The Tuscan Child(74)

“I suppose I had better see if the inspector from Lucca has made up his mind about whether I am free to go,” I said.

“Oh.” Paola’s face fell. “So soon? You wish to go so soon? Just when I have found another daughter?”

“I’m really liking it here,” I said. “But I need to know that the police don’t consider me a suspect in the death of Gianni. And I should be returning home soon. I have to get back to my studies.”

“But you will stay at least a week,” she said.

That fact struck me with surprise. Had I been here less than a week? It felt as if I had lived here for a long time.

“Oh, of course. At least a week,” I said.

“How can I teach you to cook Tuscan food if you run away so quickly?” She put an arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “And I need to fatten you up. You need meat on these bones or you will never find a husband.”

“Perhaps she already has a man in mind, Mamma,” Angelina said, looking up from where she was breastfeeding the baby.

“Is that right? There is a young man waiting?” Paola asked.

I shook my head. “No young man waiting.”

“Of course. You need to pass those exams first. When you are a rich lawyer you’ll have men lining up to marry you,” Paola said.

“She doesn’t want men to marry her for her money, Mamma,” Angelina said. “She wants to marry for love. You can see that she is a romantic, not a practical person.”

“Money doesn’t hurt, either,” Paola said. “But perhaps you come from a family with money so there is no problem.”

I shook my head. “No family money, I’m afraid. My father was almost penniless when he died. I will have to make my own way in the world, or marry a rich man.”

“She should make eyes at Cosimo,” Angelina said, chuckling. “Fifty-five and not married and owns all this land!”

“Cosimo? She should set her cap at Renzo, the heir. Much more pleasing to the eye, eh, Joanna?”

I felt myself blushing. She chuckled. “I notice things. I see the way you look when he speaks to you. And you go off together at the festa?”

“We were just speaking about his mother and whether he had any memory of meeting my father.”

“And had he any such memories?”

I shook my head. “No. But we are now sure that they did know each other. And now Gianni’s widow says that my father was taken away. Maybe that was what happened. He was taken away by the enemy, and she gave up in despair and chose the protection of a German. Or . . . or she was betrayed and taken away, too. I suppose now we’ll never know.”

“You never asked your father about this? He never spoke of it?”

“He never did,” I said. “My mother told me he was shot down and badly injured in the war and almost died, but I never thought to ask her for details. And I’m sure my father wouldn’t have shared anything about Sofia with my mother.” Which is why he kept his memories shut away in a little box in the attic, I thought.

We finished breakfast. Paola put on her sun hat and her apron and went out to work in her garden. I volunteered to help her, but she brushed me aside. “You are here on holiday. Enjoy yourself. Go.”

I left her tying up beans and set off up the hill. It was going to be a hot day. Already I could feel the heat of the sun on the back of my neck. I will try to see Renzo, I thought, and suggest that he comes to the monastery with me. The thought gave me a jolt of pleasure. I shook my head. Would I never learn? Renzo was the son of a man described as dangerous—a man who might have ordered the death of another who crossed him. He also happened to live in a village in Italy. Hardly suitable boyfriend material, even if he hadn’t turned out to be my brother. Besides, he had hardly seemed to notice when I grabbed on to him during the earthquake.

I reached the town piazza. The remains of yesterday’s merrymaking were still much in evidence. There were banners and flags looking very sorry for themselves after the rain and now trailing from rooftops or lying over tables that had not yet been put away. I went into the office of the Carabinieri and found that the inspector had not yet arrived and it was not known when he was expected. As I came out of the building again, I noticed that the yellow building at the edge of the piazza was the post office. It occurred to me that I should telephone Scarlet and let her know that I was still in danger of being arrested. Just in case . . .

I went in, paid, and was shown how to use the telephone. The post office employee was very excited about putting through a telephone call to somewhere as far away as England. He insisted on doing everything himself, and it took a long while before he finally handed the phone to me. I heard it ringing at the other end. I waited a long time and was about to hang up when a voice said, “Do you know what bloody time it is?” And of course I realised that Italy was an hour ahead of England. It was ten o’clock here but only nine there—the middle of the night as far as Scarlet was concerned.

“It’s me. Joanna. I’m sorry. I must have woken you,” I said. “I forgot the time difference.”

“Jo? Is something wrong?” she asked. “It’s not like you to waste money on a phone call. Are you still in Italy?”

“Yes.”

“Have you found your long-lost brother and your father’s former love?”