The Memory Box
Page 25
‘And you’re happy with that?’
‘Yes, well, no . . . I mean, it’s never bothered me before. I’ve got nothing to hide, so why should it?’
‘Are you going to ring him?’
Candice fingered the paper with Beau’s message. ‘He does say it’s urgent.’
‘Mmm . . . I wouldn’t mind betting his definition of urgent isn’t the same as yours or mine.’
‘I’ll think about it.’ She screwed up the note. ‘Anyway, enough about that. I climbed to the top with Stefano.’
Jenny nodded slowly. ‘He showed you, then?’
‘Yes. Why didn’t you tell me?’
She ignored the question. ‘What did he tell you?’
‘Not a lot. Just that Nico was a hero of the resistance or summat and that he fell to his death from the top of those cliffs.’
Jenny stayed silent as she picked at the buttons on her dress. Eventually she looked up at Candice, her blue-green eyes fixing her with a determined stare. ‘Do you know what cathartic means, Candice?’
‘Of course I do. I may not have had the best education, but I’m not that ignorant.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you. Before I shuffle off once and for all, I needed to come back here one last time.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘At my time of life, most things you do are for the last time. I need to face up to my actions. Time’s running out, Candice. I can’t put it off any longer.’
‘Are you ill?’ asked Candice. ‘Do you need me to call a doctor?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me. Stop fussing. You’ve already nearly called out a coroner tonight. I’m fine. Just listen.’
‘Sorry.’ Candice crossed her legs and leaned forward. ‘Carry on.’
‘Well . . .’
Her phone vibrated on the table and they both looked at it impatiently.
‘I’ll turn it off,’ she said, squeezing a button and throwing the phone onto a nearby chair. ‘There. I’m all ears.’
Jenny closed her eyes, her breathing long and deep as though she was meditating. ‘Whichever way you look at it,’ she began, ‘it was a tragedy.’
50
1943
They were protected from the icy winds blowing in from northern Europe by both the Alps and the Apennines, but there was still a bitter chill in the air after the first dumping of snow had settled on the mountains behind Cinque Alberi.
In the month since Nico had retreated to the mountains, life in the village below had adjusted to a different pace. The occupying Germans had helped themselves to the Villa Verde, their jackbooted feet scuffing the polished parquet floors, their sharp elbows showing no regard for the antique china and crystal. The panoramic window afforded them a bird’s-eye view of the sweeping bay, ensuring the whole population felt under scrutiny every minute of the day.
Lena was in the back yard, hauling a sack of corn onto a wooden cart. Under cover of darkness, Enzo would take it up to the partisans’ hideaway.
‘I’m going too,’ Jenny declared. It was said with such determination that Lena appeared to accept that argument would be futile.
‘If you are sure, then I will not stop you. I know how much you miss Nico and I don’t want to stand in your way. We are stronger than they think, you and I, but I’m afraid you’ll have to convince Enzo.’
Lena was right. Even though Jenny would never be as fit and able as most of her peers, her health and strength had improved beyond all recognition since she’d left Manchester over three and a half years ago. Her muscles had grown and tightened, her lungs now able to cope with exertion to the extent that she could now run a couple of miles, admittedly with a lopsided gait that made her look as though she’d had more than a few drinks.
‘You leave Enzo to me,’ she said.
Lena smiled, knowing that her husband had a soft spot for their daughter-in-law. ‘He only want to keep you safe. He promise Nico.’
The bell sounded above the front door.
‘I’ll go,’ said Jenny.
The German removed his cap and dipped his head as he crossed the threshold. ‘Guten Morgen.’
Jenny clutched her apron in her hands. It was the first time one of them had ventured into the café, and she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. They were the enemy now, and yet he seemed so friendly. His tanned face contrasted with his sandy hair, and he had a ready smile that disarmed her. But he could be here on a spying mission. Maybe he had received word that they were helping the partisans; perhaps she would be tortured until she revealed what she knew. They’d all heard such terrible things. She took a few steps backwards, desperate to warn Lena about the danger in their midst. It would be just like her to holler something incriminating from the back.
‘Buongiorno.’
‘Aha,’ he said, spreading his arms and switching seamlessly to English. ‘It is you.’
The day she had dreaded had finally come. It had taken just one word to give her away. Italian only by marriage, she’d always feared she would be carted off to a camp or deported.
‘Have you come to arrest me?’
‘Why?’ He laughed. ‘What have you done?’
‘Um . . . nothing. It’s just that . . .’ She rubbed her wedding ring, twisting it round and round her finger until the metal grew warm.
‘Do not be scared. My name is Maxim Fischer.’
She dug her hands into her pockets. ‘Jennifer Bernardi, but I expect you already know that.’ She nodded towards a table. ‘What would you like? There’s no coffee, I’m afraid, but . . .’
He held up a small package. ‘I have the beans. Can you grind them for me and I will let you keep the rest of the bag?’
Jenny tried to order the thoughts in her head. She was sure this must be some kind of trick. ‘I don’t know. I . . .’
‘You have a grinder?’
She nodded.
‘Kein Problem.’ He sat down and folded his arms, watching her with faint amusement as she tipped the beans into the top of the grinder and turned the handle. The sound brought Lena in from the back.
‘What are you doing, Jenny? Where did you get the . . .?’
Jenny fixed her gaze on her. ‘Herr Fischer brought them.’
Lena frowned. ‘Herr Fischer?’ She stared at the German. ‘And where did Herr Fischer get them, I wonder.’
Jenny lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Don’t antagonise him, Lena. He’s the enemy now, remember.’
Lena approached the German with her hands on her hips, her chin tilted upwards. She pointed at the bag of beans. ‘I suppose you steal these from the Grimaldi house.’
‘From where?’
‘The Villa Verde, where you stay uninvited.’
Jenny could feel the colour rise in her cheeks. Why was Lena being so difficult? She turned her back to him and busied herself with the coffee. ‘It’ll be with you momentarily, Herr Fischer.’
‘Danke, Fraulein.’
‘Frau,’ corrected Lena. ‘She is married to my son.’
‘And where is he?’
‘Forgive me, Herr Fischer, but are you here on official business or are you just being inquisitive?’
The cup rattled in its saucer as Jenny placed the coffee in front of him.
He afforded Lena a gracious smile before downing his espresso in one gulp. ‘Your daughter-in-law makes a satisfactory cup of coffee.’
‘I have to go now,’ Lena said, turning to leave. ‘In the spirit of good relations, the coffee is on the house.’
‘Would you like another?’ asked Jenny. ‘It too will be on the house.’
He laughed. ‘On the house? It was I who brought the coffee!’
Lena’s bravado had given her new-found confidence. ‘The cost of a cup of coffee is made up of many things, not least the time spent making it.’
‘Then it would be rude to refuse.’
Jenny returned with his refill and he indicated the chair opposite. ‘Please join me.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly.’
She noticed his hands, his fingers so long and slender it would be a travesty if he didn’t play the piano. ‘Why would you want to talk to me?’
She was going to be grilled for information now, she knew it. She had to tread carefully, maybe give him just enough to avoid a thorough interrogation up at the Villa.
He removed his spectacles and gave them a cursory polish on the edge of the tablecloth. ‘I miss the normal things. A cup of coffee with a pretty girl. There is no . . . how is it?’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘No strings. Is that it?’
Jenny managed a smile. ‘Your English is very good.’
‘My grandmother, she was originally from Liverpool, so she insist I learn.’
‘What is happening, Herr Fischer?’ she asked warily. Just talking to him like this felt dangerous. One tiny slip was all it would take to jeopardise everything Nico was trying to do.
‘Please, call me Max. Explain, please.’
She stared into his eyes, as green as a blackbird’s egg. She hadn’t noticed their startling colour until he had removed his glasses. His green tunic certainly brought them out. ‘With this country, with the war, there’s so much confusion. Nobody seems to know who is fighting who any more. What’s it all for?’ She clasped her hands together. It wouldn’t do for him to see how much they were shaking.
He replaced his glasses and looked down at his palms, splaying his fingers as though the answer was contained right there in his hands. ‘I don’t know,’ he sighed. ‘There are many young men on both sides of this war who would rather be at home. I miss my mother and her cooking. I miss my little sister even though she is often annoying, and I miss my dog.’ He searched in his pocket and pulled out a photo of a scruffy pooch. ‘This is Otto. He is a wire-haired dachshund and my best friend.’ He caressed the image with his thumb. ‘I was drafted into the Wehrmacht. I’m not here because I want to be.’ He stuffed the photo back in his pocket.
Jenny took the chair opposite. Max might be sitting there buttoned up in his German uniform, but he was still human, with a life back home as normal as the next person.
‘Is your husband fighting with Mussolini’s new army?’ he asked.
‘He’s . . .’ She stopped, silently berating herself for almost walking into the trap. He was clever, she’d give him that. All that talk about his family and his dog. She’d almost fallen for it, but it was the second time he had asked about Nico’s whereabouts. She could see it now, he was so transparent. He had obviously been sent to butter her up. She rubbed at a stain on the table with her finger, avoiding any further eye contact. ‘I have no idea where he is.’ She reached for his empty cup. Her tone was stiff but polite. ‘Will there be anything else, Herr Fischer?’
He stood and pulled a roll of lire out of his pocket, slapping a few notes onto the table. ‘For your time.’ He winked, then picked up his cap and ducked out of the door.
Enzo led the way for the final few metres, beating back the foliage with a stick as he tried to clear a path for the cart. His breathing was laboured and his brow coated in sweat in spite of the sub-zero temperature. He was almost sixty years of age; these escapades should really be a thing of the past. Jenny’s lungs too burned with the effort, but she would not falter now, not at the final hurdle. She wanted to show Nico she was as strong as any of them.
The mountain hut came into view just as she was about to give in and collapse onto the forest floor. ‘We’re here,’ Enzo whispered. ‘Come on, let me push this thing for you.’ He took over the cart as she approached the door of the hut. She rapped three times, waited for the count of three, rapped twice more, waited for the count of two, then rapped one final time. The door opened a crack and she was pulled in by Nico. ‘Jennifer. Did anybody see you?’
She kicked the snow from her boots. ‘No, no one. Enzo’s brought the cart. He’s taken it round the back. Look, I’ve brought you this.’ She held up a bag of ground coffee.
He untied the string and took a deep sniff of the contents. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘Never mind that now.’ She opened her arms. ‘Have you got a hug for your wife? I haven’t seen you for a month.’
He seemed distracted. ‘Oh, yes, sorry. Come here.’ He gave her a cursory squeeze, then turned his attention back to the coffee. ‘Well?’
She glanced over at the other partisans in the corner, but they were engrossed in a candlelit game of cards. She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘A German soldier came into the café with a bag of beans.’
Nico held her at arm’s length, his expression darkening. ‘Are you completely stupid?’ he hissed.
‘No . . . I . . . What do you mean? He was very nice and—’
‘He was very nice,’ he mimicked. ‘You don’t fraternise with the enemy no matter how nice they may seem, and you certainly don’t take anything from them.’ He spoke with such venom, a piece of his spittle landed on her lip.
‘Nico,’ she placated. ‘You’re overreacting.’
He gripped her arms. ‘This is why I wanted you to stay out of it, Jennifer. You’re so naïve and trusting, it’s dangerous. You could have put everything we are doing here in jeopardy.’ He shook her by the shoulders. ‘Do you understand? Have you any idea what—’
‘Nico, leave her alone.’
Enzo stood in the doorway, flicking snowflakes off his shoulders. ‘Don’t speak to her like that. That is not how we brought you up. Apologise at once.’
Nico bowed his head. ‘I’m sorry, Papà.’
‘Not to me, you fool. Apologise to your wife.’
‘It’s all right, Enzo. Nico’s right. I’m an idiot. But I promise I didn’t tell him anything.’
Nico pulled her close. ‘No, you’re not an idiot, mia cara. You are a beautiful soul who is just too trusting. I am so sorry.’ He kissed her lips. ‘Forgive me, please. I just want you to be safe, that is all. You know I could not bear it if anything happened to you.’
‘You’re in more danger than I am, Nico. What exactly are you up to here anyway? What’s all that?’ She nodded towards some equipment in the corner.
‘We’re building a transmitter to communicate with Allied troops in the south. Until communication is established, weapons and other supplies won’t reach us.’
‘Weapons? But—’
‘Shush, that’s all you need to know. Any more will put you in danger.’
‘But I want to help, Nico. I feel so useless down there.’
‘You are helping, Jennifer. You brought provisions, didn’t you?’
She nodded. ‘A sack of corn. I know you’re probably sick of polenta, but it’s all we could get.’
‘It is fine.’ He patted his belly. ‘As long as we are full of something, we can work.’
‘I made some soup too. It’s mainly cabbage, but it’ll fill a hole.’
Enzo poked at the cinders in the fireplace. ‘Shall I cut you some more wood, son?’
‘It is all right, Papà, we have plenty out back. We only use the fire for cooking. The less attention we draw to ourselves, the better.’
Jenny hugged her arms to her chest. ‘But it’s bitter in here, Nico.’ She blew out a breath to demonstrate. ‘How can you sleep?’
‘We take turns, two-hour slots. It is important to be vigilant.’
Enzo placed a hand on Jenny’s shoulder. ‘Are you ready to leave? I know it will be easier on the way down, but we really do not want to get caught in another blizzard.’
She stood on tiptoe and kissed her husband on the cheek. ‘Bye, Nico. I’ll come again, I promise.’
He mimed zipping his lips together. ‘You say nothing, okay? Do not be taken in by the Germans, no matter how charming they appear.’ He swept his arm around the hut. ‘You could compromise the whole operation, this one and the other units in the area.’
Jenny thought about her encounter with Max. He seemed like any other young man who had been wrenched away from his comfortable life to fight in a war he didn’t understand and wished to be no part of.
‘Please don’t worry, Nico,’ she said. ‘I’m not stupid.’
Max was as good as his word, and appeared in the café the next day brandishing a fresh bag of coffee beans. He held them aloft. ‘See? I keep my promise.’ He dumped the bag on the counter. ‘Now, how about you grind a few for me and then we can enjoy a cup together outside. It may be bitterly cold, but the sun is shining.’
As Jenny made the coffee, she shifted her gaze towards the kitchen. Lena had managed to procure some flour and was making bread for the partisans. She turned her thoughts back to Max. He might be German, but he was definitely adopting the softly, softly approach. Swanning in here all smiles, as though they were the best of friends. Who did he think he was? Nico was right, they couldn’t be trusted. As she silently congratulated herself for having seen right through him, the thought occurred that she could use him. Perhaps she was being naïve, but if she could glean information about what the Germans planned to do next, then this would be of more use to Nico and the others than a sack of corn and a flask of soup.
She pasted a smile on her face and turned round. ‘All right then. I’ll just get my shawl.’
At last she was going to make a difference.
51
2019
I watch Candice as she stretches out her long limbs, the languid movements reminding me of a cat. She squeezes her shoulder blades together, then loosens them with a series of shrugs.
‘Are you bored, Candice?’
The tinkle of her laughter fills the evening air. ‘Of course not, Jenny. Just a little stiff, that’s all. And hungry. Shall we send down for something?’
I must admit I’m comfortable here on the sunbed with the woollen throw over me. It’s still warm out here, and the blanket is surplus to my requirements really, but Candice insists I shouldn’t be taking any chances at my age. I don’t know. If you can’t take chances at my age, when can you?
She’s running her finger down the room service menu. ‘I’ll just have the crostini. I’m not one for a big meal this late in the evening.’