The Venice Sketchbook(95)

June 10

Today everything changed. Italy has announced it is joining Germany in the war against the Allies. I am now an enemy alien. I wonder what that will mean? Surely nothing much in a place like Venice. And I do have friends in high places. The irony is that our newspapers are full of news about the successful first month of the Biennale. One has to admire the Venetians to hold an international art exhibition as if nothing in the world has changed. I decided I’d visit it when I was feeling a little stronger. I needed to be reminded that somewhere in this world there was still an appreciation of beauty and the things that matter.

This afternoon I was taking an afternoon nap after Francesca had gone home when there was a tap at the door. Probably not Leo, as he usually came in without knocking. I got up, pulled on my robe and went to the door. I was surprised to find Mr Sinclair, the British consul.

“I do apologize for this visit, Miss Browning,” he said. “I can see that I’ve come at a bad time. You are unwell?”

“No, just taking a nap,” I replied, ushering him into the room. “You might have heard that I had a baby recently.”

He nodded gravely. “Yes, I did hear. It must be a difficult situation for you now that Italy has entered the war. You could still go to Switzerland, I presume, or take a ship from Marseilles?”

“I’m not sure why I’d want to go home if we’re about to be invaded,” I said.

He frowned. “Let us hope that we British can put up a jolly good fight and make sure Hitler does not invade. Mr Churchill has taken over now, you know. He’s not a namby-pamby like that lily-livered Chamberlain. If he’d been in power all along, maybe we would have stopped Hitler in his tracks before Poland. Although maybe not.” He shrugged. “The little blighter has been dreaming of world domination for years. Building up a mighty army. But we English have more grit and stamina than the Germans. Hitler won’t find us easy to conquer, I can assure you.”

“I hope you are right,” I said. “Can I make you a cup of tea?”

“Very kind of you.” He took a seat in one of my armchairs. “That’s something you won’t be able to find much longer,” he said. “They are instituting strict rationing here, and you’ll not get a ration card. Besides, Italians don’t drink tea, and the British expatriates have nearly all left.”

I went to put a kettle on. “And what will happen to you, now that we’re at war?” I asked.

A spasm of pain crossed his face. “Ah, that’s the problem. I’ve been recalled as of today. I’m to go across Spain to Portugal, where an aircraft will take me home.” He looked at me with kindness. “I wish I could take you with me, but I can’t. So I have an ulterior motive for visiting you, apart from saying goodbye. I wondered if you’d care to work for your country?”

When I looked surprised, he went on, “What I have to say from now on is all top secret, and you must sign a document to verify this.” He reached into his pocket and put a sheet of paper on my table. “Are you prepared to sign?”

“Before I know what is entailed?”

“I’m afraid so. That’s how it works in wartime.”

I glanced across at Angelo’s cot. “I have a baby,” I said. “He’s my first responsibility. I can’t be a spy or run messages for you. I couldn’t leave him or take that kind of risk.”

“Of course not,” he said. “You wouldn’t have to leave your own home. I think you’d be quite safe. And you’d be doing a great service to your country.”

I hesitated, staring at him, then walked over to the table. “I suppose there is no harm in signing. I can still say no to what you propose?”

“Oh, absolutely.” He sounded far too cheerful.

“Very well, then.” I scanned the document, noting that betraying the trust could result in prison or death. Hardly reassuring. But I signed. He took it back and slipped it inside his jacket.

“You have a fine view here, Miss Browning,” he said.

“I know. I love it.”

“And I understand you own this place.”

“You seem to know a lot about me,” I said.

“We do. I’m afraid we had to check into your background before making my request of you.”

“And that request would be?”

In the kitchen alcove the kettle boiled, sending a loud shriek that made me rush before it woke Angelo. I poured the water into the teapot, then returned to the living room.

“You are in a prime position to watch the movement of ships. You know the Italians have navy vessels stationed here. Now they will be allowing the German navy to use this as a base from which to attack Greece, Cyprus, Malta. I’d like you to give us a daily account of shipping activity. If ships leave the harbour here, you tell us and we’ll have planes ready to intercept.”

“How would I tell you? Who would be left to tell?”

“Ah.” He turned a little red. “Someone will be sent to install a radio. It will be hidden so that nobody else knows about it. You can’t use it when that woman of yours is here. She cannot be allowed to see it. Is that clear?”

“Of course. Although she is not the brightest. She probably wouldn’t know what it was.”

“Nevertheless”—he held up a warning finger—“you will broadcast as soon as possible after you witness shipping activity.”