Page 15 of Daughter of Genoa (Escape to Tuscany)

‘Yes. I expect they keep it in here somewhere.’ I got up, relieved to have something to do, and went over to the big, polished-wood cabinet that stood against the wall.

I hadn’t looked at it properly the last time I’d been in here, and now I saw that it had a large panel at the front that locked at the top with a brass key.

I turned the key and the panel fell forward to reveal an almost-full bottle on a salver, with a set of small, plain glasses.

‘You’re not going to tell me you found that by accident,’ Teglio said.

I poured out a modest glass of brandy and handed it to him, keeping a careful eye on the level in the bottle. ‘I wonder if they’ll notice,’ I said. ‘Do you think they will?’

‘I shouldn’t think so,’ he said. ‘It’s probably been sitting there untouched since the old king died. And Silvia and Bernardo are hospitable souls. I’m sure they wouldn’t begrudge either of us a bit of refreshment.’

‘I know. They really are very kind. And they’ve never told me that anything’s off-limits, not even the best parlour. It’s just…’

‘What is it?’ Teglio prompted.

‘Well, they don’t have to tell me, do they? This is their home, not mine. I’m an interloper here – I’m not even allowed to pitch in like a friend would, or a proper guest. I’m sure they don’t see it that way, but I can’t see it otherwise.’

‘I think you’re very hard on yourself,’ he said. ‘And you’re being hard on Bernardo and Silvia, too, but I do understand. If you like, I’ll come clean to them and offer to replace the bottle. I said I wanted a drink, after all. You were just being a sort of substitute hostess.’

‘Would you? I’d feel a lot better if you did.’

‘Of course I will. They’ll probably turn me down, but I shall offer and mean it. I’m bound to have a spare bottle tucked away somewhere I can give them. Now, with that off your conscience, will you have a glass, too?’

I knew it would be unwise. I hadn’t slept properly, and I hadn’t drunk any alcohol in years, but I found that wanted to sit and keep talking with Teglio.

I liked this new friendliness between us.

I liked seeing him relaxed; I liked his jokes and his banter, though I knew I’d have to have a stern word with myself about that later on.

So I poured myself a half-glass and sat down, daringly, at the end of the sofa nearest to him. He raised his glass to me.

‘Just imagine we’re in the Galleria Mazzini. Cin cin .’ He took a draught of brandy and winced. ‘This stuff really is medicinal.’

I took a cautious sip from my own drink. The alcohol burned my lips and caught at my throat – I burst into a spluttering cough.

‘Rough, isn’t it?’ Teglio said. I could only nod, eyes streaming. I felt in my pocket for my handkerchief and realised I’d left it in my room.

‘Here you go.’ He put his own into my hand. A silk handkerchief, altogether too nice to use, but I didn’t have a choice. I pressed it to my mouth, desperately trying to suppress the tickle in my gullet, but it was hopeless. I gave way to a fresh paroxysm of coughing. ‘Oh dear,’ Teglio said.

When the worst had finally died down and I could breathe, I wiped the tears from my face and cautiously lowered the handkerchief. It was a crumpled, damp mess, and I suspect I was, too. ‘Thank you,’ I managed to say.

‘I’m just glad you survived the experience. Keep the handkerchief – I have hundreds. And I shall be replacing this bottle whether Silvia wants me to or not. Medicinal, indeed.’ He picked up his glass and drained it in one.

‘Maybe it’s more like anaesthetic,’ I said.

‘What for, horses? I suppose it’s crudely effective, though,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Not an unpleasant warmth, if you can get it down in the first place.’

I pushed my glass along the table towards him. ‘Please,’ I said as he raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘Silvia might forgive us for drinking her brandy, but she can’t abide waste.’

‘Yes, fair point.’ He tipped it back, set the glass down and got to his feet. ‘I’ll go and explain myself to Silvia and get her to wrap these cards up. Fetch me your new card, would you?’

By the time I returned – having checked my reflection, dabbed my face with cold water and run a comb through my hair, which was a fright – Teglio had put his jacket and glasses back on and adjusted his tie.

He stood with the cards tucked under one arm, every inch the respectable, debonair Mr X. I felt oddly bereft.

‘Thank you, Marta,’ he said as I handed him my identity card.

‘I’ll have the imprimatur applied and get this back to you as soon as possible.

Tomorrow morning, if I can. I know it’s worrying to be without it, but a card without the imprimatur…

well, you may as well have your old card back, or none at all.

Not very comforting, I’m sure,’ he added. ‘But it’s true.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘I know it is. I trust you.’

I said it casually enough, but Teglio smiled: a warm, open smile that lit up his whole face. ‘I’m glad.’

I held out my hand, and he shook it. ‘Thank you,’ he said again. And he was off down the corridor, calling for Silvia, before I could respond.

What I felt in that moment is hard to describe.

Teglio – he, of all people – was the first person in years who had treated me not as a problem to solve, not as a victim to rescue, not as a resource to exploit but quite simply as a human being, a woman, an equal.

And now he had gone outside into that danger-ridden world where I wasn’t brave or foolish enough to go.

I didn’t know whether I wanted to run after him and beg him to stay inside, to keep himself safe, or insist that he take me along.

I sat down and tried to read, but I couldn’t focus.

I went to my room and threw myself on the bed and tried to sleep, for all my mother’s strictures, but it was impossible.

I was agitated, desperate, restless in body and mind.

I wanted to leap up and pace, do something to work off my energy, but for all I knew there were customers downstairs; I couldn’t afford to draw their attention. I wanted to scream.

In the end, I did what I so often did during those long, tense, silent days.

I took a chair from the kitchen and placed it at my bedroom window, and I put my elbows on the windowsill and my chin in my hands and stared up at the sky outside.

I couldn’t bear to stand and look down, to see the wreck of the city I loved.

I could only rest my eyes on the never-ending blue and force myself to breathe, in and out, until my heart gradually began to slow and a familiar feeling crept over me: that comforting numbness I’d learned to cultivate when Stefano died and left me alone, quite alone in a world that had already turned against me.