Page 43 of Daughter of Genoa (Escape to Tuscany)

Anna

We were still at breakfast when the doorbell rang three times.

Silvia and Bernardo exchanged glances, and then Bernardo put down his napkin, got up and went downstairs.

I hovered on the edge of my seat, ready to flee as always, until I heard the familiar sound of Massimo’s voice.

He was speaking to Bernardo in a low, urgent tone – I couldn’t make anything out.

‘Were you expecting him?’ Silvia asked, and I shook my head. ‘Maybe it’s time to go, then.’

‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘It’s early, though.’ Massimo and I had agreed that he wouldn’t give me advance notice, but would simply tell me on the day my train for Switzerland was to leave.

It made sense, because plans could always change; and I’d thought it would be easier, less painful, to go on living as usual and pretend that nothing was happening.

But the reality was agonising. I’d spent two days and nights with my suitcase packed and ready at the end of my bed, with my new, Genoese papers stitched into the lining.

Vittorio hadn’t come in all that time. Massimo had visited twice, and we’d worked and talked as we always did; but inevitably he’d have to leave, and there was no pretending then.

I wasn’t sure how many more of those goodbyes I could bear.

Silvia patted my shoulder. ‘It might be no bad thing,’ she said. ‘Sometimes the waiting is… Hang on, here they come. Let’s see, shall we?’

When Bernardo appeared in the doorway with Massimo behind him, I knew immediately that something was wrong. ‘We have to leave,’ Bernardo said. His face was ashen. ‘Plan B.’

‘Oh,’ Silvia said. She was pale, too; she got to her feet, straightened her apron. ‘Plan B. Yes, let’s…’ She trailed off, put her hand to her mouth.

‘Come on, love,’ Bernardo said, and reached for her.

‘Let’s go and leave these two to talk.’ He led her out and down the corridor, and now Massimo and I were alone.

He quickly came towards me, closing the door behind him; he looked as shocked as Bernardo did.

I felt sick with nerves and my legs were suddenly weak, too weak to let me stand.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked, though I was almost afraid to know. ‘Why did he say that we have to leave?’

Massimo sat down next to me and took hold of my hands, just as he’d done when he told me about the escape plan.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Something’s happened, something I couldn’t control.

There’s been a breach and you’re in danger, you and Silvia and Bernardo.

I’m afraid you can’t afford to wait for the train to Switzerland.

I need you to go with them right now, this morning, to Torre Pellice.

They’ve got a house there and contacts, people who’ll help to protect you – it’s Waldensian country up there, of course.

You’ll be safer than you are in Genoa. I know it’s not what I promised,’ he added.

‘It’s not what I wanted for you, not at all.

I wanted to make sure you were really safe. I’m sorry.’

‘But what about you? Will you be all right?’

‘I have my own Plan B, if I need it. And C, D, E and F, at the very least. Don’t worry about me.’

But of course I worried about him. I wanted to beg him to come with us – to come with me, and be relatively safe in Torre Pellice among the Waldensians.

I opened my mouth to say as much, but he shook his head and said, with a severity I’d never heard from him before: ‘I can’t leave my post – not even for you, and you know it. Do as I ask, please.’

I didn’t want to, but I knew that I had to accept. ‘All right,’ I said, and tried to pretend that it really was all right. ‘But what about Father Vittorio? He comes here all the time. Is he in danger, too?’

‘I’ve already seen to that. He’s been sent to a safe house.

And now I’m afraid I have to go.’ Massimo’s expression was grim.

‘I have a hell of a mess to clean up. But I shall be fine, my darling, knowing you’re being looked after.

’ He stood and pulled me up with him, folding me in a tight embrace.

‘I love you,’ he said quietly, into my ear, as if it were a secret.

And he kissed me one last time before turning and walking out, his back straight and his shoulders rigid.

Silvia bustled in just as I was sinking back into my chair. ‘Forgive me, dear,’ she said, brandishing my ‘legal’ identity card. ‘I went into your suitcase. But I thought we should take this out, and get rid of it, before anyone forgets. Since you’re staying in Italy after all…’

‘Of course,’ I said. I was in a daze.

‘It’s probably best if you deal with it. Save me knowing anything I don’t need to know.’

She was already rummaging in the drawer where the matches were kept.

I turned my head away. I couldn’t bear to see it destroyed: the card Massimo had made for me, the card that was to assure my future.

He’d taken the photograph himself with a Ferrania box camera, the kind we used to have at home.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I can’t. You do it, please. I trust you.’

‘Very well,’ Silvia said. I heard her rip the card into pieces.

‘I’m doing this without looking,’ she said, ‘just so you know—’ and then came the sound of the struck match and the flare of sulphur; there was a smell of paper burning and of something else, something sharp and unpleasantly chemical, before she turned on the tap to wash away the ashes.

‘There,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I had to do that. But I know you understand.’

‘I do,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

‘And now we’d better get moving,’ Silvia went on, her voice softening.

‘I know it’s terrible to say goodbye to him.

I’m sure you’re feeling quite dreadful, but just stick it out for a few hours and we shall be home – or what Bernardo calls home – and you can weep as much as your heart requires. All right?’

I looked at her. She was standing and watching me, tilting her head in that way people do when they’re being sympathetic, and she was wearing her ordinary cotton skirt and blouse with a light coat and a pair of somewhat battered, comfortable shoes, her favourite big handbag slung over her shoulder.

She looked just like she always did; and that was a problem, I realised. That was a very big problem indeed.

‘You’re not going like that,’ I said.

‘What do you mean?’ Silvia looked down at herself, confused. ‘Have I got a stain? Cat hair? What is it?’

‘You look like you . Not that it’s a bad thing in itself,’ I added hastily, as her eyes widened.

‘But why would you and Bernardo be travelling with some unrelated Sicilian woman? Because that’s what I am, according to my papers.

What will you say if the Germans stop us?

We need some kind of story.’ My mind was coming thankfully alive, ticking through the possibilities.

‘I think I need to work for you. I could be a cook, or a… a maid. Yes, a maid. Can you dress up, do you think? Look the part of my employer?’

‘Oh. Yes, I suppose I can dig something out… I do have some nice things, though I really never wear them. I don’t quite feel like myself when I do. But then I suppose that’s the point, isn’t it? A bit of play-acting.’

‘Exactly. If you can bring yourself to be the imperious lady, order me about…’

‘…then you can just stay quiet, keep your head down and your mouth shut, and nobody will wonder about it. And it’s probably as well you do.

’ Silvia shook her head. ‘I don’t think you’d pass for Sicilian, not for a moment.

You sound about as Genoese as it’s possible to sound.

But you’d better change, too,’ she said, eyeing my favourite blue-and-yellow dress.

‘You’ve got that white blouse, haven’t you, and there’s that grey skirt you hate.

I should think that would do nicely for a uniform. ’

‘Yes. Let’s both go and change – you tell Bernardo to do his best, too, and I shall meet you downstairs in a couple of minutes.’

‘It’s a plan,’ Silvia said.

When I was alone in my room, the reality of leaving Massimo came rushing in, and I had to pause for a moment and steady myself against the washstand.

But I made myself force the feelings down, and concentrated on putting together my ‘uniform’.

By the time I had got dressed, checked over my suitcase and taken another moment to compose myself, Bernardo and Silvia were waiting for me downstairs in the shop.

The sight of them startled me so that I almost laughed.

Silvia was dressed as I’d never seen her before, not even for going to church.

She had on an elegant summer suit with an extravagant brooch on the lapel; her hair was pinned up under rather a rakish hat, and she was wearing high-heeled shoes.

As for Bernardo, he looked quite different in his three-piece suit with a fine silver pocket watch.

Even his moustache looked polished and groomed.

Tiberio’s basket sat by the door – I wondered if he, too, had been given some kind of adornment, an elegant collar or even a miniature necktie.

‘Let’s get going,’ Bernardo said, taking my suitcase from me and hefting the cat basket in his other hand. ‘If we walk smartly, we should be able to catch the next train up to Turin. The less hanging around we have to do, the better.’

‘Quite right.’ Silvia ushered me through the door and turned to lock up behind us.

‘We’ll take the steps. That will bring us practically to the back of Brignole station – see?

’ She pointed to the steep, winding stone stairs that led off down the hill, just across the street, and then to the great, damaged roof of the station a little way off.

‘It’s much quieter that way. You just stick with me. ’