The Tuscan Contessa Read online

  ‘Come on,’ Sofia said. ‘We don’t know anything yet.’

  They found Via Soccini, the main street, completely empty. Not knowing why it was, they decided to leave the pony tied up and walk through the tangle of alleys and backstreets spreading out behind it. Sofia usually drove to Buonconvento on the main road and her favourite place was the little square at the end of Via Oscura. She’d always loved this town with its medieval streets and tall, ornate red-brick palazzos. Even the narrow backstreets were picturesque. Yet here, too, they passed not a single soul. No one hanging out washing, no one sweeping their front step. And all they heard were the sounds of their own footsteps on the cobbles. It felt like a ghost town. Eventually they came across a woman standing in a doorway staring at the ground.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Sofia began, but the woman just pointed to the other end of the town.

  Sofia’s anxiety deepened. Something was terribly wrong. Buonconvento was usually a bustling place, even since the war had begun. Now only a jarring emptiness met them at every corner, that and a strange whispering that seemed to be carried on the air.

  In the end they headed back to the main street and headed for the Porta Romana on the south side.

  And then they saw them.

  The two bodies, their flesh covered in red welts, their fingers black, their faces purple with bruises. A lumpen feeling in Sofia’s throat stole her breath.

  Anna clutched her arm and they joined a small, silent crowd staring up at the men hanging from the main gate. You could neither enter nor leave without seeing them and straight away Sofia knew one of them was the slender boy she had always loved. The other was the partisan, Lodo. She clamped a hand over her mouth to suppress the screaming sound in her head. The air around her split, her eyes blurred, and the houses and people shifted so all she could see was Aldo. Some of the crowd shuffled back, aghast, while others crept forward, mesmerized by the bitter smell of death, the sickly-sweet metallic taste of blood on their tongues, the stink of faeces in their nostrils, the ghastly silence of the street broken only by a baby’s cry and the whispering that did not stop.

  Unable to bear the sight, Sofia closed her eyes for a second and, when she opened them again, knew she was forever changed; she had instantly become a completely different person in a completely different world. This act of utter provocation incited such a feeling of rage and revulsion that it flooded her whole body. She tasted blood and salt in her mouth and the kind of burning anger she’d never experienced before. She longed to rush up to them and cut their bodies down, wash their poor battered skin, bring them back, and yet she knew she could not. Despite exploding inside, she could not even show she knew who the men were. Anna was rigid, and Sofia was holding on to her as if they each might crumple and fall without the other. They managed to remain standing, frozen in disbelief, but Sofia’s mind filled with images of the mischievous little boy Aldo had once been. She saw him playing on his cart or up to monkey business somewhere in the village – his curly hair falling over one gleeful eye – but forgiven because of his irresistibly open smile. To see his body hanging there, head lolling to one side, his bones broken, his life destroyed, hurt her in a way she could never have imagined. At a spasm of pain, an actual slicing physical pain, she struggled not to cave in. She must stifle any expression of grief until they got away from this terrible place. She glanced up to the left and, in one of the windows overlooking the scene, she saw the stony face of a German officer, the cold indifference of his raised eyebrows igniting an even greater storm inside her. Kaufmann. He stared straight at her and she felt such hatred that she was gripped by certainty. She could kill. She wanted to kill. And she came so close to violence in her mind that she frightened herself.

  She tried to tug Anna away. ‘Come on. We have to go.’

  ‘I can’t leave him. Not yet.’

  Of course, Sofia understood, so they stayed, although it was far too risky.

  There was a commotion behind them from a larger crowd forming back there. The next thing Sofia saw was Carla pushing her way to the front, the life draining from her face.

  ‘Who told her?’ Sofia whispered, but Anna had stiffened.

  Sofia waited for the scream to come but there was just the sound of muttering behind them. Time stopped as she watched in an agony of suspense, but Carla seemed to be in a trance, of the world but no longer in it. If someone broke the trance, what then? Would she break down, start screaming for her poor dead boy? Do exactly what the Germans wanted them to do?

  Then she spotted Maxine, edging her way towards Carla, taking Carla’s arm and appearing to say something. Carla blinked rapidly but Sofia got the feeling she was not seeing anything now. The shock had crushed her, and Maxine was able to lead her by the arm away from the terrible sight of her only son.

  Fired with a sudden and ferocious determination, Sofia pulled Anna away and they stumbled after Maxine. And in that moment Sofia vowed that for as long as it might take, she would do everything in her power to rid her country of these vile interlopers. Aldo’s death would not go unavenged. The lovable boy she had known since birth would not have died in vain. And when she remembered the pistol her husband had given her, she itched to pull the trigger.

  22.

  December 1943

  Aldo’s absence filled every room. The waves of grief were sudden and overwhelming and day after day the shock repeated anew as if for the first time. His cheeky smile haunted Sofia and, no matter where she went, he was there; she couldn’t convince herself she’d never see him again. Over and over she saw him hanging, and the terrible image broke her. Nothing relieved the ache in her chest, so God only knew how it must be for Carla. She wished with all her heart Lorenzo would come home, for his presence would be such a comfort. She tried to picture him there, standing by the door, newly arrived and holding out his arms to her.

  When she had first met Lorenzo, his confidence in his own identity and his ease with himself made it easy to relax around him. Commandant Schmidt, the German officer who had invited himself to dinner the night Maxine had arrived, was the exact opposite, a man who didn’t appear comfortable at all. Nervy, rangy and too thin, he entered the salon now, taking long strides forward, then smiling. She had the same impression she’d had before that here was a man who’d rather have been putting his feet up in front of a fire at home with his wife.

  As she had to maintain his trust in her, she smiled back and held out her hand to be civil. He kissed it and she smelt his peppery cologne, and it was only then it struck her that he wasn’t alone, and that Kaufmann was standing right behind him. And he was a very different kettle of fish. Schmidt noticed her glance over his shoulder and bent briefly to acknowledge the other man.

  ‘Captain Kaufmann,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, we’ve met,’ Sofia said, turning to Kaufmann and taking in the man’s smooth, unlined skin, his glassy pale-blue eyes behind the horn-rimmed spectacles, his high forehead and thin dark-blond hair. A perfect example of Aryan manhood, she thought.

  Kaufmann gave her a tight little bow and then focused his attention on the room.

  ‘Welcome,’ she said, probably a touch too stiffly, but not a flicker of response came from him. Instead, while Schmidt settled himself in an armchair, crossing and uncrossing his legs as he had before, Kaufmann walked slowly round the small room, sensuously stroking objects then bending to examine them closely, picking one up then exchanging it with another. What he expected to find she had no idea.

  Although she was trying to pay attention to Schmidt, from the corner of her eye she was observing the other man. He was now standing, feet wide apart, hands clasped behind his back, in front of her favourite painting as if mesmerized by it.

  ‘This is a Cozzarelli. I remember seeing it here before.’ He turned back to look at her. ‘Of the Sienese school, influenced by Byzantine art and less well known than the Florentine.’

  ‘Yes.’

  He gave her a long, cold stare. ‘We are not lacking in the finer se
nsibilities, whatever you may think. I myself am something of a collector of Italian art. I believe there may have been more than one of San Sebastiano.’

  ‘My husband would know. This one has been in the family for many generations. The villagers see San Sebastiano as a protector.’

  She felt a shiver of revulsion as she recalled the way Kaufmann had been staring down at her in Buonconvento. His being here at this time couldn’t be a coincidence.

  And now Schmidt was speaking again, looking at her solicitously and speaking kindly. ‘You seem distracted, Contessa. Are you quite well?’

  She rubbed her temple and told herself to keep as close to the truth as possible. ‘My sincere apologies, Commandant Schmidt. I don’t mean to be. It’s just … well, I have a rather bad headache, you see.’

  Heartache, not headache, she thought, as the terrible image of Aldo returned with that sickening stench of blood, faeces and fear.

  ‘Well, we won’t take up too much of your time. I’m only here to ask if you know of any men who might be missing from your village?’

  She hesitated for a fraction too long and hoped he hadn’t noticed. ‘Oh, I see. I haven’t heard of any, though naturally we also have the outlying farms and I wouldn’t necessarily know, at least not straight away.’

  Schmidt nodded but Kaufmann walked over, frowning, and then, with a slight tilt to his head, said, ‘Really?’

  Schmidt glanced at the man. ‘I’m sure we can trust the Contessa.’

  Kaufmann arched his brows as he studied her face. ‘As I understand it, you have your finger very much on the pulse, especially while your husband is absent.’

  ‘Well, I do my best.’

  ‘I imagine it must be difficult,’ the Commandant interjected, and Kaufmann returned to the objects he had previously been examining.

  She took a deep breath. ‘I’m used to it. Now, may I offer you both a coffee?’

  The Commandant shook his head, but she could tell he’d like nothing more than a cup of coffee and a brief respite from the war. ‘Much as that would be delightful, I’m afraid we are somewhat short of time.’

  Kaufmann looked up while stroking a porcelain shepherdess. ‘You like English objets d’art?’ he asked.

  She gave him a small polite smile. ‘I enjoy collecting all sorts of ornaments. We have many more in our main drawing room if you’d like to see.’

  ‘You speak English?’ he said, ignoring her offer.

  ‘I do.’

  He shot her a suspicious look. ‘And how is that?’

  ‘I spent a year in London. My parents considered it an essential part of my education.’

  He glanced down, picked a hair from his sleeve very deliberately, then gazed at her for a moment before speaking. She waited, feeling sick, fearing something unpleasant was coming.

  ‘Tell me, Contessa,’ he finally said, narrowing his eyes. ‘One final question. Have you been in Buonconvento lately?’

  23.

  When Sofia went to check on Carla, she found her sitting at the kitchen table while Anna bustled around making coffee and slicing a fresh loaf. The room smelt of baking, herbs and vegetable soup, and Sofia’s stomach clenched in a vice-like grip. She had not been able to face much in the way of food since seeing Aldo.

  As Sofia watched Carla, she pictured Aldo’s final moments. Had they tortured him before they murdered him? Of course. Had he been scared? Known he was going to die? That too. Above all, they would have demanded names. She couldn’t be sure and prayed he had not given in, but he’d been only seventeen. Too young to die for a cause.

  Sofia thought back to Carla’s husband, Enrico’s, last hours, the gasping for breath, the agony he must have experienced as the cancer took him. She knew Carla had believed it to be the worst thing that could ever happen. How wrong she’d been. Because now to see Aldo treated as if he were no more than a worthless carcass, it was worse than brutal. It was savage. She pictured his dear face, the light and animation in his smiling eyes, and she did not know how Carla would ever endure this.

  Maxine was now sitting at the table as well and pushing a plate with bread and sliced tomatoes towards Carla. Sofia could smell the aroma of garlic and olive oil. Suddenly Carla swept the plate to the ground where it shattered on the hard flagstones. Nobody reacted. It was as if a mantle of unnatural calm had been agreed, as if that might somehow lessen the pain.

  Sofia remained silent, while Anna, clutching a dustpan and brush, and red-eyed from weeping, knelt on the floor to clear up the mess.

  ‘Captain Kaufmann has been,’ Sofia said, rubbing her own eyes. ‘He may come back.’

  Anna straightened up. ‘That’s not good.’

  Maxine got up and walked over to Sofia. ‘Does he know anything?’

  ‘Hard to tell. I think they suspect something.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘He had Commandant Schmidt with him. But I think Kaufmann may have seen me at Buonconvento.’

  Anna gasped. ‘He recognized us? It’s my fault, I knew I shouldn’t have asked you to stay. Once we’d seen what had happened, we should have left.’

  ‘How could we not stay?’ Sofia spoke gently. ‘There’s no point assigning blame. Anyway, he recognized me. Not you.’

  ‘They will be back,’ Maxine added.

  Sofia recalled how Kaufmann had looked at her. ‘I feel he can see right through me – and the way he smiles, a twisted kind of way, contorted, a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.’

  And she remembered that when he had bowed and spun on his heels to leave, she had become conscious that all the time he’d been here, she’d been aware of a deeply unsettling underlying cruelty.

  ‘The Commandant was different,’ she said. ‘Better somehow.’ She realized her hands were shaking. ‘But they know more than they’re saying. I’m worried somebody must have told them Aldo came from here.’

  ‘Most of the locals would die rather than give anything away,’ Anna said.

  Sofia sighed then came over and gently placed a hand on Carla’s shoulder. There was nothing anyone could do. They were waiting for Carla to voice her sorrow, but it seemed she’d fallen mute.

  ‘Contessa,’ Anna said, ‘there’s something else. Gabriella is saying she’s in love, but won’t say who with. She has this peculiar secret smile fixed to her face. It worries me.’

  ‘Would you like me to talk to her?’ Sofia offered.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Anna said. ‘Maybe Mother will when she’s feeling a bit stronger.’

  ‘Very well.’

  As Sofia and Maxine left the room, Sofia’s thoughts drifted back to when Carla and Enrico had still been living at the farm and Carla’s children had been young. Carla’s job had included feeding the courtyard animals: usually turkeys, ducks, guinea fowl and chickens. She prepared all the meat for the entire year, butchering the carcasses and making the sausages for the family. She’d helped thresh the wheat and harvest the grapes, olives and tobacco, and she prepared meals for the farmers. It had been a busy world, but laughter and fun with the children meant it had been a happy one too. Poor Carla. How she must miss those days.

  24.

  From the kitchen Maxine and Sofia walked out to the vegetable garden where they wandered the paths between the sparse brassicas. It was chilly and Maxine shivered. Sofia seemed preoccupied, although it was hardly surprising considering what had happened.

  ‘I was there, you know,’ Maxine said. ‘I didn’t know if you’d heard that.’

  ‘There?’

  ‘The night they caught Aldo.’

  She could see Sofia scrutinizing her, eyes narrowed. ‘Good heavens. How awful.’

  ‘It was, and terrifying too.’ Maxine took a long breath and then spoke very gently. ‘Look, Sofia, I truly understand how dreadfully hard this is for you, but we can’t let ourselves give up. We have to go on. And we have to do it for Aldo’s sake and for all the others who died trying to fight back.’

  Sofia nodded slowly. ‘I know. It’s just I’m n
ot sure how to put it behind me. I’d known Aldo all his life and I loved him. I was making a painting of him as a gift for Carla. Do you think it’s still the right thing to do?’

  ‘I think, in time, she would grow to love it.’

  Sofia heaved a sigh.

  Maxine took her hand. ‘What happened to Aldo is terrible, I know. Nothing can make that better.’

  There were a few moments of silence.

  ‘But there’s more work to do and I have to get in touch with my contact again, let him know what I’ve found out about the partisans here.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘That there are many men willing to fight but they are hungry, and their armaments are few. Marco is gradually organizing them into convincing units, but we have to get hold of weapons, ammunition and food.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well, as far as weapons are concerned, we have a contact who works in the outer office of the German Consul in Florence. Apparently, he has information.’

  ‘And food?’

  ‘I’m meeting Marco to talk about that.’

  The wind got up, rustling the leaves of the trees and blowing the grass about. Sofia pulled a hesitant face and brushed the hair from her eyes. ‘So, tonight? You want to transmit tonight?’

  ‘As soon as possible.’

  ‘Not from the tower. They’ll be watching us.’

  ‘No. We’ll take the equipment away.’

  ‘You won’t need me.’

  Maxine shook her head. ‘James and I will remove the equipment under cover of darkness and transport it to the attic of the new farm he has been staying in. It’s further away but relatively high up, and we have to keep moving the radio anyway or their triangulation will catch us out. We’ll transmit everything I now know and hope to receive further instructions.’