‘Some of the Allied troops landed nearby in the Gulf of Noto,’ Jack said. ‘Tenth of July 1943 was when it began.’
Florence closed her eyes for a second, imagining what it must have been like. ‘At least the bomb damage here doesn’t seem as bad as it was in Palermo.’
They approached the baroque cathedral from a flight of wide steps, but the midday heat was building and Florence was sweltering, her thighs sticky with sweat.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, peering up at its magnificent facade. ‘But perhaps we could find somewhere cool for a drink.’
The nearby café was cool and peaceful inside and she was happy to kick off her shoes and relax as Jack made himself understood somehow and ordered a simple meal of enormously fat tomatoes, delicious sheep’s cheese and crusty bread washed down by local wine.
‘There must be so many stories here,’ she said. ‘In Sicily, I mean. The history never quite disappears does it?’
‘Did you know the Sicilians rebelled against the French in the late thirteenth century?’
‘I did not.’
While they lingered in the café the two of them thought about where they might start their search in Malta.
‘Well,’ Jack said, ‘the government offices would be a start, and the police of course.’
‘They’ll have records of who died in the war, won’t they? And there will be newspaper archives.’ She paused. ‘They might even have a census.’
‘Guess we’ll find out. It’s a shame we don’t know more about Rosalie.’
‘All I really know is that she was the wild child of the family,’ Florence said, ‘gave their parents no end of trouble. Rebellious, just like Élise.’
Jack smiled. ‘A force to be reckoned with.’
‘And, as you said, Malta does seem very traditional.’
He nodded. ‘Not the kind of place a woman like Rosalie would like. It’s up to you, of course, but I wonder if we should just go home to England when I’m done here and forget about Malta.’
She didn’t reply. Wasn’t sure what she thought about that, although surely for her mother’s sake and to satisfy her own curiosity, she had to go through with trying to find Rosalie, especially having come this far? No matter how tempting the attraction of Meadowbrook might be with its familiar routines and feeling of stability.
Later, as they sat on their little patio sipping wine, the scents of early evening drifting in the air, she felt the collision between her hopes and her fears. Hopes for herself and Jack, fear of upsetting Hélène, and also of not finding Rosalie. So much was uncertain.
While she was lost in these thoughts, she was vaguely aware of him reaching into his satchel on the floor.
‘Florence?’
‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
He opened his palm and her breath caught when she saw a tiny blue velvet box.
‘Florence Baudin. Would you …’ He paused and she stared at him. ‘Would you … What I mean is, shall we get married? Would you like to?’
Tears filled her eyes.
‘Oh God. I didn’t mean to make you cry.’
She laughed. ‘These are happy tears, you idiot. And I would.’
He smiled almost bashfully then opened the box and lifted out a sapphire engagement ring which he then slipped onto her finger. ‘It was my grandmother’s.’
‘How did you know it would fit?’
‘I had it altered. A while ago.’
‘You’ve been deliberating about this?’ Given how reluctant Jack had been to confront his feelings, she was surprised.
