* * *
Stella stretched out her legs, glad of the shade cast by the old olive tree.
‘Of course, I’d heard the rumour that Violetta dated a German officer,’ she said. ‘It must have caused a lot of resentment, her swanning around the village in her fancy little hats and silk stockings when others were stitching old rags together to clothe their kids.’
Gino leant back against the gnarled old trunk. He plucked a blade of grass and rubbed it between his fingers.
‘I have tried to understand my aunt. Maybe she thought she was protecting her little sister’s future by throwing her lot in with a man she believed was on the winning side. Or perhaps he was just handsome and charming and swept her off her feet into a misguided love affair. Sometimes people hide the truth from themselves, see only what they want to see. Of course, she was wrong but I tried not to judge someone who died a long time ago, who cannot tell her side of the story.’
Stella stayed silent, knowing from his screwed-up forehead and the way he wrapped his arms around his knees how difficult he was finding this.
Gino sighed. ‘It took me years to face the truth. Violetta wasn’t some innocent village girl. There wasn’t just one German soldier. She went to parties in Sanremo where the Gestapo had their headquarters in the Villa Åberg. She was friends with these people. Laughing, drinking, dancing. I look at those photographs Fernanda keeps; although they’re black and white you can see Violetta’s healthy glow, her rosy cheeks. She was having fun whilst families like yours couldn’t heat their homes or find enough to eat. But she went further than that. She wasn’t just a Nazi sympathiser.’
‘What do you mean?’ Stella edged nearer, so their thighs rested against each other’s. He wiped his palm on his jeans before he laid his hand over hers.
His other hand clenched. ‘I was told Violetta was responsible for the German soldiers coming to this village.’
Stella gasped. ‘Therastrellamento?’
He stared into the distance. A butterfly landed on an orange lily, so near she could have reached out and cupped it in her hand.
‘I pressed Mamma to tell me the truth about the rumours. At first she would not say anything but eventually, she admitted it was no accident the Germans came. The first house they searched belonged to the couple who owned the salumeria; they were sheltering a little Jewish boy, pretending he was their own. The soldiers burned that house down. Someone had given them a list of names; they knew who they were looking for. They shot two elderly men who’d lived together for years as more than friends, doing no one any harm. Mamma was too distraught to tell me about the other victims. And like a coward I never asked her again, I didn’t want to hear.
‘Mamma feels she has to atone for what Violetta did; that is what makes her so devout. And that is why she was always so strict with me. She says we are a family of sinners who cannot afford to stray from the path of righteousness. Some part of me feels she is right, that we do not deserve to be happy. It makes me sick to think that my own blood relative was responsible for that terrible day. But Fernanda still loves Violetta; she lights a candle on the day of her birthday and the anniversary of her death. No wonder people like your papà and uncle despise us.’
‘No, Gino.’ Stella didn’t say any more. She wished she could take away his pain but there was nothing she could say that didn’t sound like a cliché.
He took his sunglasses from his pocket. ‘Let’s go back.’
She clambered to her feet. They walked in silence back the way they’d come.
He wiped a hand across his forehead. ‘How hot it is! Maybe my son is not so stupid, spending the day in his workshop out of the sun.’
‘Did you go and see how he is getting along?’
‘Yes. The plaque he is creating is quite extraordinary, but now you understand why not everyone is happy that a great-nephew of Violetta has been given this commission. Father Filippo spoke up on Leo’s behalf, saying the victims deserved the very best memorial and it was hard to disagree. No one else who tendered for the work was anywhere in my son’s league. The day before the committee met to decide, Filippo delivered a sermon about the need for forgiveness. There were still some dissenting voices but the majority took the hint. Nearly eighty years have passed. Pietro’s remains are being laid to rest. It is time for the village to heal.’
‘Leo must be proud he is playing a part in that.’
‘He says he does not think of these things. He doesn’t listen to criticism, he gets his head down and works. He gets so absorbed he cannot think of anything else.’
‘I’m so looking forward to seeing it.’
He took her hand, swinging it as they walked.
‘I could take you to see Leo’s workshop.’
‘I don’t want to disturb him. I’ll wait for the unveiling, it will be a nice surprise.’
‘You will be there, won’t you?’
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
She didn’t want to think any further ahead. What would happen once Domenico came home? She’d have to move out and rent somewhere but her redundancy money wouldn’t last forever. She didn’t want to leave Gino or the village. She had to find a way to stay.
32
Stella dithered by the boxes of vegetables. Gino had invited her to have dinner with Leo and him the following evening but she’d be on her own tonight. It would give her the perfect opportunity to potter around in the kitchen cooking one of the old Ligurian recipes her mother had taught her. She wanted to try out some dishes she could cook for Gino and his son when she returned the favour. But she would phone her cousin’s house first, to check that Domenico had no objection to her inviting the two men into his home. No matter how shocking Violetta’s crimes, surely her practical, good-natured uncle wouldn’t hold a grudge this long.
