‘Fernanda told me herself, last night over our meal. She told me how charismatic and vivacious her sister was, how she dated a German officer. How she sold her cocktail hats to the fascist leaders’ wives and went to parties with them.’
‘Wow! I am surprised she told you. Nonna does not usually open up like that.’
‘I think she wanted to tell her tale to someone from outside the village. It was strange to listen to her. She obviously struggles to deal with the past, she feels such guilt.’
‘It is a burden she carries but when the Germans came here she was just seven years old. How could Nonna be guilty of anything? Some folk in the village still judge her because she will not condemn her sister. Violetta was like a mother to her. It was the two of them, their parents dead, no other brothers or sisters.’
‘I could tell how much Fernanda loved her. But what happened to Violetta in the end? I heard they did terrible things to women who consorted with the Germans.’
‘Violetta did not live to see the end of the war. The very day of therastrellamento, she was visiting a pregnant friend in hospital. A stray Allied bomb fell on the building, killing many people. Violetta was one of them. A kind neighbour in the village took Fernanda in that night and looked after her until she was older. Some people did not approve, but that lady would not condemn a little child for what her sister had done.’
‘Such a sad life.’
‘It is lucky she has her faith, and her voluntary work means so much to her.’ He got to his feet. ‘We have done all we can here, shall we walk back?’
She clambered to her feet, glad to free her now numb bottom from the cold floor. She began gathering up the cleaning products whilst he went and tipped the dirty water away.
Back outside, the heat hit her like it had done when she first stepped off the plane. After the dim interior, the sun was almost blinding. For a moment she struggled to make out the small fountain and the bushes and trees. She fumbled in her pocket for her sunglasses.
Leo stepped into the shadow cast by her feet. His hand brushed her forehead. She felt her face burn, her heart beat a little faster.
‘There, that is better.’ He held up a straggle of grey cobweb. ‘But perhaps I should have kept it in your hair for Fernanda to see. If she knows how hard you were working, she might bake you hercanestrelli.’
‘I don’t know what they are but they sound pretty good.’
‘They’re biscuits made with vanilla and lemon zest, shaped like a flower. Nonna’s are the best. I have tried to make them myself but they don’t turn out nearly as good. Pity my poor papà, he is eating my cooking for the next few days.’
‘He’s visiting? With that and finishing the plaque, you’ll be busy.’
‘Yes, he is arriving today. I would love to show you more of the countryside but I had better get back.’ He set off down the path. She kept pace with him, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t let her disappointment show.
The descent was far quicker than their climb up the steps. Before she knew it, they were walking back under the stone archway. In a minute or two they would pass the turning that led to his workshop.
‘Well, thanks for the walk. It was fun, even though you had me working my socks off.’
‘Socks off? I like this phrase.’ He paused. ‘I was wondering… Would you like to come to dinner with Papà and me tonight?’
‘Oh, no, you must want to catch up.’
‘He’s going to be staying with me right up until Pietro’s burial and the unveiling; we will have plenty of time to talk. Besides, Papà can be quite intense. And if you come to dinner, you will distract him from the burnt bits.’
She laughed. ‘Well, in that case, how can I refuse?’
‘Eight o’clock?’
‘I will see you tonight, then.’ She walked off quickly before he could catch a glimpse of the great big grin on her face.
26
‘I’m looking after the shop. My Uncle Domenico fell off a ladder down in the cantina, he’s recuperating at home with Luisa,’ Stella said, amazed that she could form coherent sentences with Gino standing in front of her.
‘So I heard,’ Gino said. ‘But what are you doing here? Here in the village?’
Stella eased herself onto the stool behind the counter, needing something solid beneath her. ‘I was just, umm, passing through.’
‘Passing through from England?’ His expression was incredulous.
‘We… I made a detour here for a night. I’m on holiday. I was supposed to be getting the train from Sanremo to Portofino.’
