‘Stand back,’ Sarah commanded. ‘I’m going to try something.’ She ushered him away, took a few paces back, then charged at the door, slamming her right hip hard into the middle where the lock ends joined. They heard the metallic clunk of the internal door handle and lock plate hitting the bricks on the other side. ‘That sounded promising.’ She beamed, raising both eyebrows. She pulled on the door and it creaked open.
Matthew grinned. ‘I’m not going to ask how or where you learned how to do that.’
‘Good. You don’t want to know!’
‘I’ll just put this back then, shall I?’ He slid the key into the folder and stepped into Convento delle Viole, with Sarah following close behind.
They were met by the musty scent of stale air and decades of dust left to gather and ferment to its own accord. The earthen red of the original bricks beneath their feet was almost obscured by leaves and a thick coating of grime with the most unappealing brown tinge. Beyond the shallow entrance hall, only a few metres wide, the space opened up considerably to a large open void, with entrance doors – similar to the one they had broken – at either ends of its rectangular length. Directly across from them was a wide-set double staircase leading to the upper floor. Doorframes peppered the otherwise plain walls; some had doors, most, however, didn’t.
Neither Sarah nor Matthew spoke. The stillness and calm of the building were too reverent to interrupt with commentary. Instead, both made their way to the centre of the hall, casting aside the debris at their feet. A series of rusting chains and metal framework teetered precariously overhead. Sarah promptly pulled Matthew to the side, extra-cautious of their surroundings. She made her way to the staircase, craning her neck to see up to the second floor.
Matthew nodded in her direction, making his way to join her. Step by step they ascended the brick stairs. At the landing, Sarah’s breath caught at the chaotic mess on the upper floor.
‘What the . . .?’ Matthew started, noting the sheer volume of postwar waste that awaited them.
Stacked in piles of three were the contorted metal frames of single hospital cots, all missing their mattresses, knotted haphazardly together by their warped springs. There were at least twenty of them. Among them were dozens of wooden crates, piled in groups of five and six, each containing remnants of supplies, decaying linen and medical paraphernalia.
Sarah didn’t need to say anything; her blank expression spoke volumes. Matthew simply shook his head, mentally addingClean up after WWIIto their to-do list.
Beyond the chaos lay a series of rooms on each side of the corridor, with two large double doors leading to shallow balconies at either end. The glass panes, unsurprisingly, were broken.
Matthew had started to filter through the contents of a large crate when Sarah suddenly stopped. ‘Did you hear that?’ she asked. They both froze momentarily. The only sound to make itself known was that of the breeze whirling through the cracked glass of the windows, whistling down the corridor and rustling the metal springs of the disused cots.
Sarah turned her head to the left, certain that her ears hadn’t betrayed her. ‘There it is again! Is that someone knocking?’
Matthew had heard it too. ‘Alberto, perhaps? Did we forget something in the car?’ They both started back down the stairs.
To their surprise, they found a middle-aged man standing in the doorway of the broken front entrance. Starched and with tight, well-oiled curls, he righted himself and cleared his throat when he spotted them walking towards him.
‘Signor Matteo D’Adamo?’ he asked, hand outstretched.
‘Sì.’ Matthew accepted the gesture, noting how firmly the man’s grasp clenched around his palm.
‘E Lei sarebbe laSignora D’Adamo?’ He gestured in Sarah’s direction. She nodded in reply, as her very limited Italian wouldn’t allow anything beyond it.
‘Yes. This is my wife, Sarah.’ Matthew confirmed. ‘Non parla italiano.’
‘Ah, but of course.’ The gentleman offered an apology by way of a gentle bow of the head. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ He proffered his hand, which Sarah accepted. She beamed the most genuine-looking smile she could muster, despite the man’s cold and sweaty palm making her want to shudder. She also didn’t care for the way his guileful black eyes seemed to assess her as he leaned in for their greeting.
Matthew, whose mind was still lagging from lack of sleep and time-zone changes, wondered if he’d missed the man’s introduction. ‘Sorry, I can’t place you. Have we met?’
‘No. Not until now.’ The man straightened himself once more, tugging at the striking white collar of his perfectly pressed shirt. ‘Manfredi. Saverio Manfredi.’ He reached into the inner pocket of his smart navy blazer and produced two business cards, handing them to both Matthew and Sarah. ‘Sindaco diFiorellino sul Monte. It’s my pleasure to be at your service. On behalf of our humble, butveryproud community, let me be the first to extend a kind welcome to you. I’m sure you will fit in just perfectly.’ Again, his eyes flicked in Sarah’s direction, lingering a little too long on her lips.
Noting this, Matthew reached around Sarah and drew her in closely, affectionately locking her in a tight sideways embrace. ‘Isn’t that nice,tesoro?’ he said, beaming down on her. ‘We’ve only just arrived, Saverio. Just a few minutes ago, actually, so your timing couldn’t have been better.’
‘It’s best that you address me asSindaco, Signor D’Adamo.’ His expression tightened.
Matthew wouldn’t be intimidated. ‘Please, just call me Matthew.’
Saverio gave a curt smile and ignored the snip. ‘That’s my job, you see. To know the ins and outs of Fiorellino. To know who arrives. Who leaves. When.And why. It’s how I’m able to . . . keep an eye on things.’ The deep olive tone of his skin did well to hide the fine lines which creased the corners of his eyes. ‘I’m sure a lovely young couple like yourselves will bring much to our town. But be sure not to rock the boat.’ His eyes seemed to lock with Matthew’s, marking a sudden spike of tension. ‘The people of Fiorellino don’t like change, you see. We are a small community, fiercely protective of our heritage. Of our history. Newcomers . . . well, let’s just say, don’t often stay very long.’ Flashing his pearlescent white teeth, his gaze moved beyond the couple to the open corridor behind them. ‘But, I digress. I do have some official business, regarding the property,’ he clarified. ‘Some documents for you. About our jurisdiction. A few matters for you to keep in mind as you begin works.’ He handed Matthew the folder which had been tucked under the crook of his right arm.
Matthew, still holding Alberto’s folder, placed this one, which was twice as thick, on top. ‘Jurisdiction?’ His legal brain switched on. ‘Is everything in order?’
Saverio gave a casual wave of the hand. ‘Sì, sì. Everything is fine. Just some information regarding limitations to works, refurbishment, restoration. Specifically, from my office at themunicipio. Extra to that of theregione.’
Matthew thumbed the contents, surprised by the prominent bold type face and volume of red highlighted text. Keeping his cards close, he made sure not to react. ‘Grazie. We’ll take a read once we’ve settled in.’
Sarah looked up at him, noting how his jaw clenched behind his smile.
