The Venice Sketchbook(94)

“Put him to the breast,” Francesca instructed, opening the front of my nightgown. “That will help with the delivery of the afterbirth as well as getting him sucking right away.”

She held him up to me. He latched on to my breast and began sucking vigorously, all the while still staring up at me with unblinking eyes. I was unprepared for the sensations I felt, and with them came one overwhelming thought: I can never give him up.





CHAPTER 37


Juliet, Venice, May 3, 1940

The doctor arrived soon after, examined me and declared all was well with both of us before leaving again. Francesca made me milk with brandy. I must have fallen asleep because I opened my eyes to see Leo looking down at me with great tenderness.

“We have a fine son,” he said. “What did I tell you? We Da Rossi men always produce fine sons. What shall we call him, do you think? Leonardo after me? Bruno after my grandfather?”

“Goodness no,” I said. “Bruno was my landlady’s cat.”

He had to laugh. “After your father, then?”

“My father was Wilfred. I can’t think of a more horrible name.” I turned to the baby, now lying in the bassinet that Francesca’s daughter had provided. He was peacefully asleep, his long eyelashes lying over his chubby cheeks. “He looks like a little angel,” I said. “Like one of those cherubs in the Renaissance paintings.”

“Do you want to call him Angelo, then?”

I met his gaze and nodded. “Angelo. My little angel. Perfect.”

“Then I will add it to the adoption papers. They are all ready to go.”

I sat up. “Leo, you can’t take him now. I’m not ready to give him up.”

He perched on the bed beside me. “But Cara, you should go home as soon as you feel well enough, or it may be too late. And you can’t take him with you. Better to let me take him now, before you become too attached to him. I have a wet nurse lined up. A nursery. He will be in good hands.”

I shook my head vehemently. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t let him go. I love him already. He’s my child. I just gave birth to him. I carried him around inside me. At least I want to keep him until he is weaned. Francesca says that the mother’s milk protects against diseases. Give me this much.”

I could see he was struggling, trying to come to terms with this. “Cara mia, you do realize that once the Germans overrun France, you could well be trapped here for a long time.”

“Would that be so terrible? I could raise my son.”

“I must point out that if I do not adopt him officially, he will have no papers, no legitimacy. No identity card, and those will be important. We have been instructed to carry them at all times. The government is already talking about rationing, and you would get nothing as a non-citizen. And then what? You raise him maybe two, three years. But you still can’t take him home, can you? And how would you provide for him? I can give him a good life. You know that.”

I did know that. “Just let’s concentrate on now,” I said. “Let me nurse him until he’s ready to be weaned, then I’ll hand him over.”

“All right,” he said, after a long hesitation. “If that’s what you want. I owe that much to you. I will have the items from the nursery sent over here for now.”

“You told Bianca, I presume? What did she say about a nursery in her house? And a strange child?”

He gave a twisted little grin. “She said, ‘As long as I don’t have to look after the brat, then why not? At least you’ll have your precious son to inherit, and I can get on with my life.’” He paused. “Like I said, she is not maternal.”



And so a crib and baby clothing arrived the next morning. Baby Angelo is now adorned in lace-trimmed robes. I had to laugh.

“These make you look like a girl,” I said. He glared at my laughter. He has the most expressive little face. As I observed him, I thought: I will take him home with me now, while I can. He’s healthy. He will survive the journey. And I don’t care what anyone says.

Then I had to talk sense to myself. How could I deny him the life that Leo would offer? The best of everything. And then he’d inherit a fortune. And I realized I couldn’t be selfish. If I loved him enough, I could give him up. Just not yet.

May 12

Having sailed through a pregnancy with little inconvenience, I was rather ill during the next days. I had lost a lot of blood and got an infection. The doctor said I was anaemic and prescribed iron tonics, red wine and plenty of good meat. I still wasn’t feeling up to going out and certainly not to resuming my classes when I turned on the radio to hear that the German army had circumvented the Maginot Line by crossing through the forests of Belgium and had invaded France. The British army was advancing from the Channel ports. France was at war, and I could no longer cross in safety. In a way, this calmed me. Rushing home was no longer an option. I could stay here, take care of my baby in the city I had come to love and be close to Leo. It seemed perfect at the time.

From that day on, the news only got worse. Toward the end of the month we learned that the British troops were being driven back, destroyed, overrun, and were retreating to the coast, where they were trapped on the beaches, waiting to be picked off by German bombs and guns. And then a miracle: thousands of small boats came out from England to a place called Dunkirk and brought the troops home. I wept as I read the account in the newspaper. It seemed only a matter of time before Germany invaded England, and I was glad that I had chosen to remain here, although I worried about my mother. I had not heard from them in months. I hoped that nobody would bother with two old ladies. They’d be safe enough, even if England was under German rule.