The Italian Villa: An emotional and absolutely gripping WW2 historical romance Page 13

  The women turned to look and laughed.

  Like I knew would happen, Papa growled, “Get out of my workshop and never come back.”

  “My good man, is this your workshop? Are you the Conte?”

  The Conte was quick to intervene. “Please forgive him. The accident” – he said, gesturing to Papa’s legs – “ruined his mind as well.”

  “My mind is not ruined! And you’re just—”

  “Luigi! Please!” Mamma begged. I was frozen.

  “You are just a bunch of murderers,” Papa said evenly.

  The women gasped, and the thin man looked at him coldly, almost indifferently. There was no rage in his eyes, which scared me even more.

  “Luigi! I told you many times not to speak when we have visitors at the castle! Maria, please, see to him. Poor man, he was ruined, ruined,” the Conte said and patted Papa on the shoulder, wearing a little smile, like the fool in the wheelchair could only be laughed at and not taken seriously.

  “You’ll be hearing from us,” the thin, tall man said to Pietro. “Conte Montevino will tell me all about you,” he concluded. Pietro beamed, while Mamma was white as a sheet.

  There were angry voices from my parents’ room that night, and Pietro didn’t sleep at the house. Papa has been a fool, but how could I blame him, with the scum of the earth acting like they owned us all? And Pietro, not quite saying he was disowning us, not in as many words – but it was clear what he was doing.

  It was a terrible, long day. I’m too tired to keep writing, I’m even too tired to worry. Will there be consequences for Papa’s tirade?

  I worry that the Conte’s intervention wasn’t enough. And that what they’d said to Pietro – that something could be done about his young age and his desire to join the army – would be the easiest, cruelest way to get to us. But I can’t even think about that, it makes me shiver.

  Yours,

  Elisa

  I sighed. Elisa must have been terrified when those Blackshirts, as they called them, visited the castle – just yards from where I was sitting down – and her father not being able to hide his political convictions. There seemed to be a fracture in the family, with Papa and Pietro going down two different roads…

  My heart was heavy for them.

  The day was slipping by and it was time to make my way down to the village to go see Flora. Hopefully, she would have slept her hangover off and Passiflora would be open. I walked down the hill enjoying the pure air and the sunshine, dappled through the tree-lined road. As soon as I stepped into the square, I heard a voice calling me.

  “Call-ee!”

  “Nonna Tina!”

  “Ciao, bella! Come, come. I made some fresh basil pasta, I’ll prepare a parcel for you, and we can have a chat.”

  “Nonna, Call-ee must be busy…” Adriana appeared from behind the door of the Aquila Nera.

  “I’d love to. If I’m not imposing.”

  “Not at all. I’ll get you some…”

  “…coffee. Thanks,” I said, smiling.

  “Come and sit with me, tesoro.” Nonna Tina lead me to the back courtyard, and I wondered how much these stones and houses had heard from Nonna Tina and the people who opened her heart to her. “You seem worried.”

  I rolled my eyes. “A lot has happened. I met someone called Federica.” Something told me that Nonna Tina would know who I was talking about.

  “I know.”

  “You know I met her?”

  “Yes.”

  I was a bit taken aback. How did Nonna Tina know everything? Did she have a telescope up there in the castle?

  She seemed to read my mind, because she said: “My sister told me.”

  “Your sister. Okay.” I gave her a mischievous look. She really brought gossip to another level. I imagined Montevino had old ladies with binoculars all over the place, standing sentry in crucial places.

  “Remember what I said to you last time we chatted, that Tommaso had the pick of the girls? Well, he didn’t seem to want anyone. Then, Federica happened.”

  “I see.”

  Nonna Tina shrugged as she spoke. “Federica is not a bad person. She’s just… well, a bit stupid.” She tapped her temple with her finger. I gasped; Nonna Tina wasn’t very diplomatic. “Isn’t she, Adriana?”

  I heard Adriana laugh in the background. “Nonna! Behave!” she called out.

  I suppose elderly people can be direct, but Nonna Tina was taking it to another level. “Let me tell you about her. Federica was – well, still is, I suppose – one of the prettiest girls in Montevino. She’s a few years older than Tommaso, you know. She burst into Tommaso’s life like a whirlwind. He was head over heels. He and Federica moved in together and got engaged, quicker than anyone could say, ‘Be careful.’”

  “Right.”

  “Except, she was still involved with Caporale.”

  “Antonio Caporale? The guy who stole the vineyards?”

  “His son.”

  So, the Caporales stole Tommaso’s land and his girlfriend. He has quite an ax to grind with them, to say the least.

  “Can I ask you… do you know, by the way, what Antonio’s father was called?”

  “Let me see… Carlo. Yes, Carlo. Carlo, Antonio, and now Denis, the man who broke up Tommaso’s marriage.”

  “Marriage?” I gaped. “Tommaso is married?”

  “He was. But let me tell you everything in order. Tommaso is too kind for his own good. When he found out that Federica was still seeing Denis Caporale, she said she was confused, and he forgave her. He knows too well how devious the Caporales can be. Tommaso and Federica stayed together for a while, then she left him. Then she came back.” Nonna Tina was explaining all this with generous gestures of her hands. Had I not been so sad and outraged for Tommaso, I would have found it funny and endearing. “And then, little Gioele came along.”

  The boy Tommaso and Federica had been talking about this morning. My heart skipped a beat. If ever there was a reason to stay away from that dark-eyed Italian man with a complicated history, little Gioele was the one.

  “Tommaso’s son,” I said, and looked down at my feet.

  “No. Gioele is not Tommaso’s son.”

  “But—”

  “Tommaso took for granted the boy was his, like anyone would. When Gioele was born, Tommaso was over the moon. And then Federica dropped the bombshell, that he wasn’t Gioele’s papa.”

  “Oh, no. That is just terrible!”

  “Tommaso loved the boy so much, he couldn’t let him down. So, once again, they stayed together.”

  “That’s completely masochistic!”

  “What does that mean, dear?”

  “That he likes to suffer!”

  “Maybe. But remember, for the first two years of Gioele’s life he believed he was the boy’s father… He was so proud of the child. He paraded him around the village like he was his biggest achievement! It would have been heartbreaking for Tommaso to part from him.”

  Wait. The nursery children. The line of kids that had passed in front of Leone’s café yesterday. Tommaso had seemed almost hypnotized by them…

  Today, Federica had come looking for Gioele’s nursery folder, so… maybe Gioele had been one of those children! That must be why Tommaso had seemed so cold with me after seeing them. He was upset.

  “It wasn’t just about Tommaso and what he wanted,” Nonna Tina continued. “It was also about Alice, Tommaso’s mamma. The birth of the boy who she believed to be her grandson had given her a new lease of life. She was happy like I hadn’t seen her in years. Not since Tommaso’s father died.”

  “I understand. I suppose Tommaso could have children of his own one day, but hey, people aren’t interchangeable. It’s not like you let a son go, you just make another one.”

  “Exactly. Also, he knows himself what it’s like growing up without a father; he didn’t want that to happen to Gioele too, he didn’t want history to repeat itself.”

  “I can understand that,” I said. �
�I grew up an orphan.”

  “I know.”

  “How…? Never mind. So, Tommaso and Federica stayed together.”

  “But they’re not together anymore. Federica ended up leaving Tommaso for Caporale. She took Gioele with her.”

  That was beyond cruel.

  “Apparently, she doesn’t let Tommaso see the boy at all, because Gioele would ‘get confused about who his real father is,’ so she says.”

  My voice came out in a whisper. “She doesn’t even let them see each other? How could she do that to Tommaso? And to Gioele too! They both must be devastated.”

  “Oh, they are. Tommaso can’t find peace.”

  “But…”

  Nonna Tina tilted her head, looking at me with knowing eyes. “What’s on your mind?” she said.

  “Well, when I was at Tommaso’s house, Federica said something about Gioele learning to write his name. And she’d left a nursery folder belonging to him. It was as if she was trying to bring the child back to Tommaso’s mind…. as if she was trying to keep him in the loop, somehow. But Tommaso wouldn’t have any of it.”

  “And rightly so! Tommaso is done with her. I’m sure of it.”

  “I’m so sorry. You see, when Federica turned up, I left quite abruptly.”

  Nonna Tina shrugged. “It’ll be fine. Just cook him a nice meal. That’ll make up for it.”

  I laughed, taking in the archaic advice.

  “She thinks everything begins and ends with food,” Adriana said, and winked at me.

  “For Italian men, yes!” Nonna Tina said.

  “That’s a bit sexist,” I replied.

  “What?”

  “Sexist.”

  “Oh, yes. Sex too. But wait until you’re married.”

  My eye met Adriana’s over Nonna Tina’s shoulder as I nodded seriously, with Adriana giggling behind her.

  Passiflora was open, thankfully, and Flora was looking over some papers at the counter. She was dressed in gypsy style, with full make-up, although her eyes were circled with blue. The place was tidy and full of fragrant herby smells. I was glad to see she’d slept the hangover off.

  She looked up when the door chimed. “Oh, ciao,” she said when she saw me, without interrupting her work.

  “Oh, ciao back. Don’t sound too happy to see me.” That wasn’t an easy thing to say in Italian – I suspect I must have said something wrong because she raised her eyebrows, confused.

  “I suppose I should say sorry and thank you for last night,” she managed.

  “No need to say sorry. But thank you would be nice. However, I can think of a better way to thank me. You could offer me a cup of tea and sit me down and tell me more about our family. For that… I would be grateful,” I said, and my voice came out small.

  “Okay.”

  “I have so many questions for you, and…” I stopped. “What did you say?”

  “I said okay. I’m not short of tea,” she said, and indicated some shelves full of herbal teas in tin boxes.

  I couldn’t believe this. “Really? Oh! Oh, good.”

  “Yeah. Tea is one of my main sellers.”

  “No, I mean, it’s good that—” My words were interrupted when the chime above the door rang out as a man in a baseball cap stepped in. “I have a delivery for” – he looked down on a piece of paper in his hand – “Flora Stella?”

  “That’s me. Come round the back,” Flora said, leading the man out of sight.

  I hovered in the main room for a few minutes, then decided to take a tour around the shop. It had every herbal combination you could think of, it seemed. Lotions and candles and bath soap too. Before long, I decided to try to find Flora to see if she needed a hand. Her voice was coming from beyond the counter, somewhere deep in the back of the shop. I followed the sound and soon came to a small back room, almost entirely taken over by a dark wooden table and shelves. The shelves were cluttered with more jars full of herbs and various equipment. Tucked in one corner of the room was a small stove with several pots on it.

  Beyond that was another room, painted white, and bare but for a few boxes piled along one wall. It opened out to a courtyard – did this shop ever end?

  Here the delivery man, under Flora’s watchful eye, was moving box after box off a van. Nearby, Flora was signing a form. She quickly handed it back to him, and then brought a hand to her forehead, her eyes closing for a moment. She looked tired, strained. I couldn’t imagine what it was like owning and running your own business alone.

  Opening them, her eyes settled on me. She instantly straightened, composing herself, and went to lift one of the boxes. “Is this new stock? Here, let me help you,” I offered.

  “Or maybe… not,” she said, ignoring my outstretched hands and making her way through the back rooms to the main shop area again. She laid the heavy box down on the counter by the register.

  I was furious. What gave her the right to speak to me like that? Whatever the situation of my birth or my family, I hadn’t chosen any of it. “Look. You might have your reasons for being so negative towards me, but there’s something called manners that you don’t seem to have!”

  “I didn’t ask you to come here!”

  “I didn’t ask to come here either! I didn’t ask to be given up for adoption and then orphaned. Twice. And to know nothing about who I really am for twenty-one years of my life! Do you think I planned any of this?”

  Her eyes flashed – and then she seemed to deflate suddenly, like some heavy thought had the best of her. “I don’t need your help, Callie. I really don’t.”

  “You did last night. And you’re going to have to accept it again, because I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Do you realize how annoying you are?”

  “Well, we’re related, so what do you expect?” I retorted.

  Was that a smile on her face?

  “I suppose you’re right. Malva was the sweet one. When she was born, she snatched up all the sweetness in our family. I was left with the bitter,” she said unexpectedly, and without looking at me. “Or that’s what our mamma always said. That I was sour. And she was right.”

  “I was told that too. Not in those exact words, but yes, that was the gist,” I said, thinking of the Whittiers, my last foster family – and their opinion of me. “But I was just defending myself. You learn that skill, growing up in care.” She looked at me, almost surprised.

  There was a moment of silence, then Flora spoke in a softer tone. “Here, take these out of their boxes and put them on those shelves,” she said, shifting the box over to me and pointing to a line of shelves.

  “Okay. Sure,” I said, feigning indifference, but secretly smiling.

  We got down to work, and I was immediately fascinated with the content of the boxes. Some were organic products – body lotions, all sort of creams, shampoos and shower gels – beautifully packaged in dark bottles stamped with what looked like hand-painted labels, and with a string bow tied around the cap.

  “These bottles are beautiful.”

  “A friend of mine makes them. She does toiletries. I do the healing side of things – salves, brews, herb extracts. Come, I’ll show you,” Flora said, and she abandoned the boxes to go back inside to the small room with dark wood table and shelves.

  “This is my laboratory,” she said.

  “Like a mad scientist?”

  “Would that not be a lair? Anyway, look.” She took a few books down from the shelves. Physiology, Principles of Naturopathy, Healing Herbs… the titles themselves were fascinating. “Remember I told you… the women in our family have been the local midwives and healers for a long time.”

  I remembered. Exactly like Elisa had said.

  “I would love to know more,” I replied, thumbing through the pages of one of the books.

  “Want to borrow them?”

  “I’d love to. Thanks.”

  “Sure. Just look after them.”

  “Okay, I was thinking of jumping on them and then throwing them out the w
indow, but I guess I don’t have to,” I said deadpan and without looking up.

  She laughed briefly – progress, I suppose – and while returning to the boxes, she asked: “What do you do? Back home in America?”

  Shocked at her sudden interest, I replied, “I’m a server, a waitress. But I’ve been saving up to go to college. I don’t know what I’m going to do yet, though.”

  “Mmmm. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Was she really being nice? “Listen, I’m parched. What about that tea I promised you?”

  “That would be great.”

  A few minutes later, we sat in the back room in front of a steaming cup of herbal tea, which she had prepared on the stove. It smelled like a meadow.

  “What is this?” I couldn’t place the flavor.

  “Flowers.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. I collect them in the summer and dry them. It’s nice to drink sunshine all throughout the year.”

  “I heard somewhere that buttercups are poisonous.”

  Flora fixed her eyes on me and said ominously, “Well, we’ll soon find out, won’t we?”

  I laughed, then took a deep breath. “So…”

  “Yes. You want to know about Malva. My sister.”

  “And my father. Who was he? How did they meet? Why did they give me away?”

  “Your father was called Paolo Caporale.” Her face darkened, as if even just saying his name aloud disturbed her.

  “Caporale?” I was breathless for a moment. I couldn’t believe it. I felt my legs give way, and I had to sit down, my hand on my chest.

  “Are you okay?” Flora asked, alarmed, and moved to sit across from me.

  I nodded. “It’s just… It’s just I heard terrible things about the Caporale family.”

  “With reason, yes.”

  “You said Paolo Caporale… not Antonio?”

  “Paolo and Antonio were brothers. Denis, Antonio’s son, lives in Camosso. Nice family, eh? Antonio was a nasty man. But Paolo took it to another level.”

  For a moment, I couldn’t think of anything to say. I was desperate to know more, and at the same time, I didn’t want to know.