Stella gasped. ‘Did he tell you he saw it all?’
‘He didn’t speak, Stella. He was traumatised, struck mute. It was seven, eight months before he spoke one word. From then on, it was as if I were the elder. I took on the mantle of looking out for Arturo the way he’d looked out for me. It was another twenty years before he told me he saw our papà shot in the back of the head. When the soldiers drove away, he crept from his hiding place. He stood in the pool of blood seeping across the piazza, until that shocked neighbour scooped him up and brought him home.’
Stella clamped her hand to her mouth. For a moment she thought she was going to be sick.
‘He should have told us. We would have tried to understand.’
‘He just couldn’t talk about it. He spoke to me that one time only and never again. It was when I made the mistake of mentioning Fernanda’s name.’
‘But when you were children, you were all friends?’
‘Yes, we were, until that day. Of course, Papà hadn’t been happy about it. He didn’t like us associating with the little sister of a woman who consorted with the Germans but Mamma used to calm him down, saying we were just children playing. But from that day I hated Fernanda and her family. Even at six years old I understood the gossip I heard linking Violetta to what happened.
‘I gathered together the remnants of a bottle of machine oil, an old rag, a box of matches. I was a tiny soldier preparing for my war. I planned to soak the rag, light it and put it through Violetta’s door. I didn’t care if Fernanda was there or not. My old friend was dead to me. But then I heard Violetta had not come home. She’d perished in the bombing at the hospital where she’d been visiting a friend. Fernanda had been taken in by a lady in the village. That woman was my teacher, a kind person who was ever patient with me. I hated Fernanda but I couldn’t have burnt that dear lady’s little house down, even if she had Hitler himself sheltering there.
‘Over the years, I began to realise it was warped of me to blame a seven-year-old child for the actions of her much older sister. But your papà’s trauma was too deep for rational thought. It was only after his death that Fernanda and I started to exchange the odd word if we met. Even so, we are far from being friends. And now you see, Stella, why Arturo tried to keep you away from Gino. The thought of you marrying into that family – it was too much for him to bear. He couldn’t stand the thought of Fernanda being your mother-in-law, a woman who won’t disown her sister, who even displays a painting of that fascist upon her wall.’
Stella put her head in her hands. ‘I’m so sorry. No wonder Papà was so angry with me the day he died. If only I’d understood.’
‘You weren’t to know,’ Uncle Domenico said softly. ‘You’re not to blame.’
38
‘Gino’s here,’ Domenico said. He retreated into the kitchen.
Stella opened the door. Gino held out a bunch of lilies. Her heart lifted.
‘Thank you, they’re beautiful. I’ll put them in a vase. You’d better come in for a minute.’
‘No need. I’ll wait.’
She scurried into the kitchen, shoved the stalks into the sink and hurried out before her uncle could say anything.
The moment the front door closed, Gino pulled her into his arms. She held him tight, inhaling the warm scent of his cologne-spritzed skin. His lips moved over hers, sending her nerve endings tingling. Any other day, she would have been in seventh heaven, but the story Domenico had told her played on a loop in her head.
She stepped away. ‘We’d better set straight off. We don’t want them giving away our table.’
Gino smiled. ‘We’re not going back to the pizzeria.’
‘Oh, why not?’
‘Leo’s gone out with Amy tonight. You know what that means? We’ve got his house to ourselves all evening. I’ve been cooking for us. But we don’t need to stay in the kitchen.’ His eyes sparkled.
‘Let’s go, then,’ Stella said.
He held her hand as they walked along. He opened Leo’s front door. They stopped in the hallway.
‘Oh, Stella.’ His kiss on her neck sent a shiver through her. He put his hands around her waist. Her body was melting but her mind wouldn’t follow. She dropped her hands to her sides.
‘Stella?’
‘Would you mind if we waited until later?’
‘Of course, whatever you like. You could sit in the kitchen whilst I cook. Or perhaps there is a good film on TV. I’ll pour you a drink. Once I have finished preparing thepansotiI will join you. We can sit side by side and watch television like an old married couple.’ He laughed.
‘You had me at drink,’ Stella said.
‘A Campari and soda?’
