Page 10 of Daughter of Genoa (Escape to Tuscany)

The next day, everyone was anxious and muted.

Silvia didn’t even argue when I offered to help with preparing lunch; I didn’t linger once the plates were washed and stacked, but went straight back to my room and lay down on the bed, listening to the sounds of the street outside and the shop below.

Even Tiberio seemed unsettled, and slipped away to hide under the couch in the parlour.

For the first time since my arrival, I felt that my hosts were as unsure of me as I was of them; Teglio’s visit seemed to have thrown everything into disorder.

By the time he finally returned, just before dinner and carrying a tantalisingly book-shaped parcel, I had run through every potential disaster scenario and had all but decided that I would have to go back out on the street and take my chances with the Germans.

‘I need to speak to signora Ricci in private,’ Teglio said, without niceties. ‘I’m sorry to throw you out of your own kitchen, Silvia, but needs must.’

‘Of course,’ Silvia said. ‘I completely understand.’

‘And I appreciate your understanding.’ He waited until Silvia had gone out, and then he turned to me and said: ‘I hope you’ll forgive me taking up your time, signora Ricci. I’m using that name as a courtesy, of course. Your real name is Anna Pastorino, though you were born Anna Levi.’

He was looking me straight in the eye. I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. ‘Sit, please,’ he said, and indicated the chair at right angles to his. I sank into it.

‘How?’ I eventually managed to ask. ‘How did you…’

‘Oh, I checked you out. It wasn’t difficult. There are very few half-Scottish, half-Italian daughters of Machiavelli scholars in Genoa.’

I looked down, my face burning. I hadn’t just talked about books. I’d stupidly given away my whole family history, and I hadn’t even realised I was doing it. ‘I thought you operated on a need-to-know basis,’ I said.

‘I do, yes. And if somebody wants to work with my organisation – which I was given to understand that you do, very much – then I need to know who they are and what might have driven them to it.’

‘Father Vittorio spoke to you,’ I said.

‘Yes, and Silvia, too. That’s part of the reason I came: I wanted to get a look at you myself, find out if you were trustworthy.

It’s quite all right,’ he added, a little more gently.

‘You knew who you were talking to. And on that, I very much appreciated your keeping up the pretence. That gave me a degree of confidence even before I discovered more about you.’

‘And what did you discover?’ My heart was in my throat.

‘Well, let’s see.’ He sat back, considering me. ‘You were born here in Genoa, in March 1914, to Jacopo Levi and his wife, Miriam MacPherson—’

‘MacPhail. My mother’s name is MacPhail.’

‘Indeed. Miriam MacPhail, who loves Stevenson and Scott. You have one younger brother, Filippo, whose great passion is aeroplanes. And yes, I do remember him,’ Teglio said.

‘I don’t think that anyone has ever asked me so many questions.

You, meanwhile, studied at the Liceo Regina Margherita and then went on to train as a bookkeeper.

I wonder why you did that? An intelligent young lady with two such academic parents.

Surely they would have encouraged you to pursue any career you pleased. ’

‘Of course. But I needed to find a practical job, something steady, something that would help. You know why,’ I added.

He held up his hands as if to say: touché . ‘Yes. I do know, of course. And it’s quite in keeping with everything I’ve heard about your character.’

‘Tell me,’ I said.

‘I heard about the daughter of a staunchly antifascist family. A serious, responsible soul who put her husband and parents first, at grave cost to herself – the kind of cost she could never have anticipated.’

‘Then you know what happened to Stefano.’ I couldn’t look at Teglio now, couldn’t bear his sympathy.

‘Yes, I do, and I know how his family treated you when he was gone. I’m very sorry. You told me that you were alone in the world, and I’m afraid to say I doubted you. I rather had to doubt anything you told me, as a matter of protocol. I know the truth now.’

I couldn’t speak. I could only nod, and hope he understood.

‘I found all that out,’ Teglio went on. ‘And in the process, I also discovered that your capacity for discretion was far greater than it may appear. Because you hadn’t been a mere assistant to some piddling local shopkeeper, as you had told Silvia and Father Vittorio and they, in turn, told me.

You had, in fact, spent four years as confidential secretary to one of Genoa’s more prominent businessmen.

A man who did you a very poor turn indeed.

I should think he was intolerable even at the best of times. ’

‘I hated him,’ I said. ‘I still do.’

Teglio grimaced. ‘I can imagine. I once had to sit opposite him at a dinner. I spent all evening fighting the urge to thump him.’

‘I wish you’d given in.’

‘Frankly, so do I. It would have been deeply satisfying. But we can’t change the past. We can only look to the present – and in the present, there is work to do.

A great deal of pressing work that brings serious danger with it.

It’s imperative you know what’s at stake.

If you embark on this course of action, the Germans and their Fascist hangmen won’t just want to be rid of you. ’

‘They’ll want to get information from me first,’ I said, remembering Vittorio’s words.

‘Correct. I have contacts inside their prisons. I know something of their methods, and I hate to broach such topics with a lady, but I must tell you that they are far more sadistic than they are efficient.’ Teglio cleared his throat, and his hand went to his upper lip, feeling for the moustache that wasn’t there any more.

‘I am speaking of violence, bodily violence of the most depraved kind. Do you understand me, signora Ricci?’

I suppressed a shiver of fear. ‘Yes, I understand.’

‘That’s why I must urge you to caution: for your sake, first of all, but also for mine and for all those who need my help.

You must ask yourself whether you are willing to do all you can to keep silent, even as you are tortured to death.

There’s no cowardice in deciding that you are not.

Your survival alone is a gift. It defies every foul act, every vile intention. Don’t underestimate it, I beg you.’

He was looking at me so earnestly that I knew he was telling the truth.

And I knew that I must be truthful with him in return.

‘I’m not going to pretend I’m not afraid of the Germans or the Fascists,’ I said.

‘I’m terrified of them, but I’m willing to face that terror.

Besides, I’m already compromised, aren’t I?

If the Germans have half a brain between them, they could easily decide to raid the shop downstairs simply because Silvia and Bernardo are typographers, and there must be typographers in Genoa doing clandestine work.

The brand-new ration card you gave me is proof of that – I should wear those in rather better, if I were you.

And if the Germans do come here, and they do find me, then I’ll have to stay silent anyway for Father Vittorio’s sake, and now for yours.

I know who I’m talking to, Mr X. You observed it yourself. ’

‘Quite so,’ he said. ‘But it’s a matter of scale. Father Vittorio and I signed up for this work – we can take our chances. If you join us, you’ll pick up all kinds of sensitive details about other people, innocent people who depend on our discretion. You won’t be able to avoid it.’

‘And I’ll do all I can to protect them, just as I’m prepared to protect the two of you. That’s not in question. But if we are to work together, then you don’t just need to know that I’m trustworthy. I also need to know that I can trust you.’

I thought he might be offended, or dismiss me, but he merely nodded. ‘Of course. You must ask me anything you want to know.’

There were so many questions. What was this organisation of his, and how many people did he command?

How did he come to have contacts within Nazi prisons?

How far did his network reach, and how many people was he helping?

I knew, though, that I mustn’t ask. Flouting Teglio’s need-to-know rule would be the quickest way to lose his confidence.

But there was one thing I could ask, one that had been nagging at me since I first saw him. ‘Italo Balbo,’ I said. ‘You flew with him. Why?’

‘Ah.’ He nodded again, almost as if he were expecting the question. ‘Yes. I rather had the privilege of being apolitical in those days. Though I expect your father wouldn’t describe it in those terms.’

‘My mother had even more to say.’ I knew that I was being rude to him, but I was unable to stop. ‘If I may speak frankly, she thought you stupid, frivolous, and a very bad influence on Filippo. If she didn’t suspect you of active Fascism, it was only because she thought you lacked application.’

Teglio snorted. ‘A strong-minded woman.’

‘She was,’ I said. ‘She is.’

‘And you, signora Ricci? What do you think? I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.’

‘What I think depends on the facts.’ My mouth was dry, and I dreaded what I had to ask next. ‘Was my mother wrong? Were you an active Fascist?’

‘Never,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t interested in joining any party.

I didn’t much care which party those around me were in, either, so long as they treated me well – which was a tremendous luxury, of course.

I like to think I’m not stupid, but your mother wasn’t wrong about my being frivolous.

All I wanted to do back then was fly planes, and damn everything else.

But I had a few socialist and antifascist friends even in those days.

In fact, you and I have a number of people in common. ’

‘That’s how you checked me out,’ I said.

‘Yes. As I say, it didn’t take long.’

‘And Balbo? Was he a friend of yours?’