The Italian Villa: An emotional and absolutely gripping WW2 historical romance Page 20

  “You’re just like your aunt. And you know what your aunt is? She’s a whore.”

  Before I knew it, I’d slapped her. The sound of my palm on her skin broke through the night. She held her cheek, burning red.

  “Get out of my house now, or I swear…” I was panting with fury. “How dare you speak about my aunt like that?”

  “You don’t know, do you?” she said, as she stepped through the doorway. There was a hint of pity in her voice.

  “Stop playing games, Sofia.”

  “Flora had an affair with her sister’s husband. Malva’s husband. The man I assume was your father.”

  I was silent. Stunned. I couldn’t believe what she’d just said. She was just a malicious village gossip.

  “Don’t come back, Sofia,” I shouted, and slammed the door.

  From the window, I watched her get into her car and drive away, my palm still burning from where I’d struck her.

  And then they came. A steady stream of hot, bubbling tears. I didn’t make any effort to stop them – nobody was there to hear me cry, and I just couldn’t hold it all in anymore.

  I cried myself to sleep that night, too upset and drained to even consider that Sofia’s words might be true.

  13

  I woke up on the sofa, still in the clothes I’d been wearing last night. The girl who looked back at me from the mirror was a complete mess. I had some eyes around my bags.

  I did my best to make myself look presentable – a shower, fresh clothes and a bit of make-up did wonders - and downed a couple of cups of sugary espresso.

  The diary beckoned me from the coffee table. Perhaps I could escape into Elisa’s world for just a moment, but I just couldn’t take any more emotion. I left it where it was, instead of slipping it into my bag to read at lunchtime, as I’d planned to do.

  Apart from anything else, I could hardly go to Leone’s for lunch, in case Sofia was there. I would go to Nonna Tina instead, and let her spoil me a little. I would tell her about what Sofia had said – she could further reassure me that it was all nonsense.

  Why did I need reassurance at all? I mean, Flora and my father? She hated him! What sick imagination could make something like that up?

  I opened the door, and I nearly tripped over something large that had been laid flat on the porch. It was a parcel wrapped in brown paper, flat and rectangular. I crouched down and picked it up gingerly, praying it wasn’t some nasty trick left by Sofia the night before, then went back inside the house and took the parcel to the drawing room. I laid the object on the coffee table and unwrapped it.

  It was a painting – the portrait of a woman with long black hair and clear eyes, surrounded by stormy skies that melted with her hair and with the hills behind her. It was a portrait of me. I turned it around, though there was no doubt to who’d painted it.

  Rissi, June 2019,

  Tommaso Carpentieri

  I sat for a moment with the painting on my lap, looking at my own face translated onto canvas with such love, in a way that made me think yes, this is me. The woman in the painting had a vulnerable expression – there was something sweet about her, about me. Not the hardened girl I’d been before, so out of touch with her feelings, and maybe everyone else’s too.

  I lifted it up carefully and held it to me; it was then that I saw a note on the ground beneath, white against the red tiles. A tiny sketch of a slice of cake and a cup with steam seeping off it:

  Lunch at Leone’s today?

  I’ll come get you from Passiflora.

  PS I’m an idiot.

  I twirled into Passiflora. Well, not literally, but almost. I couldn’t wait to see him, I couldn’t wait to see his eyes full of tenderness, instead of the cold, distant look I never wanted to see again.

  The second I saw Flora, though, my anxiety began to rise once more. I just couldn’t forget what Sofia had said. The more I tried to put it out of my mind, the more it came back to me. I worked all morning barely uttering a word, but it didn’t take long before I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

  “Flora. Sofia came to see me last night.”

  “She did?” Then, “Hey, Tommaso!” she called to all six foot of him behind me, his deep, moss-green eyes making my heart skip a beat, as usual.

  “Hey! Hi, Flora. Rissi… I was wondering if you found my note? And if you wanted to have lunch with me at Leone’s?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’d love to. Well, maybe not at Leone’s…” I shot a glance at Flora, who grimaced. Tommaso looked at us, from one to the other, trying to gauge the unspoken words between us.

  “You go wherever you want, Callie. Don’t let that girl have anything over you,” Flora said. “And take the afternoon off, if you want to.”

  “Thanks so much.”

  Wait. What did she mean by not letting Sofia have anything over me? Did Sofia have something over my aunt?

  Tommaso held out his hand, and I took it. He led me out of the shop, and into the clear sunshine; my heart was racing. And he was nervous, too, because for a while he avoided my eyes.

  “Wow, Flora was almost nice there. What did you do to her?” he said, eventually.

  “I have no idea. Things are so much better between us now, but she might change back at any moment. Tommaso… the portrait…”

  “Yes. The portrait.”

  “It’s… beautiful. Nobody ever did something like that for me before.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “To say the least!”

  He stopped and came close to me. The alley was deserted, no one to witness our sudden closeness. “It was… a message. A message for you.”

  “Yes.”

  “That I’m sorry, I’ve been…”

  “An idiot. You said that in the note. But I don’t think so, it was a gut reaction…”

  “It was also a message about Federica.” His face was so close to mine, I could almost feel his voice with my body. He smelled of woodsmoke and freshly cut grass. He smelled of Tommaso.

  “What about her?” My voice was low and whispery, betraying how his closeness made me feel.

  “That she’s gone from my life, and from my heart. The portrait I made of you, that image… that’s what my heart looks like now, Rissi.”

  And then he kissed me, his lips light on mine just as a group of apron-clad nonnas, carrying grocery bags, turned into the other end of the alley and began making their way toward us. We took a step away from each other, composing ourselves. One of the old ladies looked sour and disapproving, two were smiling, as they passed. “Oh, to be young!” I heard one of them saying longingly, and Tommaso and I laughed.

  “So, Leone’s?”

  “Better not. Long story. I’ll tell you about it somewhere more private.”

  “I’ll tell you what, I’ll get some picnic stuff and take you to this place I know.”

  “Sounds amazing,” I said, and all my heart and soul opened into a smile.

  We walked along the alley to the square, then, “Give me a moment,” Tommaso said, as he left me standing in the half-shade of one of the majestic pines.

  A few minutes later, he came back with a paper bag full of goodies and led me to his Jeep. We set off up the hill toward the castle. Once there, Tommaso parked the Jeep and I followed him along a narrow, paved path that led to the back of the castle. From here a flight of stone steps took us up to an exquisite internal courtyard.

  “Oh, Tommaso, this is beautiful!”

  A stone parapet enclosed the courtyard, and the whole of the perimeter was decorated by lemon trees in vases. A gentle breeze carried the scent of the lemons to us. In the far corner was a small round tower, covered in frescoes representing the weather, and the seasons, with the winds blowing from the four corners.

  “That is called the Tower of Winds.”

  “It’s amazing. Oh, let me see…” I walked to the parapet, and from there I could see the entire valley, with Montevino’s red roofs beneath us, nestled among the vineyards. The sky was enormous and dott
ed with white clouds like watercolor brush strokes; the lemon-scented breeze was in my hair.

  It was perfect.

  “Come,” Tommaso said, leading me toward another small set of steps in a corner of the courtyard. From here we descended to the castle grounds, where grassy fields, ancient trees and moss-covered stone statues eventually gave way to the woods.

  “Look!” he whispered as we walked, and I caught a glimpse of two deer standing behind a tree. As soon as they saw us they bounded quickly away. This place was like a secret paradise.

  At the edge of the woods was a stone gazebo, covered in exquisite stained glass that made everything look magical. We sat on circular stone benches in the gazebo; we ate focaccia bread and drank chinotto in small glass bottles, followed by tiny chocolate masterpieces that must have come from Leone’s.

  Full-bellied and happy, we lay down on the grass in the sunshine, my head in the crook of Tommaso’s arm and our bodies glued to each other. I was grateful that he just cuddled me, without asking for more, despite the desire I felt. It would have been too soon for me.

  “Oh, I could stay like this forever,” I said lazily, after a while.

  Tommaso shaded his eyes from the sun. “As could I. But we have to go.”

  “Do we?”

  “Yeah. We have jobs to go back to, isn’t that terrible?”

  “But I’m happy here,” I whined, nestling into him even tighter.

  “The summer is still long, isn’t it? There’ll be plenty of time to…”

  At that moment, it hit me. Yes, the summer was ahead of us… but after?

  Tommaso didn’t want to think about it either, it seemed, because he took me in his arms and in one fluid movement, he got us both up. He raised a hand toward my face and picked at my hair. “You’ve got grass in your hair. There. What would people think…”

  I laughed, and then, on impulse, held him tight. A wave of affection swept me – different from the desire I’d felt and still felt, different from passionate love – a moment of pure affection. Like maybe the family I’d been looking for – that family didn’t necessarily carry my same blood.

  “Did you have fun?” Flora said when I returned, my nose and cheeks red from the sun, grass in my hair, and very sleepy.

  “I might have,” I said with a smile.

  The working day went on, but my thoughts kept going back to what Sofia had said. I had to get it out of the way. I had to. I’d just finished wrapping some candles up for a customer, when I introduced the subject. “I was trying to tell you earlier. Sofia came up to Firefly House…”

  Flora rolled her eyes. “I can guess what she told you. She’s paranoid. I’ve let Marco go.”

  “You guessed right, she said you have to stop pestering Marco. Clearly he hasn’t let you go, otherwise Sofia wouldn’t be so defensive of him.”

  “He should. Let me go, I mean.

  “What happened with him?”

  “Well, we loved each other, then I realized I didn’t deserve him, that he’s too good and I would just mess it all up.”

  I threw my hands in the air. “You don’t deserve Firefly House. You don’t deserve Marco. It sounds like you’re punishing yourself! But for what, Zia?”

  “Zia” meant “Aunt” in Italian. It was the first time I had ever called Flora that, but, if she noticed, she didn’t say anything. I felt we were becoming closer by the day. I didn’t want Sofia’s horrible lies to come between us.

  “He’s a good person.” She looked down.

  “So are you.”

  “I love him.”

  I sucked my breath in. “From the way he was looking at you at the chocolate fair, I’d say he loves you too.”

  She looked at me for a moment, and I wasn’t sure what was in her eyes.

  Pain? Shame?

  Guilt.

  Flora had secrets. I could feel it.

  “It’s not because of Sofia, is it? Because she’s crazy. I mean, she’s full of crap. She started going on about you and my father. She said you saw my father behind Malva’s back. She’ll say anything to keep you two apart.” I tried to laugh, but all that came out were coughs of air, and I immediately regretted telling her that. Why had I? I should have kept my mouth shut. Maybe I wanted reassurance.

  Instead, I got silence.

  “Zia?”

  She looked at me again.

  At that moment, I knew. “Oh my God.”

  “Callie…”

  “You did it, didn’t you? Sofia was telling the truth.”

  “I…”

  “Tell me it’s not true.”

  More silence.

  “Please, tell me it’s not true.”

  “I can’t,” she said. “Because it is.”

  14

  I ran all the way to Firefly House, breathless, tears blinding me. How could she have done that? How could she have betrayed my mother that way? My father and Flora.

  I ran past Tommaso’s cottage – I just wanted to hide myself in the little pink bedroom and cry.

  “Rissi!”

  I heard him calling me.

  “Rissi!” His footsteps followed behind me. “What happened?”

  Tommaso saw my face and the tears streaming down my cheeks, and his eyes widened. He was beside me in an instant. His arms enveloped me, tenderly, and he tucked me into him, folded me in. It took my breath away.

  I froze for a moment, then I rested my hands on his, entwined over my waist. Even my tears must have been shocked, because they stopped falling, and I leaned back into him, letting go.

  “I’m here for you,” he whispered.

  And suddenly, the hurt seemed to sting a little less, as I leaned against him and let him take my burdens for a moment, just for a moment before Morella jumped on us, and the spell was broken.

  Tommaso turned me around and cupped my face in his hands. “Whatever it is, we’ll sort it.”

  I nodded, unable to speak. Tommaso’s face was smudged with dirt, and his hands had soil on them. I didn’t mind.

  “If anyone hurt you, I’ll unleash Morella on them. They’ll regret it.”

  Morella was sitting on her back legs, her mouth open and her tongue out, wagging her tail at the sound of her name.

  “That’s a terrible threat,” I managed to joke.

  “I know. Come. Don’t be alone,” he said, and he took my hand to lead me back to his cottage, followed by the murderous hound bouncing and wagging happily. He took me through the house and into the back garden, which I’d never seen before. We sat at a table under a canopy of jasmine in bloom, its scent beautiful, deep, and almost heady.

  I unburdened myself. “Sofia was telling the truth. Flora pretty much admitted it.”

  “Okay. I see.”

  “How could she have done that, Tommaso! Her sister’s husband!”

  “Rissi, listen.” A soft gust of breeze blew through the jasmine, and tiny flowers fell on the table between us. “You have no idea what the circumstances were. You have no idea what happened. Yes, Flora did a terrible thing. But she was sixteen, and Paolo Caporale was a lot older than her, and, I can quite assure you, was a complete bastard. God only knows why your mother married him. Paolo Caporale was a bad person, simple as. I’m sorry, I know that I’m talking about your father, but it’s true.”

  I nodded. “Do you think he… brainwashed her or something? Flora did say that he ruined Malva’s life.”

  “So how do you know that he didn’t ruin Flora’s life too?”

  I didn’t know how to answer that.

  “Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t,” Tommaso continued. “And maybe Flora did do that deliberately. But it happened twenty years ago. People make mistakes, people change. You’re trying to piece together events that happened a long time ago.”

  “Flora herself said it did happen, and it was her fault because she betrayed her sister. She said she never forgave herself.”

  “Anyone can see that something eats Flora inside. Whatever that is, she’s refused anything
good in her life from that time. She never had a family, for a start.”

  “I know that she’s punishing herself. I told her.”

  “If she’s punishing herself, maybe there’s no need for you to punish her. And if she never forgave herself, maybe you could forgive her.”

  Tommaso’s words still resounded in my mind as I urged him to go back to his work, while I returned to Firefly House. I had a shower, long and cool, and then I found refuge in my little round bedroom. I let myself fall on the bed with a sigh.

  Elisa. I need Elisa’s presence.

  I ran to get her diary, abandoned on the coffee table downstairs, and performed a little evening ritual I’d started. With my hair still wet and in my nightie, even it was barely twilight, I curled up on the window seat. Everything was so silent, so peaceful. I sat and hugged my legs. The citronella candlelight was dancing and casting lovely shadows on the wall. I braced myself to read about the aftermath of Pietro’s death. Sofia had interrupted me yesterday just as I was about to learn what Elisa did next, after the terrible news arrived.

  … I went out into the night, looking for Don Giuseppe. Only he knew where Leo was. When I told him what had happened, he left quickly for Camosso, where he promised to ask a partisan collaborator to inform Leo. I don’t know who this person is in Camosso.

  I went home in the darkness, my heart heavy. It was a long wait, spent holding my mamma and Zia Costanza in my arms and crying with them; sitting with my papa, one hand on his shoulder, talking in whispers, or just sitting in silence, trying to swallow the enormity of our loss. Finally, as the sun was just beginning to rise after our terrible night, I heard Leo’s secret call outside my window.

  I packed a bag quickly: this diary, a blanket and some black bread. I could feel my parents’ apprehension as I left, and I hated giving them more worry, but I had to do this. It was time to take sides.

  Seeing Leo opened the floodgates in my heart, but I tried to be as silent as I could. Even in the darkness I could see he was so thin – I felt his bones as he hugged me quickly, before running to the High Woods. It was too dangerous for Leo to be seen at the house.