Tuscan Rose (50 page)

When Woodpecker and Rosa arrived at the camp, the partisans looked at Rosa with questioning faces. Had something gone wrong on her mission? Luciano ushered her to his office. Rosa stood in the corner, tired, cold and numb.

‘Why didn’t you tell me about Antonio?’ she asked. ‘Why didn’t you tell me the train was bombed?’

Luciano pursed his lips and stared at his hands. ‘The same reason you didn’t tell me everything about Carlo. What good would it have done? You needed a reason to keep going. I wasn’t going to extinguish your best one.’

Rosa sank to her knees. She felt Luciano’s strong hands on her arms. It was as if she had tripped and was falling, and he had caught her.

‘Have faith,’ he told her. ‘Antonio may still be alive. You’ve got to believe that.’

Rosa shook her head. ‘I don’t think I’m strong enough to deceive myself like that.’

Luciano shook her gently and forced her to look into his eyes. ‘One hundred Italians survived the crash. From what I saw, at least half of those made a run for the forest. The others were sent on to Germany. Yes, many died but others are alive. You mustn’t give up hope that Antonio is one of those who lived.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’ Rosa asked. She felt like a person who was about to lose consciousness being slapped awake by their rescuer. She wanted to be saved, she wanted to be comforted and to believe, but doubt was enveloping her.

The light caught in Luciano’s eyes when he gazed at her. ‘You thought I had died in Spain, didn’t you? But I came back.’ He
didn’t say it but Rosa imagined that she’d heard it:
I came back for you.

Starling called from outside. Luciano touched Rosa’s cheek before turning to go. ‘Don’t lose hope. It’s all any of us have.’

The cold air rushing through the door when Luciano stepped outside made Rosa shiver. He was right. Hope was all they did have. The reality was grim. Rosa realised something else too: marrying Antonio, raising children and even thinking that Luciano was dead had not changed the love she felt for him. Luciano had once let Rosa go so that she and Sibilla could have a safe life. He had been prepared to risk himself to raid the train to save Antonio
for her
. Rosa finally saw the truth: no-one could ever love her like Luciano did. But I’ve seen it too late, she thought. There is nothing that can be done now.

I
n April, a young man avoiding conscription brought the Flock a terrible story. Communist partisans in Rome had exploded a bomb in Via Rasella while a column of German policemen were marching along it. The bomb had been hidden in a road sweeper’s cart and several partisans had hovered nearby to keep passers-by from walking into the path of the explosion. Over thirty Germans were killed. The retaliation was swift and was ordered by Hitler himself to take place within twenty-four hours. Three hundred and thirty-five men—political prisoners, Jews, men and boys on the street—were rounded up and taken to the Ardeatine Caves.

The young man trembled as he repeated the story, told to him by a spy who had heard German soldiers discussing it. ‘Because there was such a number to kill, the condemned were led into the cave five at a time and shot in the back of the neck rather than by firing squad. The soldiers in the killing squad were new to the task and several cases of cognac were provided to steel their nerves. One soldier refused to shoot and was forced to do so. Another fainted. The killing took hours and, to save time, each successive group had to kneel on the bodies of the men killed before them. As the day went on the killing grew sloppy. Some of the prisoners had
their heads blown off; others were not quite dead when the Germans threw grenades into the caves to seal off the entrance.’

When the young man finished his story, Rosa looked around at the faces of the partisans and also at Fiamma, Marisa and Genoveffa who were with them. In their eyes she saw growing determination. It occurred to her that the atrocities performed by the Nazis, intended to terrorise the Italian people into submission, were having the opposite effect. The Flock had doubled in size since spring had arrived and they’d had to move to another camp, higher up in the mountains. More civilians than ever were bringing them food and supplies, and the acts of union sabotage in Florence were increasing. The more the Germans killed people’s husbands, wives, sons, daughters, friends and neighbours, the more reason they gave the Italian population to fight. If the Germans wanted obedience from the Italians, they should have made them comfortable and complacent and promised them the world. Attacking their families and friends brought out the soldiers in the race. An army was rising, still small in number compared to the general population, but with greater spirit than any Mussolini had imagined. It encompassed all ages, sexes and political and religious beliefs.

Rosa had experienced a metamorphosis herself. When she had returned from Borgo San Lorenzo and realised that the likelihood of Antonio being alive was slim, she had initially become paralysed. One night she dreamt that she was climbing the hills trying to find him. With effort she called out his name, and her scream awoke her. When she sat up, she found that her crippling grief had been replaced by rage. She raged against the Germans and against the fascists. She raged against Mussolini and everyone who supported him. She raged against the Allies for taking so long to reach Florence. And she raged against the Marchesa Scarfiotti.

‘Get out of my country!’ became thereafter Rosa’s daily mantra. If Antonio was alive, he would not allow himself to be beaten and neither would she.

Rosa practised shooting her rifle every day. If ammunition was scarce, she practised without bullets, falling to her knee and taking
aim in an instant. She ran, did push-ups and punched her fists into bags of corn husks, determined as any man to annihilate her enemy. She was fighting for Antonio, for Sibilla, for Lorenzo and Giorgio. They were no longer the background to her mission, but the heart. Rosa had come to accept that she loved Luciano with her soul. There was something that connected them at a deeper level than the physical world around them. It was as if he were the twin that made her complete. But her love for him did not diminish her love for Antonio, her husband and the father of her children. She couldn’t fight what she felt for either man. She accepted it as another contradiction in the woman she had become: a pacifist prepared to kill; a religious Catholic ready to break a sacred commandment.

One day when the men were leaving for what Rosa anticipated would be a dangerous foray, she offered to go with them.

‘No!’ said Luciano.

‘Why not?’ asked Starling. ‘Raven is as good a soldier as any. Probably better. She’s fast.’

‘No!’ said Luciano, raising his voice to show that there would be no further argument.

The next day, however, Rosa was sent with Starling to take information and supplies to another partisan band close to Fiesole. At last the Allies were making progress up the peninsula, and for the past few weeks had been dropping pamphlets in the forests urging the partisans to step up their actions against the Germans by cutting their lines of communication and stealing their supplies. There was talk of the various bands joining forces so they could attack larger targets now that the Allies were more regularly supplying arms and ammunition by air drops. Starling was to begin talks with the group known as the Staff.

For much of their journey through the woods, Rosa and Starling caught glimpses of the view of Florence below. Rosa thought it was as though she was looking down from heaven on a life she had once lived. The sight of it brought back memories of
the cobblestoned streets where she had pushed her children’s prams and the furniture shop and apartment where she had shared her life with Antonio.

When they arrived at the camp, Rosa was astonished to see Ada and Paolina among the partisans and Allied soldiers. They were cleaning guns. When they recognised Rosa they froze on the spot. The women had more grey hairs than they had the last time Rosa saw them, but other than that they hadn’t changed much.

‘Goodness,’ said Ada, stepping forward and embracing Rosa. ‘You turn up at the strangest of times. But I
knew
we’d meet again.’

‘I feared you were dead,’ Rosa said, tears in her eyes. ‘Terrible things have been happening at the Villa Scarfiotti.’

Ada’s face turned dark. ‘We left when the Germans came. Evil has been rising at the villa again, out of the ground and out of the tombs. But good is still there in the woods, and now the three of us are back—’

Ada stopped herself and Rosa turned to where she was looking. Emerging from one of the tents was another familiar figure: Giovanni Taviani, the gatekeeper from the Villa Scarfiotti.

‘He’s our commander,’ whispered Paolina. ‘Some of the staff wanted to stay, but Giovanni rescued us. Signor Collodi is here too, as well as some of the groundsmen and a few of the maids. There’s a tunnel that goes under the villa to the gatehouse. I don’t think anyone knew about it except him.’

Giovanni called Starling over to him. Rosa had hoped that she would be included in the negotiations for the joining of the partisans, but she was obviously too low in status. Starling signalled to her to wait outside for him. Although Giovanni glanced at Rosa, he did not appear to recognise her. There was still the sad look of resignation in his eyes but, for a man approaching seventy years of age, his body was as strong and broad-chested as a youth’s. Perhaps being a partisan leader had restored some of his self-dignity. Rosa couldn’t forget the way Giovanni had betrayed his family, but her judgement was tempered by the fact that he had
rescued staff from the villa and that he hadn’t slaughtered the Weimaraner puppy even though the Marchesa had ordered him to. Rosa thought of Luciano back at the Flock’s camp. Was there any chance he would reconcile with his father? He’d obviously had no idea of the identity of his neighbouring partisan commander.

Ada glanced at Rosa as if she knew what she was thinking. ‘The butler, Signor Bonizzoni, escaped with us but unfortunately was shot when we attacked a German convoy. I found out from him what had happened to Giovanni Taviani. He stole a valuable heirloom from the villa and sold it in Rome. The Marchesa knew and threatened to tell the Old Marchese about it. That’s what she’s had over him all these years. If the Old Marchese ever found out, the shame would have killed Giovanni. The Old Marchese looked on him like a friend, and asked his son to make sure he was taken care of after his death.’

Rosa saw everything clearly now. ‘The Old Marchese and Giovanni knew each other before he went bankrupt. That’s why the Old Marchese helped him by giving him a job,’ she said, half to Ada, half to herself. ‘When Giovanni stole that heirloom, he wasn’t after the money for himself.’

Ada and Paolina looked at her quizzically.

‘Giovanni wanted it to pay for his wife to go to hospital.’

Rosa repeated Donatella’s story of a successful tailor who had made a risky investment and lost his entire fortune. The picture of the family being evicted from their home on Via della Pergola returned to her. Giovanni Taviani had made some tragic mistakes, but he’d tried to make up for them. It was more than could be said of a lot of people.

‘Rosa, there is something important we need to talk about,’ Ada said.

Rosa turned to her. ‘I’m Nerezza’s child. Is that it? The one who was supposed to have died? But I didn’t, someone took me to the convent of Santo Spirito.’ She touched the key around her neck. ‘By some coincidence I happened upon Nerezza’s old grand piano. The silver key fitted the lock on the piano stool.’

Ada gave a start. Her eyes misted over. ‘I thought you had perished,’ she said. ‘I took that key from your mother’s piano stool and tucked it in your wrappings for protection. I was the one who bathed and changed you after your feedings with the wet nurse. When the Marchese told me you had died, my heart broke.’ Ada’s voice trailed off before she regained her composure. ‘I had thought you were too healthy and strong to die, but then I remembered everyone had always said the same thing about Nerezza.’

Although Ada had only confirmed what Rosa had already guessed, she felt overwhelmed. ‘I am Nerezza’s daughter for sure then,’ she said. ‘The Marchese was my uncle and Clementina is my cousin and I didn’t even know it.’

Starling and Giovanni finished their talks and came out of the tent. Starling signalled to Rosa that he was ready to leave.

‘I believe the Marchesa had me sent to the convent,’ said Rosa. ‘She didn’t want me around. She told everyone that I had died.’

‘But that’s impossible,’ said Ada.

Rosa looked at her, not comprehending.

‘The Marchesa wasn’t there when you were born,’ Ada said. ‘She remained in Egypt where they had been spending their honeymoon. Only the Marchese came back when he was told his sister was gravely ill. Nobody questioned it because everyone knew the two women hated each other. The Marchesa didn’t come to the villa until a month after the funeral. She arrived late in the night so I didn’t see her. She was sick too, with some Egyptian disease, and she stayed in her room for weeks with only her maid and Signora Guerrini attending her. After that, she always looked pale and ill and never ate properly.’

‘Raven, we must leave now,’ Starling called.

Apart from the fact that she was Nerezza’s daughter, the scenario Rosa had put together had fallen apart. ‘Then it must have been the Marchese who had me sent to the convent,’ she said. ‘But why would he have done that? Why would he have sent me away, and then collected me all those years later to be a governess to Clementina? It doesn’t make sense. I never had any indication
from him that he thought I was anything other than an orphan from the convent.’

‘Raven!’ Starling fixed his eyes on Rosa. She had no choice but to hastily bid farewell to Ada and Paolina and follow him.

‘Come for a return visit,’ said Ada. ‘We’ll talk more.’

As Rosa and Starling made their way back to the Flock’s camp, Rosa turned and caught a glimpse of the road from Fiesole to Florence. Each time she had made that journey it had been significant. But would she ever know who had taken her down it that first time—and why?

Rosa waited until Starling had spoken with Luciano before approaching his tent herself. When she entered he was tracing a map of Florence with his finger. He smiled at her and Rosa remembered the first time she had seen him with the sun in her eyes that day by the Arno. What a journey they had taken since then.

Starling had told her that the Gatekeeper—Giovanni’s battle name—had invited the leaders of the Flock to visit him the following day. Rosa thought she had better warn Luciano.

‘Luciano, the Gatekeeper is—’

‘The most capable partisan leader in the area,’ Luciano cut in. ‘He has managed some outstanding missions, which means the Germans are keen to find him. It’s a danger, I know, but I have admired his leadership for some time. It’s an honour that he is considering joining with us. Is that what you wanted to tell me?’

Rosa shook her head. Part of her was tempted to walk away and not say anything, but she had to tell Luciano. There was no way to soften the blow. She had to say it plainly.

‘He’s Giovanni Taviani,’ she said. ‘Your father.’

Luciano stared at her in disbelief. When the words sank in, he rose from his chair and turned away. Rosa was overwhelmed with pity. They were both people struggling with their pasts.

‘Are you sure?’ he asked. ‘How do you know?’

‘He was the gatekeeper at the Villa Scarfiotti. Many members of his band are from there. I found out that he was your father
some years ago but there was no need to tell you then. I didn’t want to cause you pain.’

Luciano had such a look of agony on his face that Rosa’s own heart ached. She wondered, if Nerezza had lived and she was facing her for the first time, what they would say to each other. Joining the Flock was the most important thing Rosa had done in her life. But would her mother have been a fascist? If Rosa hadn’t been sent to the convent, would she have shared those beliefs too? The possibility made her cringe. She looked back to Luciano. She could imagine a similar turmoil must be going on inside him, only for him it was real. For Rosa, it was only speculation.

‘He’s somebody else now,’ said Luciano. ‘Somebody I don’t know. The Gatekeeper. The famous partisan. Not my father.’

‘What will you do?’ asked Rosa. ‘Will you refuse to join with him?’