Page 17 of Daughter of Genoa (Escape to Tuscany)

Teglio arrived just after dinner, and asked Bernardo and Silvia if we could take over the kitchen table. ‘Of course,’ Silvia said – answering, as ever, for both of them. ‘We’ll sit and read in the parlour. Won’t we, Bernardo?’

‘Yes, love,’ Bernardo said, but he was pulling at his moustache. He didn’t look too happy to give up the warmth of the stove.

‘Come on, then.’ Silvia scooped up Tiberio in one arm and almost propelled Bernardo out of the door, leaving it pointedly open. She gave me a meaningful look over her shoulder as she departed.

‘Right,’ Teglio said, and cleared his throat. He seemed uncharacteristically flustered, and I wondered if he’d had to hear the same talk that Silvia had given me. ‘Now, these are the cards you and Father Vittorio filled out today?’ He nodded to the pile that stood on the table by his elbow.

‘That’s right,’ I said.

‘Good.’ He reached into his jacket and brought out another parcel, which he handed to me. ‘Here are some I did myself last night, along with the list. Perhaps you could double-check them, make sure all the details are present and correct?’

‘Like Father Vittorio does for me.’

‘Exactly. Hang on, just let me fetch the stamp.’

By the time he returned, I’d unpacked the folded cards and set them in front of me along with the list and a pencil. Teglio pulled up his chair alongside mine and flourished the stamp with a smile.

‘I’ll stamp yours and Father Vittorio’s while you start going through mine. I won’t be nearly as efficient as you, of course, but I can give it my best try. Ready?’

‘Ready,’ I said. I opened the first card in the stack and saw, to my surprise, that it had a photograph already attached.

I’d only worked on blank cards before, and now here was the face of a young woman, much younger than I was.

Her hair was loosely pulled back and she watched the camera with wary, tired eyes.

‘All right there?’ Teglio asked.

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ I moved the list closer and began to check the details, forcing myself to ignore the woman’s gaze.

Next came a middle-aged man with a moustache and a striped tie; then a woman with a round face and a billowy, old-fashioned hairstyle; then another, an angular, elderly lady with a look of fierce determination.

And each of them was looking at the camera – looking at me.

My nerve began to fail: I checked names, birth dates, distinguishing features and then went back to check them again, fearing that I’d overlook some detail that would alert the Germans.

My work became slower and slower, more and more agonised.

And then I opened the next card, and I stopped.

This was an older man. A man around my father’s age, with my father’s intelligent eyes and his greying hair and his frank, open expression. He wasn’t my father, of course, but he was so like him. He was so like him.

‘Marta,’ Teglio said quietly. ‘Listen.’

I tore my eyes away from the man’s face.

Teglio was looking at me, his gaze calm and steady.

‘This is a normal procedure,’ he said. ‘A standard safety check. I’m new at this forgery business, too, but I’ve spent a couple of decades flying aeroplanes, and that means I’m damn good at safety checks.

I’d be long since dead if I weren’t. You know that, don’t you? ’

‘Yes.’

‘Very well. Now, I’ve already reviewed all these cards, so your job is to act as a second pair of eyes.

The best way to do that – the only way – is to work methodically.

Look at each detail in order, just once, with your complete attention.

Then cross it off and move on. If you keep on going back over your own tracks, you’ll lose sight of what you’re doing and you’re far, far more likely to miss an error if one does crop up. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, I understand.’

‘Good.’ He hesitated. ‘It’s a shock, isn’t it, when you first see the pictures. All those faces. Makes it suddenly very real.’

‘It does.’ It came out as a choked whisper.

I looked away and bit my lip, fighting back the urge to ask him for a hug.

To beg him to hold me just long enough to let me catch my breath, to give me a moment’s shelter from the horrible truths that were crowding in around us.

I cleared my throat and reached for my pencil.

‘Do you want me to start again from the beginning?’

‘Take your time,’ he said, and his voice was so warm with understanding that I almost broke down, almost turned to him and held out my arms. ‘You don’t have to—’

‘I want to keep going. It’s better that I do.’

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Then no, you don’t need to start afresh. But make a mark against the last one you checked, and I’ll go back and look at those first ones again.’

Even with all my training, it took immense discipline to work as Teglio had instructed.

I had to force myself not to double back and check this or that detail: to focus my whole concentration on just one item, and then move forward.

But I did force myself, and with every new card it became a little more…

no, not impersonal. This kind of work would never be impersonal.

But every time I saw those eyes looking up at me, it got easier and easier to tell myself that this person needed me – was asking me, in fact – to be as calm and as methodical as I could be.

Finally, I checked the very last detail on the very last card and slid it towards Teglio, who applied the stamp and closed the ink pad with a firm click. ‘Done,’ he said. ‘Thank you for your help. You did a terrific job.’ He pushed back his chair and got to his feet, and I stood, too.

‘Thank you for the talk.’ My eyes were tired and sore; I rubbed them, making them worse. ‘I’m sorry you had to do that.’

‘Oh, believe me,’ Teglio said. ‘It was nothing compared to the talks I have to give myself.’

‘What, really?’

‘Truly. Like I say, I’m new at this, too.

’ He looked sad all of a sudden, tired and in pain.

In the background, Bernardo’s voice droned on in a steady, regular rhythm.

Tonight’s New Testament reading was obviously a long one.

Perhaps we had a few minutes, I thought.

Perhaps if I held out my arms now, Teglio would come to me, let me comfort him. Perhaps.

‘Amen,’ Silvia’s voice rang out down the corridor, and Bernardo echoed her with a muted ‘Amen’.

‘That’s our time up,’ Teglio said. ‘But will you help me again? Or was it too much, all this?’

I thought of the faces I’d seen – the people he was helping. The people I could help. ‘No,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t too much at all. I’m happy to do it.’

He smiled at me. ‘Splendid,’ he said. ‘I think we work rather well together.’