The Tuscan Child(55)

“But not true,” I said. “And how could I have put his body into the well? I told you I was not strong enough to lift the lid alone.”

“So you got the signora to help you.” He wagged his finger at me again. “Together you pushed this poor man into the well, where he drowned.”

I took a deep breath, fighting to remain calm and in control as Renzo translated. “If I had done as you say and stuffed his body into the well, would I have alerted the signora in the morning that I had no water for my shower? Would we have removed the cover, found the body, and then called the Carabinieri? No, I would have kept quiet about the body. I would have left the town, caught the first train back to England, and by the time anybody discovered the body I would have been gone.”

The inspector listened to this as it was translated into Italian. I realised I was waving my arms as I spoke, in true Italian fashion. I noticed a strange expression crossing Renzo’s face. Then he said, “I can waste no more time on this, Inspector. I have business to attend to. You will please excuse me. It is quite obvious that this young woman did not kill Gianni.”

“Then why,” the inspector said, “were her fingerprints on a big stone found beside the well? Answer me that one.”

“I can answer,” I said, not waiting for Renzo to translate. “That stone was on top of the lid. I lifted it down first when I attempted to open the lid.”

“Ah, so you do speak Italian,” the inspector said.

“Not well enough to say what I want to,” I answered. “And I don’t understand when people speak rapidly.”

“We will leave this matter until next week,” the inspector said. “I am not convinced that she is innocent. I will need to question this Signora Rossini as well. She may have been a partner in crime. But I will get a confession out of her if she is guilty. We need to do more tests, question more witnesses. The whole place will be searched for clues and fingerprints. But I will be kind to you, Signorina. I will not take you to the jail in Lucca. I will permit you to stay here in this town until we get to the bottom of this crime. You are not permitted to leave, do you understand?”

I nodded.

“Very well. You may go for now.” He waved us out of the room.

As I came out of the darkness into the bright daylight, my wrist was grabbed. I gasped, struggled, and looked up at my attacker. It was Renzo. He was glaring at me, a look of fury on his face.

“Where did you get that ring?” he demanded. “Have you robbed my house?”

I looked down at my hand. “It is my signet ring,” I said. “My family crest. My father gave it to me for my twenty-first birthday.”

“But no, you are wrong,” Renzo said. “It is my family crest. My family. Your father must have stolen it while he was here.”

“Absolute rubbish!” I shouted the words, fear and anger now combining. “See the crest on it. It is the griffin. The same crest is carved over the front entrance of Langley Hall. It has been in our family since 1600.”

I saw uncertainty on his face now. “But I have an identical ring at home,” he said. “It is a man’s ring and was found among my mother’s possessions. Cosimo told me that it came from my real father’s family. From the Bartolis. He said I should be proud that we were once nobility.”

“Then Cosimo was wrong,” I said, realising as I said it that Cosimo hadn’t known the truth. He had not known about my father. But I was feeling excited now. This was absolute proof that my father had been here—that he had known Sofia. I looked up at Renzo’s face, now frowning with confusion. “I think my father must have given this to your mother as a token of his love. Now we know he was here in this place and he did know your mother. Are you sure you do not remember him? An Englishman with light brown hair and blue eyes, slender in build like me?”

He shook his head. “I never saw him,” he said. “What makes you think that he knew my mother? What brought you here?”

“Well, the ring is proof, isn’t it? And I have a letter that he wrote to her,” I said. “A love letter. He told her that as soon as the war was over, he was coming back for her. He was going to marry her.” I paused, feeling the intense emotion in what I was saying. “But the letter was returned unopened. The stamp on it said, ‘Not known at this address.’ He kept it locked away in a little box all these years.”

“She had gone with the German,” he said. “She chose not to wait for your father.”

I nodded, feeling close to tears. We stood there in the bright sunlight, staring at each other.

“Then your father and I were both abandoned,” he said.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR





JOANNA


June 1973

We looked up as we heard Paola calling.

“Your tomatoes, Signor Bartoli. Do you have a cart to transport them?”

“I will send one of the men up later on,” Renzo said. “But I will pay you now. Keep them out of the sun, please.”

He took out a wallet and handed over several notes. Paola beamed. “You are most generous.”

I turned to Renzo. “Thank you for translating for me. I could not have got through that interview without you.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I am sure the inspector realises that you are completely innocent of this crime. Sometimes these men enjoy wielding their power. Or maybe he is just lazy. He goes for the most obvious suspect. But I will speak with Cosimo and he will make sure that you are released. My father has great influence in these parts.”