The Tuscan Child(90)

“Beautiful, is it not?” he asked, putting an arm around my shoulder.

It should have been the most magical moment, standing close to him and sharing this view, but I couldn’t quite shake off the tension.

“We shouldn’t stay long,” I said. “We might be seen and get into trouble.”

“And they would fine us a few hundred lira for trespassing. So what?” He laughed. “Relax, Joanna, enjoy this while you can.”

Again the choice of words made me glance up at him, but he was gazing out with a look of pure delight on his face.

“You wouldn’t have been happy if you had stayed in London,” I said. “You love it here.”

“Yes,” he said. “I do. But I also want to further my career. If I had come home as an accomplished chef, I would have opened my own restaurant. I could have turned our little town into a tourist destination.”

“You could still do that,” I said. “You cook very well. Your food is delicious.”

“But I do not have that certificate that says I am trained in a culinary academy, do I? One needs that piece of paper.”

I thought of my bar exam. One needs that piece of paper. Of course.

“Let’s explore,” I said.

“Tread carefully,” Renzo warned. “These paving stones are uneven and some are loose. Here, take my hand.” His hand felt warm and firm in mine. I began to let the tension slip away. We made our way toward the buildings. Small trees and shrubs had sprouted up between the cracked stones, and on the pile of rubble to our left there were now bigger trees growing. A creeper with bright blue flowers covered much of the rubble. We stopped, staring around.

“Nowhere anybody could hide out here,” Renzo said. “It would have had to be the chapel.”

On the right what used to be four walls rose up. Curved marble steps led to a gaping hole where front doors had once been. We stepped inside. It was cool and in dark shade where we stood, but the sunlight was striking the opposite wall, where the remains of a mural were still visible. A woman with a crown on her head still smiling sweetly. Clouds. Angels. I looked down, ready to go forward, but the floor was covered in rubble. Great beams lay across roof tiles and stones.

“I don’t think my father would have found much shelter in here, do you?” I said.

“At least he would have been out of the wind,” Renzo said. “He could have built himself a little shelter with all these stones.”

“Then where is it?” I asked.

He looked around and shrugged. “There have been earthquakes since he was here. Anything would have fallen down. Come on. Let’s take a look.”

Again he took my hand and we clambered over mounds of rubble. But there was nothing. No discarded tins or cigarette packets to indicate an Englishman might once have been here.

I sighed. “I don’t think there is any point in staying any longer. If he hid up here he was found by the Germans. He escaped and made his way back to England. But there is also no proof that your mother ever came up here, either.”

“We might have got it completely wrong,” Renzo said. “Perhaps he hid in the woods—built himself a little shelter of branches. Or she might even have risked hiding him in our cellar.”

I shook my head. “Then the people of San Salvatore would have seen the Germans taking him away. And you would probably have all been executed for hiding an Englishman.”

“True. Very well, we have come. We have seen. And now it is time to drive to Florence, I am afraid. The very least I can do is treat you to a lunch in a good restaurant before you catch your train home.”

“Thank you.” I hesitated, still reluctant to move. Did I sense my father’s presence here? Maybe if I had been closer to him . . .

As I went to move forward I was jolted off my feet. My first thought was that one of the great beams had shifted beneath the rubble. But as I went down on all fours I could feel the whole floor shaking.

“Another earthquake!” Renzo shouted. “Can you make it to the door? We don’t want stones flying off the walls and coming down on us.”

But it was impossible to stand. The floor danced as if it was alive. Around me I heard stones thudding down from the tops of the walls. I crouched, covering my head and waiting for it to stop. Then there came a deep rumble and a thud. And miraculously the shaking stopped. I looked up and saw Renzo staggering to his feet.

“Wow, that was a big one,” he said. “Are you all right?”

“I think so. It was impossible to move, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. “I hope the town is not damaged.” Then he added, “I hope the staircase hasn’t fallen and we find ourselves trapped up here.”

“Cheerful thought,” I said, and he laughed.

I stood up and tried to move toward him. Stones rolled away as I stepped on them. Then I stopped, staring. “Renzo. Over here. Look.”

He came to where I was pointing. In the floor beside the right-hand wall there was now a gaping hole. And what’s more, steps led down from it.

“It must have been the former crypt,” Renzo said.

“You don’t suppose my father hid down there, do you?”

“Then why was it all covered up again?”

“An earthquake after he left?”

“Possibly. Do you want to go down and see? The floor up here might be very unstable. It could cave in if there is another aftershock.”