The Italian Villa: An emotional and absolutely gripping WW2 historical romance Page 11

  I became one with Tommaso, with the music, and even if my head was spinning, it didn’t matter. His arms were strong, and he would catch me if I fell. His body was very warm, so much so that I forgot how chilly the night was, and how light my silk dress. He heated me up, and his fingers pressed gently on the bare skin of my arm, where there was no barrier to be found in the silk of the dress.

  He was shy, yet so secure in himself, somehow. Our eyes locked and we didn’t look away for the rest of the dance. His gaze wasn’t shy anymore, but determined, yet soft. Weird. It was like those mossy green eyes were saying to me, “Trust me…”

  Suddenly, everything stopped. Someone was calling my name.

  “Callie! Here I am. I came, see? You happy now?” It was Flora. She stood near us, close to the dance floor. She wore what looked like sweatpants and a T-shirt that had seen better days. Her hair was tousled and her eyes unfocused. She was staring at us, swaying from side to side with the music, and almost everyone was staring at her.

  “That dress!” she crowed, looking me up and down. “You look just like your mother.” She almost spat out that last word, and it made me shiver. It was like she’d hated Malva, and now she hated me.

  “Here we go. Drunk again,” I heard somebody whisper, a young woman with a mocking look in her eyes. It was Sofia, Marco’s daughter and the nasty secretary from Studio Tava. I threw her a desperate glance, embarrassed by Flora but also upset by how vicious this young woman’s words were.

  I decided my best bet was to humor Flora. “I’m happy now that you’re here, yes.” Then I held out my hand. “But it’s probably better if we go home now, okay?” I was surprised at my own meekness. At that moment, a tall man in a checkered shirt crossed the room toward her.

  “It’s okay. I’ll help her,” he said.

  “Dad, come away,” Sofia hissed.

  “No!” Flora swiped at the air. “Marco, go away.” So that was Marco Leone! Flora’s words were slurring badly now. “Don’t look at me. Go away!” she repeated. The place was almost silent now. Even the band had stopped playing.

  “Come, Flora. Come.” I took her gently by the arm and Tommaso wrapped an arm around her shoulders. I was grateful that he was there.

  “I’ll drive you,” he said, once we were out in the cold air. Paola and Michela tried to reach me, but I practically ran out, thinking only about getting Flora back to her house.

  Reaching his car – a battered Jeep – I climbed into the passenger seat, while Flora was slumped over in the back. “You can get your car tomorrow, Rissi, or I’ll get it for you,” Tommaso said.

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Aw!” A muffled cry had come from the back seat – Flora had slipped down.

  “Wait. I’ll go in the back,” I said, hurriedly switching seats. When Flora saw me, I reached out to her, lifting her up. She didn’t protest. Instead, she rested her head on my shoulder, like a child. Even if the smell of spirits seeped off her, her hair still smelled sweet and herby, and she fell asleep almost immediately.

  Now that I saw her so vulnerable, I realized she was younger than I’d originally thought. Never mind aunt and niece; we could almost have been sisters.

  “What’s wrong with her? Why is she suffering so much?” I said, thinking aloud. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but are Italian women always so dramatic?”

  “Italian women and men are more dramatic than most, yes. But Flora… well, you guessed. She is suffering.”

  “But why?”

  “All I know is what I’ve heard through the grapevine,” Tommaso replied. “Let’s just worry about getting her home.”

  “What happened with Marco?” I whispered.

  “I’ve known Marco a long time, but he never really elaborated much on the whole thing.”

  Flora curled up closer to me. “Callie,” she said softly.

  “Yes. I’m here,” I said.

  Thankfully, Flora’s house was unlocked. Tommaso carried her upstairs, and, after some maneuvering through the flat to find a bedroom, we managed to put her to bed. This must’ve been her bedroom, with an unmade bed with clothes and tissues strewn across the floor. While she managed to keep Firefly House spotless, that clean streak didn’t transfer well to her own home, it seemed.

  I took her shoes off and tucked her in. There, up close, I studied her, feeling a rush of emotions: slightly foolish for being here, given the way she’d treated me, and at the same time comforted by the fact that whatever the circumstances, here I was, looking at the only living member of my family.

  I found Tommaso in the living room, where he was waiting for me, his arms crossed, studying some botanic prints that were on the walls. Unlike Flora’s bedroom, this room was clean, except for some empty bottles on the coffee table. Mysterious jars full of dried herbs were everywhere. The air was laden with the same lovely scents as were in Flora’s shop: vanilla and lavender and cinnamon, and others that I couldn’t place. Candles crowded the room too – some of them burning. I went to blow them out, worrying that Flora would come in here later, accidently tip one over, and the place would go up in flames.

  I began to close the curtains against the darkness outside, and Tommaso switched on a table lamp. “I’m sorry we spoiled your night, Leo… I mean, Tommaso! Tommaso!” What the hell?

  “Don’t be silly. It’s no problem.” Thankfully he hadn’t heard me calling him Leo. We were whispering, so as not to wake Flora.

  “Do you think… do you think Flora is an… alcoholic?” I said it in English because I didn’t know the Italian word. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

  He nodded. “Yes. My answer is: I don’t know. I’ve never seen her like this. But then again, there’s something wrong, for sure. Sometimes she doesn’t even open the shop.”

  “Really?” I was shocked. I’d had just one visit there and I could see the love and care she put into it. I remembered its shelves, full and clean, the lovely scents, and the overall polished look of the place. It didn’t seem neglected at all.

  “Yeah. She’s struggling to pay the rent. Michela told me, you know, she owns this place. She lives up the hill, not far from us.”

  “Is Flora not getting enough customers? I saw a lot of orders in brown bags with names on them, ready to go, when I was there.”

  “I don’t think the number of customers is the problem. Passiflora is quite renowned in the area. People come from other villages as well, even from Turin. It’s that she keeps it closed a lot, so she doesn’t get as much business as she should.”

  “I see. Which makes me think…”

  “That she’s home drunk? Maybe. But let’s not jump to conclusions.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “It’s hard being on your own with no family… Oh, sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to…”

  “It’s okay. Well, Flora has got family. I’ll help her.”

  “Do you believe in fate?” he said, surprising me. I was suddenly aware of the faint sound of music coming from the chocolate fair.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well… I’m not sure exactly how much you know, but my life took a few twists and turns. And sometimes I ask myself… Were certain people meant to leave my life so I could find others?”

  I wondered who he was thinking about at that moment – his father?

  “Life is pretty crazy in general,” I replied. “My parents was swept away by a faulty plug, for one. I’ve thought a million times: ‘What if…?’ What if my parents had decided to get the wiring checked at some point and fixed the problem? What if we hadn’t had too many electrical wires plugged in? What if my mom hadn’t used her hairdryer? Or the microwave? Or the fan, or whatever it was that started the fire? What if? What if? What if?” I took a breath. “Maybe they’d still be alive. Maybe I wouldn’t be here now. Or maybe all of this would’ve happened anyway… I think I want to believe that all the twists and turns take us to where we need to be.”

  “If that
is true, you were always meant to be here. You were always meant to come find your family and look after them.”

  I thought of Flora, asleep in the next room. “Maybe, yes.”

  Tommaso barely knew me, and yet he seemed to have summed up what was on my mind, and then put it so delicately. He’d been tiptoeing into my life instead of storming into it, even though he’d literally appeared during a storm.

  Then the spell was broken. “Let’s go, Rissi,” he said, moving toward the front door. “Flora needs a good night’s sleep.”

  “And a vat of strong coffee in the morning.”

  “That too.”

  I checked on Flora one last time – she was sleeping soundly. I switched off the light and walked out into the night.

  We were parked in front of Firefly House, the garden sweeping and whispering all around us. We’d spoken little on the ride there, but when we arrived, we took our time saying good night. “Thank you for the dance earlier,” I said.

  “I’m only sad it didn’t last a little longer. You know… it takes a lot for me to trust. And I’m trying not to trust you.”

  I didn’t need to ask why. I felt the same. “Maybe you can try to let go a little, instead?” I whispered, and once again, I realized I was talking to myself, as well as to him. Maybe I could let go a little too.

  In the next moment, Tommaso reached across the seats, taking me in his arms again, like when we were dancing. I didn’t resist. Instead, I let him lay a hand on the back of my neck and kiss me on the forehead. It was a small ritual that meant so much, a message passed through the lips that needed no words: I am here for you.

  He murmured, “Good night, Rissi.”

  Inside Firefly House the master bedroom suddenly seemed vast, and the bed cold and empty. I took some sheets and blankets out of the chest of drawers and made up the bed in the round pink bedroom instead. I lit some simple white candles I’d found in the kitchen – making a mental note to buy some more down in the village – and took the silk dress off. I still couldn’t believe I’d worn Malva’s dress. Looking at it, feeling it, wearing it had been bittersweet. If only she could have been here.

  “I’ll look after Flora for you,” I whispered to the dress, as though Malva’s spirit were inside it.

  After a short search in the closet of wonders, I found a pretty aqua nightie, short and lacy, scented with lavender from the little fragrant bags scattered in the drawers. My mother seemed to have been so feminine in her taste. In the perfect silence, I snuggled under the covers and began to read the diary from the point where I’d drifted off that afternoon. Once again, Elisa’s story carried me away.

  When I told my parents about the Conte’s offer, there was deadly silence. I know Mamma so well, and yet, this time, I couldn’t read her. Papa simply looked at her. He was usually the one to have the last word on all matters of the family; but this time, I could feel that the final decision was deferred to her.

  Except, I was determined that the decision had already been made; that the decision was mine, and nobody else’s.

  I was ready for my very first battle with my parents, a battle that I knew I’d won already, because I was going to go, whether they wanted it or not. Mamma gazed into my father’s eyes for a moment and unspoken words passed between them. Then, she looked straight at me.

  “Costanza and I will make you two new skirts. And you need a coat. A thick one. Who knows if your place in Turin will be warm enough?”

  I threw myself into her arms, and then Papa’s, and then into Zia Costanza’s!

  I’m going to university!

  Your happy, happy, happy, blessed,

  Elisa

  September 15, 1939

  Oh, caro Diario!

  Today is the day I leave for Turin, and I’m stealing a bit of time at the desk to write in your pages. I still can’t believe it. People like me don’t go to university. Women don’t go to university. Women don’t become doctors, least of all women from poor families.

  I feel like a queen, even if my woolen dress is a hand-me-down from Zia Costanza, my coat has been mended a hundred times, my stockings were bought with the money Zia Costanza and I made washing sheets in the freezing river water. But there’s something else I need to tell you: the goodbye between Leo and me.

  We met at the cabin, though Mamma did bring up a couple of times that it’s unsuitable for a nineteen-year-old woman and a twenty-year-old man to spend time alone in the woods. But we needed a moment to ourselves. He leaned against the stone wall, while I stood, careful not to ruin my outfit.

  “You don’t even look like you,” he said. “It’s like in two days, you have changed…”

  He was right. Gone was the simple cotton dress I wore almost year-round, except for winter days when wool would take the place of cotton. My shirt and skirt outfit, together with a fitted jacket and black high-heeled shoes (walking with them in the forest had been so hard!) made me look like a city girl. I wore a small felt cloche, with my hair gathered in a bun at the nape of my neck.

  “I won’t be away forever.”

  I knew he was conflicted. He was happy for me, I knew it in my heart of hearts, but it was hard for him to see me go.

  And, yes, I admit it. It was hard for me to leave him behind. Very hard.

  “Who knows where you will end up working after university,” he said, idly running his fingers along the contour of the stones. His working hands, strong and square. His slow, deliberate ways, like someone who’s used to waiting for things to grow.

  “Well, by the time I graduate you’ll be nice and settled with a lovely wife… she’ll look after the house for you and she’ll give you lots of children. You’ll have forgotten all about me by then,” I said.

  I was trying to keep the conversation light, but I must have caught his strange mood, because I sounded a bit forlorn. The forced lightness of my tone couldn’t hide a hint of regret.

  It makes no sense. I need to become a doctor. I’ve always dreamed of that, always. How can I regret not taking another path? It’s an illusion.

  An illusion, maybe, but I feel it even now, as I write these words.

  The ache of things that could have been.

  I know that Leo wants to settle down, have a family, fill the space left by the loss of his father and the absence of his mother. I also know that he is too wise, too sensible, to ask me to be that woman. The silly, childish pact we made as kids is not something either of us can hold on to; it would be absurd to consider a child’s promise an engagement. He needs someone who will help on the farm, who will look after him and the family she gives him, and I can never do that.

  Maybe one day women will be able to have a profession and a family as well… but that’s not possible now. No man would allow that.

  I have made my choice. I know it’s right for me, but it doesn’t change the fact that as I watched Leo leaning against the cabin today, the light of the rising sun in his dark hair – the way he is, so reserved and yet so tender – a strange ache bloomed in my chest.

  I wonder what his wife will look like; how I will feel when I attend his wedding, and then go back to Turin, to my studies?

  Without him?

  No matter. I will be too absorbed in my work to be upset about it.

  “I’m looking forward to meeting your fiancé,” he said suddenly. His tone was distant, forced.

  “What do you mean? What fiancé? You don’t mean Carlo, do you? Because—”

  Carlo Caporale! Once again, I wondered how he was related to the Antonio Caporale who’d stolen Tommaso’s lands. They had to be related – the villages around here were so small, and like Nonna Tina had said, everyone was somebody’s cousin. It felt strange to read names mentioned in the diary, and then hear them mentioned in real life, now. It made time seem weightless, like the past was always present. Like Elisa’s story and mine had had a reason to come together the way they had.

  “No, not at all!” Leo smiled, though it was, somehow, a sad smile. “I know yo
u can’t stand him.” He didn’t look at me, but up to the canopy of trees, inundated with golden rays. “I mean the fiancé you’ll meet at university, I’m sure. Some highly educated, intelligent man who can have proper conversations with you, not about the farm and the harvest and chickens and how much our wine will sell this year.”

  “I have no plans to find a fiancé or ever marry, for that matter. You should know me well enough to know that.”

  “I do. But this is what you think now. I don’t know the woman you’ll become. You’ll be living in Turin, going to university, becoming a doctor. I don’t know the woman you will be when you come back to Montevino, if you ever do.”

  “When I come back… in a month’s time?” I tried to laugh. “You know, I’ll only be a few hours away. I’ll come back at least once a month… Have you ever heard of trains?”

  He didn’t reply, and my heart sank a little. Would I change so much, like he predicted? Had I already changed?

  “Leo, please. This is a happy moment for me. My dream is coming true. And I’ve worked so hard for it. I must pinch myself to believe this is happening. Don’t spoil it for me. Don’t make me feel bad about leaving.”

  “You know what? You're right.” He ran his hands through his hair and smiled. “This is your moment and I'm just thinking about myself. But there are things I need you to know, I suppose. Before you go.”

  I know, I wanted to say, you don’t need to tell me… but I remained silent.

  “Listen to me, Elisa.” He took me by the shoulders and fixed his eyes on mine. “My days will be empty when you're gone. I won't see you every evening or sit with you after a day’s work and talk, or just enjoy silence with you there beside me.” He leaned closer to me, his voice faint. “You know, don't you, Elisa?” he said, echoing what I’d been about to say. “You know that you've always been more than a friend to me.” Not much of what he thought and felt had ever been spoken so openly as what he’d said in the last short while. A place that had been locked and shut was now ajar, for me to glimpse the warmth inside.