The Tuscan Child(88)

He heaved a small sigh of relief when they turned away from the village, heading north along the ridge. He scanned the countryside to both sides. No sign of a cart and horse. No sign of anybody moving in the fields. If he encountered a sympathetic officer, a soldier of the old school, he had a chance of being treated as a fellow officer and prisoner of war—just the slightest chance of remaining alive. He tried to think of Langley Hall, his father, his wife and child. Instead all he saw was Sofia’s face—so lovely, so gentle—and his heart ached at the thought he’d never see her again.

After a few miles they joined a wider road, this one paved and no longer tree-lined. The wind sweeping down from the north was brutal. Hugo could see a town silhouetted on the hilltop ahead. Several German military vehicles were drawn up beside the road. Hugo’s car stopped and there was a brief exchange. As they spoke Hugo noticed the men glancing up nervously. He could not turn round, but he could hear the reason for their concern—the deep thrum of approaching aircraft.

Soon the low drone became a roar. The German soldiers who had been standing around rushed for their vehicles or fled into the fields to hide among the vineyards. The first wave passed overhead, their shadows making black crosses on the fields. Big American bombers. There was a whistling sound and a bomb came down, striking near the head of the convoy of German vehicles. A petrol tank exploded, and Hugo felt the blast sucking air from his lungs. A second bomb landed just in front of them. The driver of his vehicle swore and abruptly put the car into reverse, throwing Hugo and the soldier guarding him off balance. It was only a fraction of a second, but Hugo decided to take his chance to escape.

As he attempted to clamber out of the vehicle, there was a deafening roar of aircraft noise overhead. One of the fighters at the rear of the formation had broken off and was coming in low over the road. A machine gun spat out bullets. His driver flew upward as he was hit, then slumped forward. The vehicle careened wildly across the road. A second bullet struck the man beside Hugo. The vehicle crashed into a burning lorry and rolled over. Hugo was thrown out. He was still conscious and trying to crawl away when the petrol tank exploded and he knew no more.





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT





JOANNA


June 1973

As soon as I awoke the next morning the first thing that came into my head was that I was leaving San Salvatore today. Renzo would drive me to the station, and I’d never see him again. And it occurred to me that I might have misunderstood Cosimo’s desire to get rid of me in a hurry. Maybe it was not a fear that I knew something dangerous—maybe it was that he sensed Renzo was becoming attracted to me. It was quite a coincidence that everyone Renzo fell in love with was somehow whisked away from him. Was that Cosimo’s doing? I asked myself. Had he arranged for the local girl to attend a fashion design school she couldn’t possibly afford? And bringing him back from England when he had a stroke was understandable, but keeping him here, needing his assistance every moment, was that really necessary? Cosimo was clearly one of those people who see themselves as the centre of the universe and see others only when they can be useful.

This thought led to another one: Renzo had mentioned that Cosimo had been in love but the girl had rejected him. Might that girl have been Sofia, and to get his revenge he tipped off the Germans about her and my father? That would definitely explain why Cosimo had smeared her reputation and why he wanted me to go so quickly.

I was still trying to make sense of these thoughts when I went over to the farmhouse to take a bath and then joined Paola and Angelina for breakfast. The meal was a solemn one. Paola looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment. “And I haven’t taught you anything about mushrooms yet,” she said. “The little wood mushrooms, so delicious. And ravioli . . . we haven’t learned to make ravioli.” She reached across and took my hand. “Promise me you will come back, cara Joanna. We will have such a good time, no?”

“I hope so,” I said. “I hope it will be possible when this sad time with Gianni is over.”

“Too bad you are not a lawyer here in Italy,” she said. “You would know how to speak to this police inspector so that he listens and sees the truth.”

“Unfortunately we don’t know the truth,” I said.

“Whatever it is, it can have nothing to do with you,” she said firmly.

That’s where you’re wrong, I thought but didn’t say. We finished the meal. “I must go and pack,” I said. I went back to my room and folded my clothes neatly in my suitcase. Soon I’d be back in grey and rainy London, buying a pre-cooked steak and kidney pie from Sainsbury’s for my dinner and wondering what my future would hold.

I hadn’t quite finished when I heard a tap on my door.

“Come in,” I called, and was startled when Renzo entered, not Paola.

“Are you ready?” he asked. “We have to hurry if we wish to see the monastery before we drive to Florence. My father insists I see a man about our grapes before this fellow leaves for his afternoon snooze.”

“I just need to pack these last few items,” I said. “Shall I leave them until we get back?”

“Or finish them now. Whatever you want,” he said, and sat on the bed. It would have been disturbing enough at any time to have Renzo sitting on my bed watching me as I crammed undies into a suitcase. Now, knowing what I knew, fearing what I feared, it was almost unbearable. I picked up the spare shoes, the ones with the items from Gianni in the toes, and stuffed them with undies and stockings. Renzo said nothing as I put them into my suitcase. I finished, looked around the room, and closed the suitcase.