Page 24 of The Lost Story of Sofia Castello

23

LISBON, 1940

Once I’d recovered from the initial shock of my ransacked apartment, I sat on the sofa clutching Judith’s torn coat. ‘Please be OK,’ I whispered over and over, but I couldn’t ease my growing dread. The Gestapo had got the diamond – why did they have to take Judith too? And what were they going to do to her? I buried my face in the fabric and inhaled the musty scent. Would I ever see my beloved friend again?

I didn’t sleep a wink that night, trying to figure out what to do and coming up with a big fat zero. I was due back in the studio early the next day to put the finishing touches to the record, which was the very last thing I felt like doing given what had happened. As soon as I trudged in, Emilio gave me a look of surprise.

‘Geez, you look rougher than a two-cent steak,’ he exclaimed.

Normally, I would have come back with a witty retort, but that morning I could barely think straight, let alone make wisecracks.

‘Late night?’ he asked, pulling out a chair for me at the mixing desk beside him.

I’d planned to not tell him anything, but I was so desperate to share my concerns, I couldn’t help blurting it out.

‘I think my friend’s been kidnapped – or worse!’ I exclaimed, plonking myself down on the chair.

‘Say what?’ His grin instantly disappeared.

‘I know it sounds crazy, but she’s Jewish and a refugee. She came here from Germany – well Germany originally, via France and Spain – and she told me that a Gestapo agent had tried to capture her in France but she managed to escape, but then she saw him here in Lisbon recently and I think it’s him. I think he’s the one who’s taken her.’ I paused to take a breath.

‘OK, let’s slow down the tempo,’ Emilio said calmly, ‘and take it from the top. What happened exactly?’

So I told him the story of how Judith and I came to meet and how she’d helped inspire the song for the expo, and how I’d asked her to move into my apartment and how close we’d become. My voice broke as I reached the part about returning home to find the apartment trashed.

‘But why would the Gestapo be interested in a young girl?’ he asked.

‘She had something they wanted.’

‘What, France?’ he quipped, and I shot him a frown. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t understand why they’d follow her all the way here.’

I hesitated for a moment before deciding that, as the Gestapo now had the Vadodara Teardrop there was little point in keeping it from him. ‘She has – or had – a diamond,’ I whispered. ‘A very valuable diamond. The Nazis knew her father owned it, but he gave it to her to take with her when she left Germany.’

Emilio took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. ‘Wow. So did they get the diamond too when they ransacked your apartment?’

I nodded glumly and took the cigarette he offered me. ‘’Fraid so.’

‘Damn!’ He shook his head before lighting our cigarettes. ‘OK, we need to move you out of that apartment, just to be on the safe side.’

In all the time I’d been working with Emilio I’d only seen a light-hearted, fun-loving side to him, but now, as he frowned and ran his hand through his thick, silver-flecked hair, a more serious grown-up persona appeared.

‘But—’

‘No buts, Castello – those guys ain’t playing. There’s no way I want you going back there, knowing they could come back. And there’s no way Alexandre would either. I’ll talk to him today, get you moved into a hotel.’

‘But—’

‘What did I say?’ He put his chunky finger to his lips. ‘Shh.’

I nodded. As much as I hated having to give up my apartment, it felt good knowing that Emilio had my back. He was such a solid and reassuring presence and good to his word. By that evening, Alexandre had booked me into the exclusive Hotel Aviz, close to his office at the end of the Avenida da Liberdade, and Emilio and the guys from the band helped me move my essentials from my apartment.

Despite his assurances that the hotel was a known haunt for Allied agents, so no Gestapo would dare set foot there, I spent the first night pacing the room, going out of my mind thinking about Judith. In the end, I decided to take refuge in my old failsafe for stressful times and take a bath. Thankfully, I’d got the guys to bring my huge pot of lavender salts. As I sat on the edge of the tub, throwing handfuls under the cascading water, I said a prayer to Santo Antonio. ‘Please keep Judith safe.’

I plunged my hand into the salts for one more scoop and my fingers brushed against something hard. My throat tightened as my fingers wrapped around the object – the tear-shaped object. Hardly able to breathe, I took my hand out and held it up to the light. There, sparking and glowing in my hand, was the Vadodara Teardrop.

‘Oh, Judith,’ I whispered. ‘What have you done?’