‘We need to talk to you, Hope,’ he said. His English was good, even better than Sabine’s. ‘Please, forget about the tea, come and sit with us.’
She did as he said and followed him back into the drawing room, where Sabine was now sitting on one end of the couch, twisting a handkerchief around her fingers. Otto indicated the chair opposite his wife. Hope sat down and waited for him to settle next to Sabine, Annelise now perched contentedly on his lap.
‘We want to ask you to do something,’ he said. ‘It will mean a very big sacrifice for you, and for us too.’
Hope saw the look that was exchanged between husband and wife. She swallowed. ‘Go on,’ she said.
‘Tomorrow you return to England. We want you to take Annelise with you. That way we will know she’ll be safe.’
Sabine stifled a sob, putting the handkerchief to her mouth.
Hope stared at them both with incomprehension. She tried to speak but couldn’t. She knew about the Kindertransport, the hundreds of Jewish children who were being put on trains to be taken to safety in England; it had been happening ever since Kristallnacht. But for Otto and Sabine to give her Annelise to look after? It was madness. She couldn’t do it.
‘But I’ve never looked after a baby before,’ she said at length. ‘I wouldn’t know the first thing to do. How could you possibly trust me with your precious child?’
‘The alternative is for her to go to strangers and …’ Otto’s voice broke. He swallowed. ‘We don’t want that for her; she’s too young and precious. And we know that you would love her. You are her Tante Hope.’
‘But you don’t have to give her to me,’ Hope said. ‘You could come to London, the three of you. You could come tomorrow. Just leave this awful place. Come with me!’
Fresh tears began to roll down Sabine’s face. ‘We cannot take the risk of being stopped. People like us are trying to escape all the time but are being sent back. Always the officials find some kind of problem with the passport, or the papers. But you have a British passport; you can pretend that Annelise is your child. They won’t stop you.’
‘But there must be some other way. Why not apply for visas from—’
Otto shook his head. ‘We’ve tried that. The queues for visas to go to Britain are endless. It’s the same at the American consulate. Besides, I cannot leave my parents.’ He took hold of Sabine’s hand, which lay on her lap, and raised it to his lips to kiss it. ‘I’ve tried to make Sabine leave without me, but she won’t.’ He blinked. ‘Hope,’ he went on, ‘you must take Annelise with you. You must take her tomorrow. War is coming very soon. We hear talk all the time. Soldiers are soon to be massed against the border with Poland. Once war is officially declared, there will be no escape.’
It was late when Hope finally left. Otto walked her to the tram stop. His last words to her as she climbed onto the tram were to say that he and Sabine would bring Annelise to her in the morning, but only once she was alone and on her way to the station. They didn’t want Gerda and Heinrich to get wind of the plan in case they tried to put a stop to it. Not because they didn’t care about their granddaughter, but because these days their loyalty lay first and foremost with the Third Reich.
The tram ride back to her in-laws passed in a daze. But Hope was in for another shock when she arrived at Kurzestrasse. Gerda handed her a telegram.
Please come home to Island House at once. Your father is dangerously ill.
Chapter Six
It was a hot, airless day in Venice, and on the fourth floor of her stifling apartment overlooking the Rio di San Vio, Allegra Salvato, half-heartedly fanning herself with her hand, contemplated the telegram she had just received.
Your uncle is dangerously ill. Please come home to Island House.
Could it be true? Could Jack Devereux really be dangerously ill? And why those words – come home? Island House wasn’t her home. It never had been, not really. Italy was the only home she had truly known. If she belonged anywhere, it was here.
Feeling nauseous with the heat, she sighed and gave up fanning herself; the effort far exceeded the benefit. A storm was on the way. She pulled absently at the fabric of her dress, which was sticking to her clammy skin. It was days like this, when Venice felt as though the very last breath of air had been sucked out of it, that she regretted submitting to Luigi’s will that she move here. She had been happy in Genova, with her apartment facing out over the harbour, but Luigi had insisted, had said it would be better for her career.
At the thought of Luigi, a fresh surge of stomach-churning anger rose within her. He had betrayed her in every way possible. He’d lied, cheated and stolen from her and made her look a fool in front of everyone who mattered. Everything he’d promised her had been a lie. She was sickened at her own naivety; that she had allowed herself to trust him. Oh, how convincing he had been, promising her the world, at the same time swearing his undying love for her, when all he’d cared about was lining his own pocket by exploiting her talent. Now it looked like he had robbed her of even that.
They had met in a small theatre in Parma eighteen months ago, when he had come to her dressing room after her performance as Violetta in La Traviata. Introducing himself as an impresario, and her newest and biggest fan, he announced his intention to turn her into a great opera star, if she would let him. She was, he said, an artiste who needed careful nurturing and the opportunity to perform in the very best opera houses, not just in Italy but around the world. He told her he would love nothing more than to be her future manager, to share her wonderful talent with the audiences she so richly deserved.
He had taken her out for supper to explain how serious he was, and how mesmerising he’d found her performance. He had declared her a true exponent of the art of verismo; that she was a charismatic actress as well as a sublime singer. Allegra knew perfectly well that he was exaggerating, but with Alberto Ferro, her manager, safely out of the way in Genova, she had allowed this handsome stranger to charm her. With his shock of thick black hair oiled artfully into place, and his flattery and confident manner, he made a refreshing change to Alberto’s intense demeanour and strict declaration that she would only make it to the top by working hard and applying herself diligently to daily singing lessons for hours on end. It would take time, was his constant refrain, time, work and patience.
There was little room for fun in Allegra’s life the way Alberto managed it, and so by the time Luigi had wined and dined her, she had made up her mind to accept his offer. Even if only half of what he promised her came true, it would be better than the never-ending run of second-rate theatre engagements Alberto had planned for her. Alberto had no vision or ambition; he was happy with the status quo. Twenty years older than Allegra, he was also very much in love with her, and by his own admission was frightened of losing her. His adoration had begun to make her feel trapped, and in Luigi, and all he was offering her, she saw her chance not just to be the star she dreamt of being, but to be free.
Within days she had cut her ties with Alberto and put her trust in Luigi as her manager. He insisted she leave Genova and move to Venice, and following intensive singing lessons with a new teacher of his choosing, her first performance under his guidance was in Rome, at the Teatro Reale dell’Opera. She sang the role of Asteria in Boito’s opera Nerone, and to her delight received rave reviews, with special mention made of the emotional depth of her voice.
Her success there led to a busy run of bookings, with Luigi applying himself to finding her theatres in which to sing, though only those he considered worthy of her fine voice. Just as Allegra had suspected they would, they soon became lovers, despite him being married. He swore that his marriage was a sham, that as soon as he could free himself from his wife’s clutches, he would marry Allegra. She just had to be patient and give him time. It seemed that she was destined to spend her life being patient.
But she willingly gave Luigi everything of herself, including her innermost secret hopes, which she’d harboured since she had been a little girl in the orphanage on the outskirts of Naples.
Her life at La Casa della Speranza – the House of Hope – had begun when she was two weeks old, after she had been abandoned there, wrapped in a blanket and put into the ruota, presumably by her mother. The nuns had named her Allegra in the belief that it would make her grow up to be happy and cheerful. The surname they’d given her – a foundling name – had been Salvato, meaning saved.
With the exception of Sister Assunta, who had been a pitiless tyrant, the nuns were not especially cruel, but they were driven by a quickness to find fault and mete out punishments as they saw fit, all in the name of God. Allegra was often punished for questioning something she was told to do, or for being sullen, but more often for her temper. Her closest friend from the age of five was Isabella, and such was the bond between them that they liked to pretend they were sisters. Then one day, out of the blue, Isabella’s mother came for her to take her home, just as Isabella had said she always would. Allegra was eight years old at the time, and without realising what she was doing, she had expressed her sadness and loss by singing. Through song she felt an enormous release of emotion, an unburdening of her heart. She realised too that her voice had a strange power to it; it could touch those who heard her, making them cry sometimes.
