Tuscan Rose (26 page)

But there was one aspect of her work that Rosa had not been prepared for. One day, Antonio sent her to a house in Via della Pergola.

‘Go and see if there is anything you think worthwhile,’ he said.

The house was white with green shutters. The polished oak door and the wrought-iron balcony above it gave the house an air of elegance. Rosa shivered in anticipation of the beautiful things she hoped to find inside. She was about to cross the narrow street towards the house when a truck with an open tray pulled up in front of it. A few moments later a woman and two children appeared in the doorway, each carrying a suitcase. The boy and the girl were dressed in expensive woollen coats and the woman wore strings of pearls, but their faces were grim. The driver of the truck loaded the suitcases, and helped the children into the tray and the woman into the seat beside him. The next person out of the door was a slender man in his mid-forties. He dragged a trunk out and the driver helped him load it. The man glanced at the woman but she stiffened and turned away. He disappeared into the house again. An elderly couple peered from the window of the house next door, but the woman ignored them.

The front door opened again and this time two men in overalls came out carrying a velvet chaise longue with gold tassels. They did not put it on the truck but propped it up on the pavement. They went back into the house and returned with a pair of filigree lamps and a terracotta pot. The slender man came out with a couple of paintings. He patted the girl’s cheek and touched the boy’s hair. But when he turned and saw the workmen carting out a child’s bed with angels carved into the headboard, his composure broke. His hands trembled and his lips quivered. It dawned on Rosa that the family was being evicted. The realisation twisted her gut and caused her physical pain.

A white spitz dog appeared at one of the downstairs windows and pressed his face to it, scratching the glass with his paw. He was joined by a white cat with black cap and saddle markings. She sat on the windowsill and peered out.

‘Ambrosio! Allegra!’ the girl called out. Turning to the man, she asked, ‘Babbo, they are coming too, aren’t they?’

Her brother, who was older, looked to his father. The man shook his head.

‘No!’ the girl cried. ‘We can’t leave them behind! Everything else but them!’

The man glanced at his feet, then quickly opened the passenger door of the truck and climbed in alongside his wife. The driver started the engine. The girl clung to the sides of the tray, her face and knuckles white. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Her dog barked desperately. The cat meowed. The truck gained speed and disappeared around the corner. Rosa stood glued to the spot. All she could think about was the Montagnanis being evicted from their home. The dreadful scene had been brought to life before her. Sobs she couldn’t repress shook her.

She was about to leave when a man in a suit came out of the door and spotted her.

‘Signora Bellocchi?’ he called. ‘I am Fabio Mirra. Signor Parigi said to watch out for you. I’ve saved a dining suite I think he would like.’

He must be the debt collector, Rosa thought. She couldn’t believe that he could be so composed after having evicted a man and his family. He was the same age as the slender man and could have been a father himself. But he didn’t have the ruthless appearance she might have expected. Rosa took a handkerchief out of her pocket and dabbed at her cheeks before stepping towards him.

Signor Mirra laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘It doesn’t pay to get emotionally involved,’ he said in a paternal tone. ‘That man was born into more wealth than you and I will ever know. But he gambled it away. It’s like a disease in some people. Of course I feel sorry for his wife and children. That’s the hard part.’

Rosa remembered the stricken look on the little girl’s face. What did that man think when he saw his humiliated wife and distressed children? Did it affect him to know that he had brought calamity to the people who depended on him? She couldn’t help thinking of Luciano’s father. At least the man she had seen had stayed with his family to share their fate.

‘I’m sorry,’ Rosa said, composing herself as best she could. ‘When Signor Parigi sent me here, I didn’t know it was…’

‘An eviction?’ Signor Mirra nodded sympathetically and guided Rosa into the house.

The interior was as beautiful as she had expected, with cream-and-white wallpaper, rosewood panelling and parquet floors. But it didn’t hold any magic for her now.

‘Does Signor Parigi often buy from evictions?’ Rosa asked.

She was fond of Antonio. It pained her to think he might be a vulture, profiting from misery.

‘All the dealers do, high and low,’ Signor Mirra replied, leading Rosa towards the dining room, which featured a Bohemian crystal chandelier. ‘You have to think, Signora Bellocchi, that you are helping these people in a way. The more you buy, the more they can repay their debts. Signor Parigi didn’t tell the man to gamble his fortune away, did he?’

Rosa shook her head. ‘I suppose not.’

The dining suite Signor Mirra had put aside for her to look at was as stunning as he had indicated. The table was in Louis XVI style and the matching medallion chairs were upholstered in toile depicting pastoral scenes of shepherds and shepherdesses. The chairs were slightly faded but not stained and the table had not been altered in any way. Rosa knew that its simple elegance would appeal to many customers.

‘It is a fine suite, I am sure Signor Parigi will like it,’ said Rosa. ‘Can you hold it until this afternoon?’

‘Of course,’ said Signor Mirra with a slight bow.

Rosa followed him back down the corridor and heard the dog barking. ‘What will happen to the animals?’ she asked.

Signor Mirra shrugged. ‘The cat I can let go to catch mice, but the dog…well, it’s against the law to let them onto the streets in case of rabies. I will have to take him to the police station to be…’

‘Shot?’

‘Put down.’

The euphemism didn’t soften the image. She remembered the shattered look on the girl’s face. The cat and dog had been beloved pets. They passed by the drawing room and Rosa saw the cat
sticking its paw under the door. She hesitated and looked at a Pompeii fresco on the wall.

Signor Mirra turned to her. ‘Is there something else that interests you, Signora Bellocchi?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she replied, straightening her coat. ‘I’d like to take the dog and cat.’

Antonio looked from the cat curled up on the windowsill to the dog sitting at his heels. ‘The dining suite, I understand,’ he said. ‘But explain to me again how I came to be the master of these noble animals?’

Allegra jumped off the windowsill and rubbed against Rosa’s leg. She emitted a purr so loud that she could have been a truck starting up.

‘I can’t understand people who abandon their animals any more than I can understand people who give away their children,’ said Rosa, bending down to scratch the cat under her chin. She looked up and saw Antonio was smiling at her and shaking his head.

‘Well, the dog, I like,’ he said. ‘He’s Italian. A
volpino italiano.
A little fox. They’ve been favoured by royalty for hundreds of years. Michelangelo had one. But the cat…well, I don’t like cats.’

Rosa straightened. ‘You can’t get rid of her…they are like brother and sister.’

Antonio fought the faint smile that was tickling his lips. Rosa had no idea what to make of the sparkle in his eyes.

‘All right, all right, she can stay,’ he said. ‘But you’re in charge of removing cat fur and stopping her from scratching anything.’

When she returned home that evening, Rosa gave Luciano a long embrace.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked her.

Rosa didn’t want to tell him that she had witnessed an eviction and bring up his own pain. But the look of despair on the little girl’s face had burnt into her memory. Her heart ached with the
suffering she had seen. The only way she felt she could relieve it was to have taken care of Allegra and Ambrosio.

‘I’m just tired,’ she said, placing Sibilla’s basket by the stove.

‘I want to show you something,’ Luciano said, leading her into the corridor.

They left the building and re-entered the one next door, climbing up several flights of stairs to a one-room apartment with a view of the street. A double bed with a ruffled cover took up most of the space. A small armoire and Sibilla’s cot had been placed in one corner. Luciano fluffed up the embroidered pillows on the bed.

‘Lie down,’ he said. ‘This is our place now.’ He threw himself on the bed and patted the space next to him. ‘Orietta sewed all the covers.’

Rosa couldn’t move. Luciano had gone to a lot of trouble to make the room appealing to her. Was he intending to marry her? Rosa’s heart swelled with the idea: a husband, a child, a sweet little room. What more could she want?

‘Come, Rosa,’ he said. ‘Lie down and rest. I can see how tired you are.’

Rosa slipped off her shoes and lay down next to him. He put his arms around her and she felt instant comfort in his strength. Although they hadn’t been physically intimate yet, Rosa knew that Luciano thought of her as his woman.

‘What does this mean?’ she asked him.

Luciano didn’t answer straightaway and Rosa’s heart sank. Maybe he was like most men and didn’t want to marry a woman who wasn’t a virgin.

He sighed. ‘I would love to marry you, Rosa, more than anything in the world.’ He hesitated and slid off the bed, moving to the window and looking out.

‘But?’ she prompted him.

Luciano turned to her. ‘Now is not the time,’ he said. ‘I want to marry you when I can give you and Sibilla a country free of the fascists. A real Italy.’

‘That’s quite a wedding gift,’ said Rosa, sitting up. She was trying to make light of the situation but her heart was breaking. She knew Luciano’s anti-fascist activities were important to him, but didn’t see why they should interfere with their having a life together.

Luciano came back to the bed and brushed Rosa’s hair from her forehead. ‘Can you trust me to keep my promise?’ he asked her.

She looked into his eyes. Unwed single mothers in Italy were unacceptable but unwed couples were different. Many working-class men and women lived together but didn’t marry until they could afford at least a wedding bed. Rosa turned away. She loved Luciano but she wanted more. She wanted a name, a real name. She wanted to appear somewhere on someone’s family tree. And she wanted a father for Sibilla. Then another thought occurred to her about why Luciano was hesitant to marry.

‘Are Sibilla and I in danger? Does moving us have something to do with the pamphlets?’

Luciano’s faced turned grim. ‘They caught that woman who delivered the pamphlets to me when we were in Lucca. She’s a tough nut. I don’t think she’ll talk, but she might.’

‘Then it’s you who’s in danger,’ said Rosa. ‘She barely took any notice of me.’

Luciano shook his head. ‘The fascists use wives and children to get at the men who oppose them. I want to keep you and Sibilla safe. I have to keep you separate from me…for now. It won’t always be like this, I promise.’

Rosa squeezed her hands together. Now she understood why Luciano had chosen an apartment with a view of the street—so she could escape with Sibilla if she saw he was arrested. She was torn. She loved Luciano but she feared going back to prison. But even more, she was afraid for her daughter. If Rosa was arrested, she’d be left an orphan.

The day the customer who had ordered the present for the twelve-year-old girl was due to collect it, Rosa arrived with Sibilla at the
shop before her usual time. Sibilla had been too big for a basket for a while now and Antonio had given Rosa a wicker pram that he claimed to have picked up ‘for nothing’ at an estate sale. But Rosa could see it was made in England and the lining was new. She was embarrassed but grateful. When Luciano saw it, Rosa lied to spare his feelings. She said it was given to her by the benefactor of a deceased estate. She needed the pram: Sibilla was too heavy to carry the distance from the apartment to the shop.

That morning, Rosa headed towards the backroom and stopped in her tracks when she heard raised voices. Antonio was arguing with someone. She recognised Signora Visconti’s voice.

‘What has brought this on?’ she shouted. ‘We’ve been happy for years.’

‘We’ve never been happy,’ Antonio answered.

‘What has your father threatened now?’ Signora Visconti asked. ‘That if you don’t marry he will give all your inheritance to the Church?’

‘I don’t care if he does,’ Antonio snapped back. ‘That’s never been the point. It’s…he’s getting on now and he has no grandchildren.’

‘Well, marry then!’ Signora Visconti said. Her tone did not sound convincing to Rosa.

‘How can I? The only woman I have ever loved is you.’

Rosa could hear the pain in Antonio’s voice. He was going to make someone a fine husband one day, but Rosa suspected it wouldn’t be Signora Visconti.

It was far too intimate a conversation to be overhearing and Rosa retreated to her desk at the front of the shop. She took Sibilla out of her pram and placed her on the floor next to her. Sibilla was starting to walk herself by gripping onto furniture. There was a playpen in the backroom, but out in the shop Rosa had to keep an eye on Sibilla every second. As tolerant as Antonio was of Rosa bringing her child to work, and of Ambrosio and Allegra as the shop pets, she didn’t think he’d be thrilled at the sight of an eleven-month-old child drooling onto a two-hundred-year-old sofa. Rosa
sighed at her daughter’s happy smile. Sibilla had begun to wean herself earlier than Rosa expected and was more interested in soft-boiled eggs than in Rosa’s breasts. In a short while Rosa would have to leave Sibilla with Orietta, who worked from the apartment all the time now.

‘But how I shall miss your pretty face,’ Rosa said, kneeling to kiss Sibilla.

She took out the catalogue to update it but the voices from the backroom grew louder.

‘I can’t divorce Stefano and marry you. This is Florence not Hollywood!’ Signora Visconti shouted.

‘Why did you marry the buffoon in the first place?’ Antonio hissed.

‘Because he can give me things you can’t!’