The Tuscan Child(47)

I could tell nobody—that was clear. Not even Paola. She must not be put in danger. I realised now that Gianni had been trying to get me alone last night not for an amorous encounter but because he wanted to tell me something. He knew the truth about Sofia. He must have known about my father. And this was enough to get him killed. I stared through the bars on my window out into the blindingly bright sunshine. Had he been followed here last night? Had someone seen him push the envelope through the bars and shutters of my window and then hit him over the head? In which case I was in danger. It occurred to me that I should have just left the envelope where I had found it so that anyone who came to search would realise that I was completely unaware of its contents. But it was too late for that now.

The most sensible thing for me to do would be to go back to Florence and take the next train home. Once I was out of the country, I would be safe. But the two policemen had said I was not allowed to leave the area until I was given permission. There was no bus I could take, and anyone who gave me a lift could get into trouble for abetting my escape. I was trapped here. I would have to make sure I stayed close to Paola. She would not let anything happen to me.

I collected my sponge bag and towel and almost ran back to the house.

“You are indeed eager for your bath,” Paola commented, noting I was breathing hard. “Relax, my little one. Forget about what you have seen. Forget about those men. Gianni and his mistakes are nothing to do with us. May God have mercy on his soul, and also on his poor wife, who is now left alone. She will now be like me, unable to take care of the sheep and make cheese. I must go and offer her comfort, but not today. She may not even know the truth yet, poor soul.”

Paola took me through a long tiled hallway and ushered me into an enormous bathroom with a big claw-foot tub against one wall. She turned on the water and ran it until it reached the correct temperature. Then she nodded with satisfaction. “Good,” she said. “Take your time. Enjoy it. Let your cares be washed away.”

While the bath was filling, I cleaned my teeth. I certainly wasn’t going to use the water from that well for anything other than flushing the toilet! I lowered myself into the warm water, lay back, and stared at the high ceiling, but I couldn’t relax. I was glad to see that there were also bars on this window. I was safe for a while at least. After I had bathed I was relieved to find that Paola and Angelina were working in the garden, picking the broad beans. They were within hailing distance if I needed them. They could also see anyone coming down the path from the town. I dressed, put my dictionary into my purse, and came out to see if I could help with the picking.

“The rest we will leave until it is cool this evening,” Paola said. “Now I suppose we must go up to the town, or those brutes will come looking for us. Let us get it over with.”

I followed them into the house. Paola took off her apron and put on her hat before we set off up the hill. As we came into the piazza, we found it abuzz with people. We were besieged the moment we were spotted. Most of the Italian was too fast for me to understand and spoken in the local Tuscan dialect, but I got the meaning. Was it true that Gianni had been murdered? Found in Paola’s well? And she heard nothing? No cries for help? Who could have done such a thing?

At this last question looks were exchanged. “Well, that Gianni,” a woman said, leaning in closer as if she didn’t want her words to be heard beyond our little group. “He was maybe asking for trouble. My husband warned him when that man showed up looking for him. Remember I told you?”

There were nods all around. “And that time he had that grappa for sale? Who knows where that came from? Certainly not from around here.”

I could see relief in all those faces. Not from around here. His death had nothing to do with anyone in San Salvatore.

“We have to go to the Carabinieri and make a statement,” Paola said.

“Good luck with that,” one of the men who had been loitering at the edge of our circle said. “You go in that place and you’re lucky to come out again.”

They chuckled, but I could see they also glanced over at the yellow building.

“Don’t say that in front of the English signorina,” one of them said. “She will not believe you’re joking.”

“Tell her she will be fine as long as she leaves a good bribe,” the man said.

“Don’t talk like that.” A woman in black turned and gave him a hefty shove. “Shouldn’t you be minding your shop, not meddling where you are not wanted?”

The man shuffled away. Paola took my arm and marched me toward the open door of the Carabinieri building. “Pay no attention. That man is a troublemaker,” she said. “He is as bad as Gianni was. He sold some of the illegal grappa at his shop, didn’t he? Claims he didn’t know there was anything wrong with it.”

We went up three steps and into the cool darkness beyond. It smelled of stale smoke in there. The room we went into was lit only by a small, high window with bars on it. I felt as though I had stepped into a prison cell. I glanced nervously at Paola. She didn’t seem at all worried.

“So we have come to make our statements. Let us get it over with. I have much work to do with market day tomorrow,” she said.

One of the officers we had seen this morning was seated at a desk.

“Ah, you came. Good. Just tell the truth and all will be well,” he said.