Tuscan Rose (33 page)

‘Rosa’s noticed something unusual there,’ Alessandro said to Antonio. ‘You see there is a drawer with a lock in the stool. What do you make of that?’

The feature certainly was unusual. There were often locks on fallboards to prevent damage to the piano keys, but why would someone lock away their music?

‘Do you have the key?’ Antonio asked Alessandro.

‘There was one for the fallboard but not the stool,’ he answered. ‘I did get a locksmith here to pick it, but he said it was too fine and was afraid he would damage it irreparably.’

‘I told him to smash it,’ said Tullia. ‘I can’t stand mysteries. There might be gold inside.’

Margherita laughed but Antonio and Rosa both winced. A beautiful stool was not something to be smashed. It was better to let the mystery stay hidden.

‘How about a drink on the terrace?’ said Alessandro, leading his guests from the music room.

Rosa was about to leave with them when a fancy seized her. She walked back to the stool. Her fingers reached for her throat. On an impulse she took the chain from her neck and placed the silver key in the lock. With one turn the drawer opened.

‘My God, there’s a coincidence,’ Alessandro said, calling Antonio back to the room when he saw that Rosa had opened the drawer. ‘Your wife’s charm opened the lock.’

Rosa didn’t think it was a coincidence. It felt more like witchcraft. A chill ran through her hands. Something wanted her to see what had been hidden in the drawer. She reached inside and found a thick notebook. Its cover was gold brocade. She opened the notebook and saw that the leaves were made of Japanese paper, and pasted and drawn onto them was a collection of sheet music, sketches, pressed flowers and poems.

‘Well, I never,’ said Alessandro. ‘Your wife is an archaeologist as well as a musician. See what she’s discovered.’

Rosa looked up at Antonio and Alessandro, not able to believe that she held the notebook of Nerezza Scarfiotti in her hands.

N
erezza’s notebook was a piece of art as well as a record of secrets. When Alessandro saw that it contained sketches of dresses, garden aspects, musical notes and opera tickets, he insisted that Rosa have it. Tullia supported him.

‘That sort of feminine memoir bores me silly,’ she said. ‘But if you love history, you might find it interesting.’

‘It is exactly the kind of thing Rosa revels in,’ Antonio said, winking at her. ‘I fell in love with my wife over her ability to tell the story behind a piece of furniture.’

Rosa thanked the couple profusely. They would never guess of how much interest the notebook was to her.

‘If it turns out to be of any value or historical importance, we will return it to you,’ Antonio told them.

‘No, I insist that your wife keep it,’ said Alessandro, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Rosa entertained us beautifully this evening and I want her to have it as a gift. I can see how pleased she is to have discovered it.’ With a mischievous smile he added, ‘Just let us know if you find anything scandalous in it. We love a juicy piece of gossip.’

Rosa wanted to read the notebook then and there. But Alessandro turned everyone’s interest back to drinks on the terrace
and Rosa had no choice but to mingle with the other guests. When she and Antonio returned home, the children were already in bed and she went to the drawing room to read the notebook. But Antonio followed her and made amorous eyes.

‘The notebook is not going anywhere,’ he said, covering Rosa’s neck with kisses.

Rosa put the notebook in the desk drawer and smiled at Antonio. She would wait until the morning.

The next day, once the children were settled with Giuseppina, Rosa disappeared to the drawing room with the instruction that she was not to be disturbed. She took out the notebook and studied the pages with fascination. Nerezza was certainly an artist. She had sketched exquisite gowns and labelled them: ‘worn’ along with the date; ‘to be worn’; and ‘envied’. One gown that caught Rosa’s eye was made of black silk tulle over an ivory satin dress embroidered with gold peacocks. Nerezza had sketched it in meticulous detail, writing the fabrics used next to the design. There was a Chantilly lace wedding dress dated 1912, which Rosa assumed had been Nerezza’s. One of the outfits labelled ‘envied’ was a Russian-style velvet evening coat with beaded passementerie panels. Rosa wondered who had worn it.

Rosa had been curious about Nerezza ever since she had seen the miniature opera sets in Clementina’s room and realised that they had been made by the occupant of the unusual grave. She couldn’t believe she had Nerezza’s personal notebook in her hands. But even though the notebook was intriguing, something about it troubled Rosa. Her possession of it disturbed her in a way she couldn’t define. It wasn’t like an antique, something passed on after the original owner had died. The notebook seemed to pulse in her hands as if it were a living thing.

Other sketches included the Villa Scarfiotti, a scene from
Carmen,
and a self-portrait that showed Nerezza exactly as Rosa had seen her in her vision at the piano. However, Rosa soon realised that the notebook was more than a whimsical collection of
special moments. It contained lists: of what Nerezza wanted to do when she went into Florence; of who to speak to at parties and who to avoid; of pieces of music she wanted to master. It was obvious that Nerezza had been an extraordinarily disciplined person. Her determination and her need to be admired jumped off the pages.

While at first Rosa interpreted the word ‘envied’ written under certain gowns as self-mocking, as she continued turning the pages she discovered ‘envied’ horses and carriages, holidays and diamonds. Nerezza had also written descriptions of ‘envied’ parties, including details of the food that had been served, the guests and the entertainment provided. Signor Collodi, the estate manager at the villa, had told Rosa that Nerezza’s parties had been legendary. Rosa now saw that they had been the result of meticulous planning and observation. What Nerezza ‘envied’, Nerezza got—and improved on.

On the last page of the notebook was a date with a red line crossed through it: 13 March 1914.

Rosa’s breath caught in her throat when she read the words under it:
I shall gain mastery over my heart.

They were the words that had been written on the lapis lazuli in the Egyptian vault in the Marchesa’s chambers. Why had both women been drawn to the same quote?

Rosa’s fingers touched the back cover of the notebook and noticed something bulky there. The cover had a slip opening. Rosa reached inside and discovered two well-worn envelopes. She opened the first envelope and took out the letter. It was in French and was signed ‘François’. Then she noticed the embossed letterhead:
The Baron François Derveaux.
She remembered the Baron with his gangly legs and winged eyebrows and the intrigued way he had looked at her. But why had he been writing to Nerezza? Then she remembered the vision she had seen of the young Baron and a dark-haired girl and she understood. Nerezza and the Baron had been childhood friends.

Paris, 1 May 1914

My Dear Nerezza,

You asked me how Paris is now and I will say that Paris is Paris and at its most beautiful in the springtime. The cafés are full of people, music drifts through the windows, and one smells the roses on every corner.

Hélène and I were married last Wednesday. She was very pretty in her crocheted Irish lace gown. She sends her love and promises to write to you herself soon. We are very happy that you intend to come to Paris. I am intrigued by what you wrote, that you have ‘news of great importance’ to tell me.

Now, as for your question about how I found Mademoiselle Caleffi, I’m afraid my response may not please you. Although she isn’t the most buoyant of conversationalists I thought she had a certain she-devil charm. She is sharp and has something rather raw about her, but she’s not afraid. I think she speaks her mind and, with the two of you vying for your brother’s affections, I can only imagine that you would wish me to say otherwise. But I have never lied to you, Nerezza. My advice, if you wish to continue to enjoy a good relationship with Emilio, is not to push him either way. His flame for Mademoiselle Caleffi may well burn out on its own. But if it doesn’t…your opposition will only push him further from you and closer to her.

Rosa looked up from the correspondence. Mademoiselle Caleffi was now the Marchesa Scarfiotti. She shuddered. It was strange to read about the Marchesa this way, observed by people who knew her intimately. It was clear from the Baron’s letter that Nerezza hadn’t liked her.

The rest of the letter went on to describe the social life in Paris despite the threat of war. The Baron’s tone was friendly and intimate, but the content was shallow. Rosa thought back to Clementina’s garden party. Hadn’t Miss Butterfield, his children’s governess, implied that the Baron was frivolous? To be fair, the letter had been written over twenty years ago, when he was still a young man.

The second letter was written in Italian and signed ‘Ferdinando’. Who was he? Reading the salutation, Rosa realised that he was Nerezza’s husband, writing from Libya. The letter was dated a month after the Baron’s letter and the tone was completely different.

Tripoli, 2 June 1914

My Dear Wife,

I do not understand this sudden urgency to see me. Should I be flattered? You should understand that the situation here is extremely unstable. I have lost my driver to a bomb attack and it is simply no place for a woman, although, as you pointed out, several of the army officers’ wives have come here to be close to their husbands. I see no good reason for this except that the husbands have a need to flatter themselves that their wives cannot do without them, and the wives flatter themselves with the same foolish idea about their husbands.

You and I know better. So put that thought out of your mind. I cannot spare anyone to take care of you as I go about my duties. I may, if I thought it would concern you, tell you that I could be killed at any time.

Now, for this matter you mention regarding your brother’s affection for Signorina Caleffi, I have nothing but bad news to report from my contacts. The woman’s father was respected but in his old age
fell for a woman of ill repute: a ruthless, scheming personality not afraid to exploit her own children for gain. And she certainly intends to gain something by throwing her daughter Emilio’s way. Signorina Caleffi has no moral character whatsoever. The man I hired discovered that while she makes love to your brother in Fiesole, she hedges her bets by maintaining the interest of a rich young man in Milan. Remember that it is your brother, although younger, who will carry the title of Marchese if he marries. What shame this woman could bring on the whole family! You must stop their union any way you can.

Ferdinando ended his letter with nothing but his signature; no affectionate salutation; no kisses. It was as if he had issued an order.

Rosa leaned back in her chair and looked out the window at the clouds moving across the sky. The letters she had read were the only two in the notebook, but there must have been many others given the nature of Nerezza’s relationship with the two men. Why had she kept only these?

Rosa closed her eyes and thought of the cold, snake-like Marchesa Scarfiotti. From these letters, the Marchese seemed to have been very much in love with her, but his sister and brother-in-law had been set against the marriage. Rosa wondered if the Marchesa would have got her way if Ferdinando hadn’t been killed and if Nerezza hadn’t been pregnant and sick when she returned from Libya. She also wondered why Nerezza had disobeyed her husband and visited him when he had told her not to come.

The notebook raised more questions in Rosa’s mind and answered nothing in return. She remembered Ada’s face on that last day at the villa when she had seen the silver key around Rosa’s neck. Antonio had explained that the key could probably open a variety of locks and the fact that it fitted the piano stool drawer was most likely a coincidence. But Rosa knew that wasn’t true. The key she wore around her neck did belong with the stool, and the key
had been found in her wrappings when she was left at the convent. She was certain now that she had come from the villa. But whose child was she? She had no way to contact Ada to find out, unless she wanted to be arrested for approaching the Villa Scarfiotti.

Rosa looked through the notebook again. Although Nerezza had possessed her when she was playing her piano, she didn’t believe she was Nerezza’s daughter. Ada had said that Nerezza’s child had died. Rosa recalled Maria. Had Rosa been the child of a servant caught in a similar desperate situation? Her mind turned to Giovanni Taviani. Signor Collodi had said that he had got himself into some sort of trouble and that’s why he’d been demoted as the estate manager. Rosa shuddered and put the thought out of her head. She simply could not be Giovanni Taviani’s daughter because that would make her Luciano’s sister!

Origin and heritage were everything. Rosa understood that. Ever since she was a child she had been burdened with the shame of not belonging. The discovery of Nerezza’s notebook had not made things clearer; they had made them murkier still. She took the notebook and hid it under a pile of papers in the desk drawer. When Nonno died, Rosa and Antonio had grieved the loss and in time had found peace again. But Rosa lived with an emptiness inside her that even her happy marriage and the joy of motherhood had not managed to diminish. She sighed and thought of Suor Maddalena. If not for the nun’s dedication to her, Rosa’s childhood would have been bleak. She remembered how comforting it was to find Suor Maddalena waiting for her in the kitchen after classes were over. The nun had been interested in every aspect of Rosa’s day. She was the closest person Rosa had ever had to a mother. She was sure Suor Maddalena felt the same way.

It’s as wrong for Suor Maddalena and me to be separated from each other as it is for a mother and child to be torn apart, Rosa thought. Surely now that years have passed and I am a respectable wife and mother, I should be allowed to see her.

Rosa wrote to the Badessa requesting permission to visit Suor Maddalena. She pinned all her hopes on a positive response. But the Badessa’s reply cut her to the core:
While I am pleased to hear that you are settled in life and happy, I cannot allow you to see Suor Maddalena. Her duty to God in raising you has been completed. It is time for all to move on and not hold on to old attachments.

Rosa cried as inconsolably as if she had been informed that her dear nun had died. She did her best to hide her grief from Antonio and the children, but Orietta saw straight through her façade when they went to church one evening together.

‘Rosa, what’s wrong?’ Orietta asked.

The sympathy on her friend’s face opened the floodgates for Rosa to express her grief. ‘I’m a “No Name”,’ she told Orietta. ‘I’m nothing but a black, empty space.’

Orietta listened with compassion to Rosa’s story. ‘You’re not a “No Name”,’ she told her. ‘You have a wonderful husband who adores you and you have beautiful children. Even your dog and cat love you. They follow you around everywhere.’

Rosa wiped at her tears and attempted to smile.

‘Listen,’ said Orietta, clasping Rosa’s hands. ‘I lost my mother before I could talk, and my father walked out on us. But I try to concentrate on what I have, not on what I’ve missed out on. We can’t change our pasts, Rosa. For your own sanity and the welfare of your children, you need to close the door on the mystery of your origins. You need to live in the present.’

Rosa did her best to follow Orietta’s advice, and the years after the discovery of the notebook passed peacefully for her and her family. Without any firm evidence of her origins, Rosa did not mention to Antonio her suspicions that she had been born at the Villa Scarfiotti. Instead, she concentrated on her domestic happiness and managed to put her longing to know her past out of her mind. Then one morning in September 1939, she had a dream in which Luciano was shouting at her, ‘Run!’ She heard explosions and
people screaming. But everything was in darkness. Rosa sat bolt upright, her heart pounding and her mind filled with dread that the peaceful life she had been living was about to change.