Tuscan Rose (30 page)

Rosa melted. They were the most heartfelt, emotional words Luciano had ever spoken to her. She never told him she had learned where his father was because she hadn’t wanted to hurt
him. She knew that he would never do anything to hurt her or Sibilla. They had that trust.

That night, when she and Luciano lay in each other’s arms, Rosa reflected on what he had said. But the more she relived the sentiments he’d voiced, the less peace she felt. Perhaps he knows how dangerous his life has become, she thought. There is no time for mincing words. Luciano could be snatched out of my arms at any moment and sent to prison—or shot.

The following morning when Rosa arrived at the shop with Sibilla, she was surprised to find Antonio sitting at his desk and looking pale. Had his father passed away overnight? She placed Sibilla in her cot before approaching him. But when she enquired about Nonno, Antonio puzzled her by saying that his father was better than he had been in weeks. Why did Antonio look so tired, then? Was it because of Signora Visconti that he was losing sleep?

‘Please sit down, Rosa,’ he said, indicating that she should take the chair opposite his desk. His expression was serious. She wondered if he hadn’t liked the sideboard she had bought at an auction, or thought she’d paid too high a price for it.

Antonio stared at his hands, keeping Rosa in suspense. Finally he looked up and said, ‘I have been thinking about this for some time now. We get along well, you and I. I’d like to give you and Sibilla a home and a secure life.’

Rosa stared at him. Was he offering her a share in the business? She waited for him to continue.

‘Rosa?’

‘I’m not sure I understand,’ she said.

Antonio smiled. ‘I’m asking you to be my wife.’

The statement knocked the breath out of Rosa. She struggled to regain her composure but it was impossible. She was too shocked. A marriage proposal was what she had expected from Luciano, not from Antonio! She had not seen it coming at all: not in their chats in the shop or their visits to Nonno. She enjoyed Antonio’s
charm, his sense of humour, his kindness. But she had never thought of him as anything other than her friend and employer.

Antonio took her silence as encouragement to continue. ‘You’ve seen my home,’ he said. ‘It’s not a palace but it’s comfortable. If you wanted to add your own feminine touches, I think we could be very happy there. It would mean a lot to my father, especially in his last months. And, of course, I would recognise Sibilla as my stepdaughter.’

Rosa stared at the floor, overcome by unbearable remorse. How could she have let this happen? How could she have deceived a generous man like Antonio to the point he truly believed she was a good widow in need of rescuing? For surely that was what this was: a rescue. His heart, like hers, belonged elsewhere. She looked up and saw that Antonio was watching her with a bemused expression.

‘Rosa, what is it?’ he asked. ‘Have I really surprised you so?’

Rosa clenched her fists and managed to stammer, ‘But Signora Visconti? You love her, not me.’

Antonio flinched. ‘I came to realise my attachment was nothing more than the vain imaginings of a young man. I am no longer that man,’ he said firmly. ‘I put aside my…hopes with her some time ago.’

The turn of events had given Rosa such a shock that she began to cry. Antonio was willing to give her what she most wanted for herself and Sibilla—a name and a home. Why couldn’t she have that with Luciano when she loved him so?

Rosa inhaled a breath, drawing up the courage she needed to speak.

‘There’s been a terrible misunderstanding,’ she said. ‘There’s something I haven’t told you.’

Antonio’s brow furrowed. ‘Do you mean there’s someone else? That you are already engaged?’

Rosa nodded. Antonio’s face turned pale. The despair she felt at hurting him made her realise she had deeper feelings for him than she’d thought.

‘Oh dear,’ he said, clenching his jaw. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise…But of course there would be a man for you, wouldn’t there? You’re so lovely and young.’

The pain in his voice made Rosa cry even harder.

‘Please, Rosa,’ he said, standing up and passing her his handkerchief. ‘This is my mistake, not yours. I’ve made too many assumptions. Please let’s put this conversation behind us.’

Rosa tried to do as Antonio suggested, to forget that he had proposed to her, but she found it impossible to continue working at the shop. Antonio spent more time than he previously had visiting suppliers and attending estate sales. He was obviously ill at ease at being around her. Rosa felt she was living dishonestly. She was disgusted with herself for having deceived Antonio, and now that he had proposed to her, she felt unfaithful to Luciano for continuing to work for him.

‘What’s the matter?’ Luciano asked her one morning when she’d burnt the coffee for the second time. He looked at her with eyes full of concern. Rosa couldn’t meet his gaze.

‘You’ve been like this for a couple of days,’ whispered Orietta, taking the burnt pan from Rosa and scrubbing it. ‘Are you pregnant?’

Rosa realised that the most honourable thing she could do was to quit working for Antonio. One afternoon when he was out inspecting some furniture in Fiesole, she wrote him a letter confessing everything she could without endangering anyone. She told him about her prison sentence, alluding as tactfully as possible to the circumstances of Sibilla’s conception. She told him that she was engaged to the troupe’s manager, but said nothing of Luciano’s clandestine activities. She wondered if it might ease Antonio’s mind to know that she wasn’t who he thought she was. Perhaps if he had known about her past, he wouldn’t have asked her to marry him.

She left the note on Antonio’s desk. ‘I’m sorry I deceived you, good friend,’ she whispered, before picking up Sibilla and glancing once more over the beautiful furniture. She locked the shop before
heading down Via Tornabuoni, walking quickly for several blocks with no clear idea exactly where she was going.

Winter that year was bitter. Rosa had grown used to Antonio’s shop, which was well heated. The apartment she shared with Luciano was icy cold. She stuffed rags into the cracks around the windows to block out the draughts and spent most of her time in the kitchen of the Montagnanis’ apartment, where the stove remained warm until midday. Piero told her to put more coal in it to keep it going but Rosa knew the pile was growing low and night-time was colder. She was sorry that she was no longer bringing home the money she once did. She had told Luciano that Antonio didn’t have enough work for her and he’d had to let her go. It made her feel even guiltier that he believed her without question. Signor Morelli was true to his offer to recommend Rosa to play at weddings, but not only was the pay meagre compared to what she had been earning it also seemed no-one intended to get married until the spring. Luciano found a second job. He said it was to keep things going, but Rosa suspected it was also due to his sense of honour. The money sent by Giustizia e Libertà to pay Rosa back had been stolen by the courier who was supposed to deliver it.

By three o’clock in the afternoons, it became so cold that Rosa couldn’t continue with the housework. She would put on her coat and hold Sibilla tucked to her chest. They would sit like that until six when she would relight the stove and start preparing dinner. The vegetables Orietta brought home from the market were declining in quality, and Rosa had to stretch her imagination to come up with variations on the polenta, potatoes and
baccalà
that was the staple of their diet. She often went without because she couldn’t bring herself to eat the dried codfish. Luciano, Carlo, Piero and Orietta arrived home in the evenings tired from working hard. Rosa understood that Roberto was running the press, but she resented his lack of contribution to the household, especially as he joined them for dinner and ate more than anybody else.

One afternoon in January, the apartment was so cold that Rosa could no longer stand it. She climbed into Orietta’s bed with Sibilla to keep warm under the covers until the others came home. She woke a few hours later with a jolt. The front of her dress was damp with sweat, but when she touched her forehead, her flesh was cool. Sibilla was lying next to her, her face turned to the pillow.

‘Sibilla, what’s wrong?’ Rosa asked, picking her up. Her skin was on fire.

‘Head hurt,’ Sibilla whimpered.

Rosa pressed her palm to Sibilla’s forehead. The child was feverish. Rosa’s throat went dry. She loosened Sibilla’s nightdress to listen to her chest and noticed two spots like bruises on her skin. She heard the locks on the front door click open. Luciano had returned.

‘Hurry! Get a doctor!’ Rosa told him. ‘Sibilla has a high fever!’

The panic in her voice sent Luciano rushing back out without delay.

Sibilla grew limper in Rosa’s arms. She fainted but revived a moment later. ‘Dear God, help us!’ Rosa prayed, returning to the bedroom and lying Sibilla on the bed. She sat down next to her. Rosa didn’t know if it was hours or minutes before Luciano returned with the doctor: a man in his thirties with heavy jowls and intense eyes.

Carlo and Orietta arrived home at the same time. As soon as they heard Sibilla was sick, Orietta put aside her own distress and set about performing practical tasks: hanging the doctor’s coat; throwing coals in the stove; boiling water. Carlo sat on the bed, his head in his hands. Roberto arrived shortly afterwards, expecting dinner. Carlo told him what had happened. Roberto hovered near the bedroom door. As much as Rosa disliked him, she was touched by the concern on his face.

The doctor took Sibilla’s temperature and felt her neck. Sibilla was squinting as if the light hurt her eyes. This symptom seemed to trouble the doctor more than her high fever. He took out his
stethoscope and loosened Sibilla’s dress so he could listen to her breathing. The spots had spread. There were more than a dozen of them now over her chest. The doctor put his stethoscope away.

‘Who’s the father?’ he asked.

‘I am,’ said Luciano.

The doctor indicated for Luciano to follow him to the hallway. A sick feeling clenched Rosa’s stomach. The blood pounded so loudly in her ears she couldn’t hear what the doctor was saying. Luciano slumped as if he had received a blow. Sibilla lost consciousness again. The doctor returned to the room, and Luciano came with him and put his hand on Rosa’s shoulder. A lump irritated her throat. She felt as if she might vomit.

‘I’m sorry,’ said the doctor.

Rosa couldn’t speak. She found herself bargaining with God—
Take my eyes, take my legs, but don’t take…

‘It’s meningitis,’ the doctor said.

At first Rosa thought she had misheard him. Meningitis. There was an epidemic of the disease in Florence that winter. All the babies and most of the young children who had caught it had died. Carlo let out a sob. Orietta came running from the kitchen.

‘You need to prepare for the worst,’ the doctor said. ‘Is your daughter baptised?’

Rosa stood and nearly toppled over. Luciano grabbed her arm to steady her. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t be losing the bright star that Sibilla had been to her. Rosa wasn’t going to give in like that. She had fought to keep Sibilla with her and she would fight God himself if that’s what it took to keep her alive.

‘No! Sibilla is strong!’ she said, her fists clenched. ‘They have anti-serums for this now, don’t they?’

The doctor exhaled a breath. ‘The central OMNI clinic may administer it. Your daughter is succumbing…but you can try.’

‘OMNI?’ Rosa recollected the humiliating day at the
comune
when her application for assistance had been rejected. ‘They won’t accept me,’ she said, a tremor in her voice. ‘I am listed as an enemy of the state.’

The doctor’s mouth twitched. Rosa could see he didn’t approve of her record but thankfully his main concern was Sibilla. He looked to Luciano. ‘What about you? Do you have party membership?’

Luciano lowered his eyes and shook his head. The doctor’s face collapsed with dismay.

‘There’s nothing more I can do,’ he said. ‘You’d better send for a priest.’

Rosa’s head spun. ‘Isn’t there a private clinic?’ she asked.

The doctor raised his eyebrows. ‘Yes, but…you need money to go there. A lot of money.’

‘We have money!’ Rosa said. The room was turning white. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts and she struggled to make sense of them. ‘Luciano,’ she said. ‘We have the money we were putting aside for Sibilla’s education.’

Luciano looked aghast. ‘Rosa,’ he said, ‘you know that money is gone. You know what for.’

As they locked eyes, the terrible truth dawned on Rosa. The anti-fascist paper—they had spent the money that could have saved Sibilla on fighting Mussolini.

Luciano turned to the doctor. ‘I can get the money,’ he said. ‘But I can’t get it right now.’

The doctor shook his head. ‘They’ll want it upfront. If you can’t pay, they’ll send her to a charity hospital and, frankly, it’s better to keep your daughter here.’

Rosa looked at Sibilla. Her breathing was laboured. No, she thought. No, I won’t let her die.

‘Luciano, Orietta,’ she said, pulling them both towards Sibilla. ‘Watch over her for me. I know someone who will help us. I will go to him now.’

Rosa addressed the doctor. ‘Do you have a car?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then please take my daughter to the clinic. I will meet you there with the money, I promise. I will have it in an hour.’

‘Where are you going?’ asked Luciano. ‘I’ll come with you.’

‘No!’ Rosa wanted to look at Luciano but she couldn’t. ‘I’m going to see Antonio. He loves her. He loves Sibilla. He will help us.’

The night air was freezing and Rosa hadn’t dressed properly for it, with only her coat over her house dress. But she didn’t feel the cold biting her skin and drying her eyes. She refused to allow herself to feel anything. She had only one purpose in mind: that she must save Sibilla. She ran through the streets like a woman gone crazy. Her head pounded and her feet hurt but she wouldn’t stop. When she reached Antonio’s apartment she pressed the buzzer, praying that he was at home.