The Sitter

By Robert Fowler

Tuscany, January 1943.

Nurse Isolina Donatelli and her fourteen-year-old daughter, Sofia, live in the hills surrounding Florence. Most of Europe remains firmly in the grip of war, although the idyllic setting of Tuscany is currently shielded from the conflict. Mussolini and his black shirts cling on to power, but that is all about to change – as is the direction of the war itself. This will almost certainly place Isolina and Sofia nearer to the conflict, initiating a violent struggle for survival.

Isolina has tried to keep the war at arm’s length. Her only objective is to keep Sofia safe, but that is being jeopardised by the demands others are making on her. Her life is suddenly filled with Nazis, Fascists, spies, ex-lovers and persuasive friends. Each request takes Isolina and Sofia closer to the looming danger fast approaching. A desperate, resentful, retreating German army is becoming ruthless, handing out brutal punishments to every civilian population it encounters. It is just a matter of time before both Isolina and her daughter are swallowed up by the tidal wave of madness coming their way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Fowler
• Release date: May 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463420232

Robert Fowler

ROBERT R. FOWLER joined the Department of External Affairs in 1969 and was posted to Paris in 1971 and to the Canadian Permanent Mission to the United Nations in 1976. He returned to External Affairs headquarters in 1978 to become executive assistant to Allan Gotlieb, the under-secretary of state for External Affairs. In 1980, he was seconded to the Privy Council Office as assistant secretary to the Cabinet (Foreign and Defence Policy), where he served as foreign policy advisor to prime ministers Trudeau, Turner and Mulroney. In 1986 Mr. Fowler became assistant deputy minister (Policy) in the Department of National Defence, and then he served as deputy minister from 1989 to 1995. From 1995 to 2000 he was Canada’s longest serving ambassador to the United Nations, following which he was named ambassador to Italy and also personal representative for Africa for prime ministers Chrétien and Harper. Fowler lives in Ottawa, Ontario.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Tuscany, January 1943

Isolina felt the blanket being eased back, allowing the chilled night air to caress her exposed skin. The rickety wooden bed rocked gently under the strain of another body. Isolina kept her eyes closed: the day had been long and, given the circumstances, she wanted nothing more than to sleep, for tomorrow, like a spoilt child, would take all her attention.

A hand brushed her bare shoulder, and an arm lay heavy across her chest. Yet, her eyes stubbornly refused to open. Outside, the wind grew angry. She focused on the wind and pictured the landscape being battered: the tall chestnut and beech trees bending with the wind’s formidable power as it swept over slopping hills and through the fields of wheat, down between the rows of olive vines. Her mind’s eye followed its progress across the rich, rustic patchwork quilt that was the Tuscan countryside, before sleep slowly drew her back into its clutches.

‘Mamma …’

How long had she slept? Seconds? She did not respond immediately, knowing the night would be prolonged if she did. Tiredness held her in a firm grip, unwilling to relinquish its dominance.

‘Mamma.’ Again the voice, soft and melodious, sweet, and yet … annoying. ‘Mamma.’ Unless answered, the voice would not go away.

‘Sofia …what is it?’ She spoke against the potent pull of sleep.

‘Mamma … the wind woke me and I felt frightened.’

Isolina’s hand now rested upon her daughter’s thick locks of hair, but her eyes remained shut.

‘Come hold me … go back to sleep.’

‘I cannot … everything is too real.’

Isolina’s fingers moved between her daughter’s curls.

‘What is this nightmare?’ she asked in a whisper.

‘I saw Papa.’

Isolina felt her own body tense, and the muscles in her neck became taut. ‘Go on, Sofia … tell me.’

‘He came back, he was outside my window calling up to me to let him in. He told me he was cold and wet, and that he had walked for a week to be with us.’ Sofia’s arm drew her mother in.

‘Papa is dead, Sofia … you know that,’ Isolina spoke in a whisper.

‘Yes, but … but what if they were wrong?’

‘His cousin identified the body, Sofia … there has been no mistake, child.’

Isolina’s hand sought out her daughter’s face through the darkness, finally touching her moist skin. She kissed her daughter’s cheeks; they tasted of salt. ‘Sofia, listen to me.’ She pulled the girl closer. ‘Papa died two years ago. If … if a mistake had been made, do you not think he would have returned to see you by now?’

Outside, the wind grew fiercer. Inside, her daughter’s sobs similarly intensified.

Sofia’s body stilled in time.

‘Did Papa love me?’

Isolina held her breath; the blackness in the room concealed her daughter’s pain. She found this worrying as Sofia had never talked about her father like this before; never asked such questions.

‘Yes, very much …’

‘And you, Mamma?’

Isolina bit her bottom lip and felt her chest constrict. ‘Yes, Papa was good to me.’

‘And did you love him?’

Isolina pulled Sofia’s head towards her. Not even the gloom could disguise her uncomfortable response. She was rescued by a loud crash from outside, making both mother and daughter flinch.

‘The barn doors,’ Isolina whispered, certain she had closed them. But this was not the time to share her concerns. The doors slammed together with another thud.

‘I must have left them unlocked,’ Isolina lied, while pulling back the warm covers.

‘I am certain you –’

‘It would not be the first time,’ her mother interrupted.

She swung her feet onto the floor, feeling the dampness of the wood. Seeking warmth, she placed one foot upon the other, before standing.

‘Don’t go, Mamma,’ Sofia begged from the darkness.

Isolina disguised her answer with a smile. ‘It will only take me a moment to secure the doors … we will not sleep with all that noise otherwise.’ She stretched her arm out until her fingers touched the fabric of her coat. ‘I will be back and we can cuddle up to sleep.’ Sofia remained silent as Isolina draped the coat across her shoulders and felt for her shoes, before making her way towards the stairs.

‘Mamma, what if … what if you find … someone there?’

‘Nonsense, child, who would be out on a night like this?’ Isolina stopped at the bottom of the staircase and looked back over her shoulder before removing a loose floorboard with her fingernails. She reached inside the cavity and wrapped her fingers around the butt of a gun. Isolina stood and glanced back through the gloom before continuing to the front door.

∼ ∼ ∼ ∼

What had started as a stiff breeze was now a full-blown gale. She pulled the coat tight across her chest as her hair was blown in several directions. She felt for the box of matches in her coat pocket. Above, the clouds obscured an almost full moon.

She moved swiftly towards the barn, touching the handle of the gun for reassurance. A noise from the thicket behind her caused her to spin around and withdraw the gun in a single movement. She waited for whatever it was to show itself, her arm outstretched and shaking with the weight of the weapon. Nothing moved except the wind. Feeling foolish, she replaced the gun in her coat pocket while removing strands of hair from her mouth and eyes. Ahead, she saw the unlocked barn doors swaying in the wind. She reached them just as another large gust arrived, forcing her to use her body to keep them from slamming together. Again, she felt certain she had locked them earlier. A deep anxiety began to grow within her.

She let the doors gently come together but remained outside, listening closely for any sounds from within. Maybe the strength of the wind had dislodged the handle? She dismissed that theory instantly: she was searching for answers created out of fear. That meant only one thing: someone or something had got inside, and could still be there. She removed the gun from her pocket and gripped the handle firmly.

She eased back one of the doors, to be met by a solid wall of darkness. She looked back up at the moon, hoping the clouds would clear enough to brighten the night. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside and stood silent, moistening her lips with her tongue. The wind sounded melodic as it passed through the wooden structure, while outside, branches creaked and leaves rattled in the gale.

She saw it just as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. A human form lay sprawled across the floor, motionless. Isolina placed the gun on an old wooden table and fished out the box of matches. Grabbing one of the nearby rusty lanterns, she struck a match. Moments later, a flickering yellow flame lit up the barn. As if on cue, in that instance, the door behind her creaked. Isolina reached for the gun … Sofia screamed.

‘Sofia,’ Isolina gasped, ‘what are you doing here?’

‘I was scared … sorry …’

Isolina pulled her daughter close. It was only then that the girl saw the body on the floor.

‘Mamma …’ she gasped.

‘Shh … I know.’

‘Is …?’

‘I do not know,’ Isolina whispered, loosening her grip. ‘Wait here.’

‘Mamma …’ there was pleading in Sofia’s voice.

Isolina placed a finger across her lips. A dozen steps later, she stood over the motionless figure. It was only then that she realised she did not have the gun. She knelt by the man. He was young and, to her relief, his skin felt warm and his pulse strong. She wiped her brow, knowing this was only the beginning of their problems.

‘Bring over the lantern, Sofia.’ Her eyes assessed the man, noticing the odd angle of his right leg.

‘Mamma –’

‘Now, Sofia, please.’

The girl reluctantly brought the lantern to her mother. Holding it aloft, Isolina let the light spread over the man. He wore no uniform. Instead, a thick, dark brown coat covered a lighter brown suit. His white shirt was tieless and his shoes were caked in mud. He had almost certainly come across the fields.

She inspected the leg further. It was, as she suspected, broken just above the ankle. Just as she gently placed a hand on it, the barn was filled with a piercing scream. Sofia threw herself at her mother, adding her own shrill cry.

‘Mamma … Mamma.’

‘I am sorry,’ Isolina whispered, looking at the man.

He clamped his hands to his face and let out another muffled cry. As the pain subsided, he finally managed to speak, but not in Italian.

‘Sofia, go and fetch my bag, please.’

‘But Mamma … what if –’

‘Sofia, do as I say.’

The girl ran off into the shadows.

‘I am a nurse and I may have some morphine … but you will need proper medical care.’

‘No … please.’ The man suddenly switched to fluent Italian. ‘I am English.’

Isolina stared at him through the gloom; this changed everything. As Sofia returned with the bag, Isolina turned and smiled at her, hoping to calm her.

‘There is nothing to worry about, Sofia, I promise.’ She placed her hand on her daughter’s cheek before kissing it. ‘I love you. I would never let anything harm you.’ She then stared down at the stranger and shivered.

CHAPTER TWO

Isolina opened her eyes, although tiredness tried to force them shut again. She focused on the sleeping girl next to her, but her thoughts returned to the night just gone, and the Englishman in the barn. She had used her last shot of morphine to ease his pain, but knew it was only a temporary measure. He needed specialist help to set his leg, which meant seeking out Simon.

She carefully slipped from beneath the covers, attempting not to wake her daughter in the process. It had been a traumatic night for the young girl, and sleep would hopefully help ease her anxiety. Isolina looked down but resisted the urge to kiss her. Placing her coat over her shoulders, she moved swiftly towards the staircase, glancing back at her daughter before descending.

On reaching the bottom step, she looked down to where the gun lay hidden. She decided against taking it: there was something harmless about the stranger. Isolina stepped out to a grey, chilly Tuscan morning. She took a deep breath and headed towards the barn.

As she walked, she did up the buttons on her coat while surveying last night’s storm damage. Vines in the nearest field lay on the ground, while broken branches surrounded a large chestnut tree. A fencepost lay at right angles, and several slates were missing from the roof of the house. She stopped as she reached the two large, rotting wooden doors. The rusting hinges squealed as she pulled them open and gazed inside.

She pulled one door back a little further. The sound of a bird scampering across the roof made her heart race. Otherwise, only silence greeted her. Isolina pulled one of the doors to, whilst leaving the other partially open, allowing enough watery daylight into the gloomy interior. The rich, overpowering smell of damp hay wafted to her nostrils. The man was still covered in the blanket Sofia had fetched last night, and had not moved.

She felt pride in her daughter. They had had to work quickly, while the morphine was at its most effective, to place a splint on the broken bone. She had straightened his leg, knowing that it went against everything she had been taught, but needs must. With the aid of two cut-down broom handles, part of a fencepost and strips of linen, they finally managed to achieve their goal.

The Englishman had screamed and used words that meant nothing to her. Looking into her daughter’s eyes, she’d seen the anxiety, yet she observed Sofia doing everything that was asked of her. Every touch brought a louder cry, until tears flowed from both the Englishman and her daughter. Sofia could not bear to look at him, choosing instead to stare into the darkness, while the noise of the wind helped to muffle his cries.

Isolina approached the man and knelt beside him, and took her first long look at his face. He was young, twenty-five, no more. It was a boyish, attractive face, soft and welcoming, unlike the harsh faces of many around the village.

Tiny bristles grew in isolated clusters, thicker around his chin than anywhere else. His brown hair resembled a bowl of spaghetti. She smiled: he was unkempt, like a young schoolboy. Suddenly his eyes opened: hazel eyes; somehow, she had known they would be. He took a deep breath and arched his back as a spasm of pain attacked his leg. Letting out a cry, tears of agony left those hazel eyes. She resisted the urge to wipe them away.

He stared at her. ‘Morphine,’ he pleaded.

‘No … I have no more … sorry.’

His Italian was excellent; his voice seemed younger than his years.

‘Please … the pain.’

‘You must listen to me …’ She leant forward and felt the warmth of his breath. ‘What is your name?’

‘Will telling you my name get rid of the pain in my leg?’

‘No …’

‘Then why ask?’ Another tear ran down his cheek.

‘Let me fetch you some water.’

‘Morphine.’

‘Water – but I need to call you something, so please give me your name. Lie if you want to, but allow me to call you something.’

‘Richard … Richard Mason. There, happy now?’ He tried to stifle another scream and turned his face away from her to spit into the dust. He clenched his jaw and looked back up at her.

‘Richard, you must be seen by a doctor. I can only do so much for you. I am just a nurse.’

He moved his hand from under the blanket and grabbed her wrist. ‘No doctor,’ he whispered, his eyes wild, beads of sweat forming on his face. ‘No doctor!’

Isolina remained calm. ‘That’s fine with me … but I must move you.’

‘Move me?’

‘Yes, I cannot have a spy dying on my farm. They would think I had something to do with you. If you want to die so much, do it off my land.’

He continued to stare at her face, holding her wrist. Finally, he released it.

‘How foolish men can be,’ she spoke in a whisper. ‘If not treated, there is a chance you will get gangrene … blood poisoning … and you will die, Mr Mason. It’s as simple as that. Whatever you have come here to do, you will not get the chance to do it.’

He winced before speaking, ‘Can the doctor be trusted?’

‘First ask yourself: do you trust me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good, so you have a brain after all.’

Richard Mason smiled through gritted teeth.

Isolina returned with a cup of cold water. ‘I am sorry about the pain, but I will go and get the doctor. Then we will begin the process of healing you, but you will have to endure it a little longer, I’m afraid.’

‘I understand.’

‘While I am gone, these barn doors will remain closed … no one will come here.’

‘How can you be certain?’

‘I can’t … you just have to trust.’ She smiled at him before walking away.

‘What is your name?’ Mason shouted across the barn.

‘Isolina.’

‘Isolina,’ he whispered, ‘very beautiful …’

She turned and slipped between the doors without answering him.

∼ ∼ ∼ ∼

‘Mamma.’ Sofia stood at the bottom of the stairs. ‘It’s cold.’

‘Then put some clothes on, child.’

‘Where have you been? To see …?’

‘Yes … now listen to me, Sofia.’ She moved across the room and wrapped her arms around her daughter. ‘No school this morning …’

Sofia smiled.

‘But you can go after lunch.’

‘But … do I –’

‘Yes, you do. Now, do not leave the house while I am gone.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To get Simon. Please listen: do not go near the barn and do not leave the house. I will be as quick as I can – promise me you will do as I ask?’

Sofia nodded reluctantly. ‘Will he live?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Good.’

CHAPTER THREE

Tuscany in January painted a rural setting in soft pastel colours. An idyllic countryside canvas that looked better when painted in watercolour and not oil. This morning, a misty greyness hung low, but the land remained easy on the eye. It was unspoiled and tranquil, except for the roads that were full of deep potholes. Isolina Donatelli sat upright, head forward, as if she were short-sighted. She hated driving, hated the grinding noise that leapt from the engine. She whispered obscenities as another wheel fell into another deep cavity. She feared this road and this car more than any Blackshirt or Nazi soldier.

Her gaze fell on the petrol gauge. She tapped the glass but quickly returned her hand to the steering wheel. The joints of her fingers ached from gripping the wheel with such intensity. She did not judge the petrol gauge by litres, but by the number of journeys to and from the village. She knew there wasn’t enough petrol to get to Florence, and that annoyed her.

Isolina prayed that Simon had not left early today, and she was soon calmed when she saw his car. As usual, it was parked a good distance from the curb. She smiled: his poor eyesight would cause an accident one day. She parked opposite, glad that her journey was over for now.

Her heart skipped a beat as fingers tapped against the window. She switched off the engine just as Luca Tucci’s face appeared. He was unshaven and his bloodshot eyes stared back at her. As always, a cigarette protruded from between his lips; the tip grew bright red as he drew on it. He turned and walked away from the car. Isolina got out and briefly glanced across to the doctor’s house before following the young man.

‘Morning, Luca, early for you.’

‘Yes …’ He took in another lungful of smoke before dropping the stub to the ground. ‘I hear some children have arrived at Fino’s.’

‘Yes, from Genoa. Sent by the Red Cross.’

‘Perhaps when you visit them, you might take a moment to see another.’

Isolina took a deep breath. Please, God, not another complication, she thought.

‘Who am I to see, Luca?’

‘A friend.’

‘An anti-Fascist like yourself, Luca, I suspect.’

‘Perhaps.’ Luca withdrew another cigarette, lit it, and blew the smoke skyward.

‘Do not involve me in your war, Luca.’

‘You are involved … all of Italy is, Isolina. Turin and Genoa have been bombed; it has begun, and soon the war will be on our own doorstep.’

Isolina thought about the Englishman in her barn. Yes, the war was getting closer, much closer than the young man in front of her knew.

He blew another cloud of smoke into the morning air. ‘Tunisia will fall soon, then Sicily will be invaded by the Allies … Rome will be next –’

‘Yes, Luca, I understand,’ Isolina interrupted. She turned upon hearing the doctor’s front door open and close.

Simon stood buttoning up his coat as she walked towards him, still speaking to Luca, but not directly. ‘I will be at Fino’s at two.’

Luca dipped his head in acknowledgment and walked away, hunched against the early morning chill.

‘Isolina,’ smiled Dr Simon Stein, scrutinising her. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’

‘I need to speak to you.’

‘Why do I feel a drop in temperature when I have just put my coat on?’

Isolina returned the old man’s smile; he had a dry sense of humour, even in these trying times.

‘I awoke last night to find I had an unwanted guest in my barn.’

‘I gather this guest has two and not four legs.’

‘One and a half, to be precise.’

The doctor gave her an odd look.

‘A break above the ankle.’

‘Uh. I see … is he …? I guess it is a man. Is he a native of Tuscany, or –’

Isolina filled in the gap, ‘He is English … and not in uniform.’

‘I understand. Your car or mine?’

∼ ∼ ∼ ∼

Isolina drove back to the farm with Simon. He sat in the passenger seat, gripping the door handle, all colour drained from his face.

‘Is he at death’s door, Isolina?’

‘No, but he is in much pain.’

‘Then … why are we risking our own lives?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Our speed, child … I am seventy, and, if possible, I would like to see seventy-one. There is nothing I can do about the Germans, but I am sure you could cut your speed.’

‘Sorry.’ Isolina gently raised her foot from the accelerator and began to laugh. ‘I am sorry, Simon … really.’

‘I thought we were being pursued by bandits.’ He smiled but his hand remained on the door handle. ‘I would like to have talked about your guest, but it might be best if you concentrate fully on your driving.’ They looked at each other and grinned.

Sofia greeted them with a smile and waited patiently for the engine to cease growling.

‘Morning, Sofia,’ said the doctor, emerging from the car. ‘Your beauty grows with each day.’

Isolina looked at him. ‘Flattery, doctor?’

‘I find a little helps … our patient …’

‘Follow me … Sofia, make some coffee please. It’s under the floorboard at the end of my bed.’

‘So, you don’t just keep guns under the floorboards.’

‘Sofia!’ Isolina’s look was firm, with no trace of a smile.

Simon Stein glanced from the girl to mother, loath to immerse himself in a family spat. Isolina composed herself and looked at the doctor.

‘Do you want me to bring the coffee into the barn?’ Sofia asked.

‘Leave it to heat, we won’t need it straightaway.’

‘Mamma,’ Sofia called out, ‘sorry!’

Isolina turned to stare at her daughter before continuing towards the barn.

‘Children,’ the doctor muttered before quickening his pace to keep up with Isolina.

Inside the barn, they stood in silence. Isolina kept both doors partially open to let in what little light the overcast sky allowed, but the inside remained gloomy. Both took a moment to adjust to their surroundings before the doctor approached what looked like a pile of clothing. He looked down as the man opened his eyes.

Damp from sweat, the man’s hair stuck to his face, which was colourless and full of discomfort. The doctor knelt and pulled back the blanket before reaching into his bag for a pair of scissors. Holding the blanket to one side, he cut the strings that held the make-shift splint in place.

‘You have done well, Isolina. The ties are a good distance away from the fracture.’ He nodded his head in approval. ‘And not too tight … perfect.’

‘I had a good teacher.’

‘That you did …’ he whispered, smiling. Addressing Richard, he continued, ‘No open wound. How very lucky you are, young man.’

The Englishman said nothing, but his eyes never left the doctor’s face.

‘I am going to give you a shot of morphine, then we will go to work. Nevertheless, you may feel a little pain … and it may not be pleasant.’

Richard Mason had been listening to the doctor. ‘You are not Italian,’ he stated, wincing as another surge of pain engulfed him.

‘Uh … you can detect it, can you?’ Simon Stein held the syringe up into the half-light. ‘Frankfurt, if you must know … a small village –’ He did not get the chance to finish.

‘You’re German …’ Mason looked up at Isolina with anger in his eyes. ‘You double-crossed me, bitch … why?’

Simon found a vein and injected.

‘You have not been double-crossed … and refrain from using such words. Yes, I am a German.’ Simon Stein looked into Mason’s eyes. ‘I am a German Jew. I live here because my life in Frankfurt was a living hell … I am a Jew and, to other Germans, I am the scum of the earth. Soon, I will have to leave here … my second home, a place I have grown fond of, like its people.’ He looked up at Isolina, then back at the Englishman. ‘Soon they will come for me, not because I am the enemy like you, but because I am a Jew. So, rest assured, it is me they will take first … not you.’

Richard Mason felt the pain subside, but shame quickly took its place. He watched the old man as he worked away at his leg. Simon was also talking to the woman. They were both working towards one aim: to save his leg. Yet, it was his soul that needed saving at that moment. A restless sleep finally gave him some respite from his humiliation.

They went about their work over the next hour, putting together a crude supporting splint using torn sheets, string and more wood. Finally, with the job done, they left the barn. Outside, Isolina accepted a cigarette from Simon and inhaled deeply; it tasted good. She only smoked when things were chaotic, like now. The doctor lit his own and drew in the smoke before turning to face her.

‘Be careful … these are dangerous times for Italy. It is changing and we are living at a turning point in history and, so often at times such as these, it is the innocent that suffer.’

‘Why my barn?’ asked Isolina.

‘It is what it is. Soon we will not know who the enemy is. They will come in many disguises … like they did in the thirties in my country. Who is the enemy? The Nazis … the Fascists … the Vatican … even your neighbours, maybe … Luca Tucci, who I saw you talking to this morning.’

‘Not Luca, Simon …’

‘Why, child, why not him? Right now, you are useful to him. Did he ask you for a favour this morning? Yes, I thought so, your face cannot lie. You are useful to him now … but, one day, you will become expendable.’

A shiver ran up Isolina’s spine.

‘Why did you not tell Luca about your British spy?’

‘I – I just thought it would be for the best.’

‘Best for whom? Him?’ Simon turned to face the barn. ‘Or best for you?’

Isolina dropped her cigarette and put it out.

‘You were right to say nothing, Isolina,’ said the doctor, stamping out his own. ‘It is best you tell no one yet, not until he is mobile again, which may take six or seven weeks at least I’m afraid.’

‘That long?’

Simon Stein walked towards the small picket fence that overlooked where the valley fell away.

‘What a wonderful view. Whoever’s God made this should be thanked – mine, yours, who cares. It was made with love and I just pray war will not come and turn such beauty into a wasteland.’

‘Do you know they are rounding up Jews in Florence?’ Isolina asked.

‘Yes, I have been told that. But you, what has Luca asked of you?’

‘To see a friend.’

‘No doubt he carries an injury.’

‘More than likely.’

‘Strange … the more we try to stay out of this war, the stronger it pulls us in.’ The old man stared out over the hillside, across fields of brown and beige and down through straight rows of Cyprus trees. A church steeple could be seen in the distance, nestling between hills. To Simon, it felt like a dream, and yet, it felt like he was looking at this humbling scene for the last time.

‘And, so it begins again … I left Germany in 1933, ten years ago now.’ He reached for his cigarettes; Isolina politely declined a second. ‘Hitler had come to power and the war against the Jews had begun. Did you know he blamed the loss of the First World War on us, a mere five hundred thousand people in a county of forty-two million? Can you imagine that? Yet, the people believed him and one per cent of the nation took the blame.’ Simon Stein laughed and shifted his gaze from the splendour laid out before him.

‘I came to Italy to make another life: Mussolini himself, as well as the people, held a different view. Did you know that the Jews helped Mussolini to power?’ He turned to Isolina and wagged his finger. ‘I bet you did not know that, child. I read an article in a paper once that said: in Italy, there is absolutely no difference between a Jew and a non-Jew, in every field from religion to politics … Il Duce himself, Mussolini, said that.’

‘Where will you go, Simon?’

‘I have a cousin in Canada … but –’ His eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

Isolina felt his pain and looked away. ‘You must think about going soon,’ she said, placing a hand upon his shoulder. ‘As you said, things are changing fast, and one Englishman is not enough. We’ll need a whole army of them.’

Simon smiled.

Sofia was just leaving the house holding two cups of coffee, when a cry emanated from inside the barn. Simon and Isolina rushed past and ran into the barn. The Englishman was sitting up, awake and reaching for his jacket, which had brought on another bout of pain.

‘Let me do that,’ Isolina said walking across to him.

‘What have you done?’ Richard asked Simon.

‘Saved your life … and your leg.’ Simon Stein stood behind Isolina. ‘It was a good break, luckily for you.’

‘A good break?’ Richard Mason whispered with some sarcasm.

‘Yes, otherwise you would have needed surgery, something I could not do, and you’d be at greater risk than you are now. So, yes, a good break.’

‘How long before I can be on my way?’ the Englishman asked.

‘Six to eight weeks.’

‘I don’t want to be here for six days, let alone six weeks.’

Stein placed the cigarette back between his lips.

‘Could you spare one?’ asked Mason.

The doctor smiled and held out the pack to the young man. Mason rested his head back and enjoyed the pleasure it gave him: it was his first in three days and was just what he needed. He looked up at the old man and blew out a cloud of smoke.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry?’

‘For what I said … I’m grateful to you, sir, I meant no disrespect.’

‘I feel your apology is directed at the wrong person. It is this woman who you really owe your life to.’

Mason looked up into the face of Isolina Donatelli, making him draw breath sharply: the woman was simply quite stunning.

‘He is right, let me first thank you … I hope you have it in you to forgive a stupid Englishman. It is not an excuse, but I was cold, tired and in pain … as well as scared. But I should not have said what I did. I am sorry.’

‘Apology accepted,’ she smiled. Her jet-black hair rested in curls on her shoulders.

A stab of pain hit Mason. ‘Can you give me anything?’

‘Yes, but not yet. I will leave a little here for Isolina to administer when the pain is bad. In time, the pain will lessen. Do not put any weight on it, any weight at all – understand? Stupidity, not the Nazis, will be your downfall if so.’

‘Is one for me?’ Mason asked.

The doctor and Isolina looked puzzled until they followed Mason’s stare. Sofia stood in the doorway with two cups of coffee.

‘Yes,’ said Isolina. ‘Would you like something to eat?’

‘That would be very nice … thank you.’

‘And you, Simon?’

‘This coffee will do.’

Isolina moved towards the doorway, where a transfixed Sofia gawked at the Englishman. Isolina smiled: the man was very handsome. She took the mugs and handed them to the men before seizing her daughter’s arm to leave the barn. A concerned Simon Stein observed and followed. But now another worry troubled him: the car ride home.

CHAPTER FOUR

Leaving Sofia to keep Simon company while he had his coffee, she filled a large bowl with her homemade vegetable soup for the Englishman, and placed a sizeable piece of moist bread next to it. Richard Mason greeted her with a welcoming smile, but his face exhibited a great deal of pain as he attempted to sit upright.

‘Here.’ She gently placed the wooden tray across his lap.

‘Thank you,’ he said, hastily tearing off a chunk of bread.

She watched him fill his mouth; she had not realised the extent of his hunger.

‘Sorry,’ he said, dragging his hand across his mouth, ‘I have not eaten for best part of three days … and this is the best soup I have ever tasted.’

‘Do not worry,’ Isolina replied, ‘Italian women enjoy watching people eat what they have cooked.’

Mason ran more bread around the bowl and Isolina used the silence to speak.

‘You will be alone soon, and I will secure the doors … no one will come, of that I am certain.’ She leant against a wooden upright. ‘When I come back, I will bring you fresh clothing and soap to wash.’

‘Please don’t go to too much trouble, you have done enough already.’ He spoke as he swallowed the last of the soup.

‘It is no trouble.’

Richard Mason looked at the woman, his eyes following the ridge of her cheeks, the high bone structure set below her eyes that promoted her beauty. Suddenly, he became aware of the silence around him.

‘Sorry … but you are so …’ He stopped.

‘I am so?’

‘Attractive …’ He felt his face turn crimson. ‘Sorry, I was brought up to be truthful at all times … my mother’s influence I’m afraid.’

‘Then it must be difficult being a spy.’

He laughed and looked away.

‘Can I ask …?’ He looked back at her.

‘Go on,’ she said.

‘How old are you?’

‘Didn’t your mother never teach you not to ask a woman her age?’

‘Sorry … I’m saying that word a lot, so it seems.’

Isolina smiled. ‘I must be going now.’ On her way to the wooden doors, she stopped. ‘Uh – nearly forgot.’ She picked up a bottle with a large neck and walked back to where the Englishman lay. ‘Here.’ She handed it to him. ‘We will be gone for several hours,’ she told him as she returned to the doors. ‘Thirty-seven,’ she said, closing the doors behind her.

Mason heard the noise of a chain, and allowed a smile to slowly surface.

∼ ∼ ∼ ∼

Isolina drove slowly back to the village and dropped off the doctor first. Sofia climbed into the front seat and, five