mirror, she needed a mirror. She rushed to the bathroom and returned wi
th her magnifying make-up mirror, holding it to Jenny’s mouth with a trembling hand.
Jenny coughed and pushed the mirror away.
‘What on earth are you doing, girl?’
‘Oh, thank God, you scared me half to death. Sorry, I couldn’t . . . I thought . . .’
She heaved herself into a sitting position. ‘You thought I was dead?’
‘Well, yes, a bit.’
‘I’m not sure how anyone can be a bit dead. You either are or you aren’t.’
‘I meant . . . Oh, never mind. How’ve you been anyway?’
‘I’ve been grand, love. I went down to the terrace and had a few of those martini cocktails. They do a chocolate one, if you can believe that. The barman got a little bottle of chocolate sauce and squirted it round the inside of the glass in a flower pattern. Then he poured in the vodka and what have you. It was all very arty. Then I came up here for a lie-down.’
‘Bloody hell, no wonder you were dead to the world.’
Jenny indicated a glass on the table. ‘Pass us that water, would you, I’m parched. Oh, and another thing, that phone of yours has been buzzing all afternoon.’
Candice remembered the note and fished it out of her pocket. Please call Beau Devine. He says it is urgent.
‘Shit,’ she muttered under her breath.
‘Beau, is it?’
She nodded and reached for her phone. ‘Oh Jeez, sixty-eight missed calls.’
‘Did you tell him where you were staying?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t. He wasn’t all that interested in the trip. He knows he can always get hold of me on my mobile. Or he thought he could.’
‘I wonder how he found you then,’ mused Jenny. ‘He must’ve phoned a hell of a lot of hotels.’
Candice shook her head. ‘No, he didn’t.’ She held up her phone. ‘All he needs is this. It has an app that shows where I am at all times. At least it shows where the phone is.’
‘You mean he can spy on you?’ asked Jenny.
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but yes, he can see where I am.’
The Memory Box Page 24
