Cast the First Stone: A stunning wartime story Page 8

  ‘Why?’ The single, abrupt word was not intended to be encouraging.

  Raul was not intimidated; quite the reverse. He relished the challenge, rejoicing in the surge of adrenalin which flowed through him. Simionato noticed that his hair, a mop of dark reddish curls, positively bounced with vitality, and his dark eyes sparkled audaciously. ‘Because it will be an honour to buy wine for the greatest artistic director of cinema and stage that Italy has ever known.’

  Simionato gave a great roar of genuine laughter. Now he was openly amused at Raul’s brazen flattery, and enjoying it, too. ‘Red wine,’ he said, snapping his fingers to attract the waiter’s attention.

  Raul felt in his pocket and made a rapid calculation. He hadn’t enough lire to pay for the wine he’d just invited Simionato to share. He would have to use some of Liana’s American money with which he had intended to buy coffee substitute. No matter – wine for this influential man was of more importance at the moment, much more importance. He crossed his fingers, hoping that the café had something decent to drink hidden away in the cellars. He would die of shame if the waiter produced the type of rubbish they always gave to the American GIs. Maybe they couldn’t tell the difference between good and bad wine, but Simionato was an Italian, a cultured Italian, a nobleman by birth, and he most certainly would be able to make the distinction. Raul sat down opposite Simionato.

  ‘I, too, intend to become a director,’ he said, coming straight to the point.

  ‘Films or theatre?’ He was bold this one, self-possessed to the point of arrogance.

  ‘Both. I have the talent.’ It was a very positive statement of fact.

  The wine arrived, and Raul poured two glasses, aware that the older man was eyeing him quizzically, assessing him. He passed a glass to Simionato then took a sip from his own, almost sighing audibly as he realized that not only was the wine drinkable, it was also a good vintage. The waiter must have recognized the famous man and given them a bottle from their secret reserve. Grateful, he tipped the waiter all the remaining lire in his pocket.

  Simionato made an appreciative grimace: a good start – a man who knew where to lay his hands on a decent bottle of wine must have something going for him

  ‘It’s not easy for a young man to get started,’ he said, ‘especially in Italy at this particular time.’ He took another long sip of wine before adding with slow deliberation. ‘Not easy, even for a young man with talent.’

  ‘I agree, of course. It isn’t easy. Nothing is easy. But neither is it impossible. Particularly if the young man in question has a good teacher.’

  ‘You have such a teacher?’

  ‘I will have if you take me on.’

  In the silence that followed, Raul wondered if, in his eagerness to get what he wanted, he had overstepped the boundaries of impertinence and offended the great man. For a few seconds Simionato stared at Raul, his wily eyes beneath hooded lids keen and searching. Then he tossed back his wine in one gulp and set the glass down on the table with a bang. True to his reputation as a man who always acted on gut instinct, he had made up his mind. ‘Do you have any ties here?’

  ‘None.’ Raul spoke without hesitation.

  ‘Good. I’m leaving Naples today for Reggio, and thence on to Sicily where I am to start filming. You can come with me as my assistant.’

  Raul leaped to his feet, unable to conceal his jubilation. ‘You won’t regret it.’

  ‘Very true. It won’t take me long to find out whether or not you have this great talent you think you possess. If you have, you can stay. If you haven’t, then you can go.’

  ‘I’ll be staying,’ said Raul, his face composed now, his dark eyes determined. And he would. He would show Simionato. The old man had talent, but more importantly he had the experience which brought wisdom; and that was what Raul wanted. Impatient as always, he could not wait to accumulate expertise through years of practice. Much better to learn it from someone else, and give his own superior talent a chance to really blossom. Then he would be a force to be reckoned with in his own right.

  Simionato was slightly surprised when Raul said he had no ties. Where he had been living? Not on the streets, surely? He observed Raul more closely. He had a sleek, well-fed air about him, which certainly did not come from living rough. If it had been before the war, Simionato would have thought Raul had had a wealthy, doting benefactress. He was the type – a good-looking young man who would do very well keeping some older woman sexually happy and being well paid for his favours. But were there any such women left in Naples now? Simionato doubted it.

  Raul made no mention of family or friends, and never left Simionato’s side as they prepared to leave. Over lunch he talked non-stop about his dreams and ambitions before pumping Simionato for every scrap of information about the forthcoming film.

  Simionato was pleased with himself. As vain as Raul in his own way, he prided himself on his judgement; during the troubled years of the thirties and forties he’d taken care to swim with the political tide without actually forming an open allegiance. Hence, he had survived the war with a great deal of his personal fortune intact. Now, having recently sold a silver Cellini salt cellar to an American general, he had just enough money available to finance a new film. Lucky for Raul that he had presented himself at precisely the right moment. Simionato had a strong feeling that together, he and this ambitious young man would lead the renaissance in the Italian post-war film and theatre world. He was getting old; he needed a young blood like Raul to stimulate him, a ruthless young man with stomach enough to fight the authorities and gall enough to persuade people to lend money against their better judgement for future projects, and perhaps most importantly, to see artistically with new eyes, fresh and uncluttered by years of experience. Yes, he needed Raul as much as Raul needed him; it would be a symbiotic relationship.

  *

  The ramshackle truck hired by Simionato lurched southwards out of the city. Its course was of necessity erratic because the road was full of bomb craters. On the outskirts of Naples the truck slowed to walking pace. An enormous fountain blocked most of the road, and had to be negotiated. Blown by a huge blast from its original position in front of the church, it now rested, incongruously intact, complete with marble angels, in the middle of the road.

  A row of grimy, underfed scugnizzi sat on the rim of the marble basin, dangling their skinny legs over the edge, and watched them. As soon as they could see that the truck’s occupants were not American, and there was therefore unlikely to be anything worth stealing, they lost interest. Their black eyes, dull and lethargic from hunger, stared disinterestedly as Simionato wrestled with the steering wheel. ‘Poor little devils.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the small boys. ‘Their war is far from over.’

  Suddenly Raul’s mind was jerked from its self-satisfied preoccupation with his own rosy future, and he was reminded for the first time of Liana. He tried to banish the thought. Out of sight out of mind, he told himself, but the pang of betrayal could not be denied.

  Involuntarily, he turned his head to take one last look back at the castello, but ash was still falling like snow from the erupting volcano and blotted out the view. All that was visible through the gloom were streams of molten lava, trickling down the slopes of the distant volcano – the heartbeat of the mountain pulsating in blood red and orange. His own heartbeat quickened for a moment, imitating the tempo, then it stilled in response to the firm disciplining of his thoughts.

  He turned back and concentrated on the road ahead. Liana would endure. She was a survivor, like him. The momentary pang of guilty regret was outweighed by the knowledge that it was the right time for him to move on. The chance had come, and he had taken it. There was no choice. An unambitious fool might have been swayed by the thought of the lonely girl, but he was no fool.

  He looked at the repugnant scugnizzi. ‘Yes, it’s a pity for them,’ he said.

  Then he stared straight ahead, wishing he could already see Sicily. There was no point in
turning back again. The die was cast. His war was over.

  Chapter Five

  April 1944

  ‘Early pregnancy, that is the reason for your sickness, young woman.’ The doctor delivered the diagnosis abruptly. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

  He made a quick calculation; if she wanted an abortion, which most of them did, could he do it now? He had six women waiting outside, probably all wanting abortions – he recognized most of them from previous encounters. Mentally ticking off the time it took, he looked at Liana. Yes, I can give her a quick scrape; it’s early enough for that.

  Liana lay on the couch, her mind reeling in shock. Pregnancy – it was something she had never countenanced, never in a million years. A rush of conflicting emotions exploded within her. A baby, another person, part of herself and Raul – living proof of their love. It had to be Raul. No other man had touched her since Eleanora’s death. Then her lips quivered as the nausea which had brought her to the doctor in the first place threatened to overwhelm her. Hot and cold flushes of panic washed over her, leaving her body drenched in perspiration. Oh God, no, no, no! I can’t have a baby, not now of all times. For a second, and it was only a second, she thought of abortion. Plenty of girls had it, she knew that. But not me, she thought. It was as if the tiny thing growing inside her had cried out, ‘Love me, love me, please,’ and in that moment had captured her heart.

  She had told Raul she could kill if she had to; but she knew she could never kill the child in her womb, not their child. This baby is utterly dependent on me, she thought. The recognition of that fact was devastating her; she felt a fierce outpouring of protectiveness engulf her. ‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered silently to the embryonic form within her, ‘I’ll look after you. I’ll never let anything happen to you.’

  Realizing the doctor was watching her curiously, Liana rallied her thoughts with an effort. Her inherent practicality took over. ‘Why am I pregnant now?’ she demanded.

  Dr Porzio paused a moment from a perfunctory washing of his hands in the grimy basin beside the couch. He looked at Liana closely. There was something different about this one. She was a prostitute, of course. Most women were. Their bodies were all they had left to bargain with. But even to his cynical eyes Liana’s beauty looked much too refined for prostitution. Unlike most of the population, she gave the illusion of being untouched by the sordidness around her. ‘You’ve survived by prostitution, I suppose,’ he said slyly. It was a statement more than a question.

  Liana felt a flare of anger at his derisive assumption, but her dark eyes never flinched from his. It is all right for you, she thought, you are a doctor and yet I know you cheat, charge too much, steal drugs and perform illegal operations. She wanted to confront him with all those things, but dared not. For the time being she needed him on her side. Besides, she wanted him to forget her as soon as possible. Experience had taught her to be distrustful. The less anyone knew about her the better.

  Taking care to hide the contempt she felt, she merely said quietly, ‘Yes, I have. For more than a year. But I’ve never got pregnant before, so why has it happened now?’

  Dr Porzio shrugged, his interest already waning. She would definitely be asking for an abortion now – a pregnant prostitute was an out-of-work prostitute. His only interest lay in gauging how much she could afford.

  ‘Why not before? Probably because you weren’t ovulating – common enough these days due to lack of food. Undernourished bodies don’t conceive.’ He stopped, his eyes flickering with a lecherous sneer as he slowly took in every detail of Liana’s finely shaped body. ‘You’ve been too good at your job, young woman, and eaten too well, and now you’re paying the price. You’re a functioning woman! Have you ever had the curse?’ He sniggered as he spoke, and Liana clenched her fists. If only you knew, you runt, she thought, how much I want to strangle you with my bare hands.

  But she swallowed her anger and answered smoothly, ‘I’ve only had the curse once – this year at the end of February, beginning of March.’

  ‘There you are, then, that’s your answer.’ Dr Porzio’s lips stretched back in an attempt at a smile. He should keep his mouth shut, thought Liana, averting her eyes as a row of rotten stumps was revealed where his teeth should have been. ‘Conceived towards the middle of March, sickness now at the beginning of April.’ He counted on his fingers. ‘The baby is due middle to end of December this year.’ He dried his wet hands, wiping them on the front of his dirty white coat, and came across to Liana. ‘I can get rid of it now if you like, provided you’ve got the money, of course.’

  His dirty hands, nails bitten to the quick, reached out like evil claws and Liana instantly recoiled in revulsion. ‘Get rid of it? Oh, no, I’ve no intention of doing that,’ she said quickly, unable to disguise her contempt any longer.

  Dr Porzio was surprised, and then angry at her open display of contempt. Arrogant little bitch. A product of the gutter. Who the hell did she think she was, daring to speak to him, a doctor, in that tone of voice?

  ‘And how will you live?’ he sneered. ‘The answer, my dear, is that you won’t be able to. You won’t be able to earn money in the usual way, and what decent Italian man would take you on? A pregnant whore! Go now, but you’ll be returning. Only don’t leave it too long or I may refuse to do it. I take no responsibility for corpses!’

  Liana swung herself down from the examination couch. ‘I won’t be back,’ she said coldly.

  Leaving the doctor’s surgery, she walked rapidly through the crowded streets of Naples, brushing past people with unseeing eyes. Her mind was racing feverishly ahead, planning, planning, planning. I should never have left it so long, she chastized herself, realizing that she should have done something besides trying to find Raul on her own. I should have got help, confided in someone. The problem is who?

  If he were free, he would have returned to the castello by now; it was inconceivable that he would have just left her. Why should he? Tears filled her eyes as she remembered their passionate love. How idyllic our lives were. The pain of that sweet memory halted her in her tracks. She stopped, then, straightening her back, strode resolutely ahead. It will be idyllic again, she told herself, determined not to let her resolve waver, because I shall find him.

  The fact that he had not returned could only mean one of two things. Either he had been taken ill, and someone was caring for him, or he had been wrongly arrested by the Allies. Of the two possibilities she decided wrongful arrest was the most likely. Raul was as strong as an ox, and she just couldn’t imagine his succumbing to illness. And even if he had, she was absolutely certain that somehow he would have got a message to her so that she wouldn’t worry. Arrest and imprisonment must be the answer – it had to be.

  She made a decision. She would go to the Allied Field Security office. People were always saying they knew everything that was going on: who had been arrested, and for what crime; who had been injured or killed. She had also heard that they were English and usually kind and helpful. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Of course they would find Raul for her.

  Back at the castello Liana lit the stufa. There was a lot to do, and she couldn’t afford to lose any more time. Pregnancy made finding Raul more urgent than ever. Tomorrow she would go down into Naples to the FS office where it was essential she should make a good impression. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that Raul must be in the Poggio Reale, the vast prison in Naples. Liana knew, as did all Neapolitans, that it was full of men arrested by the Allies on all manner of trivial offences. I will get you out, Raul, she promised, setting her beautiful mouth in a determined line. I will get you out, and then we will be married, and together we will look after our beautiful baby.

  Heating the flat iron on the stufa, she carefully ironed one of Eleanora’s dresses. It was much better than any of her own. The demure dark blue suited her. It was very late before she went to bed that night, but everything was ready for the morning, her hair washed and glossy, the dress clean
and ironed and her shoes shining from the olive oil she had rubbed into the leather. A terrible extravagance, she had thought whilst doing it, but worth every drop of the precious oil, because it was for Raul. Anything was worth it for Raul – and the baby.

  Lying in her narrow bed by the side of the stufa, Liana tried to sleep. She needed all her wits about her tomorrow because tomorrow, just for the day, she intended to be the Marchesa Eleanora. She opened her eyes, staring blindly into the darkness. You don’t mind, do you, Eleanora, she whispered silently. After all, you were the one who said we were indivisible. The darkness of the room, warmed by the fire in the stufa, enfolded her comfortingly. No, of course Eleanora would not mind. Closing her eyes, she turned over and began to slip into an exhausted sleep.

  It will only be for tomorrow, Eleanora, she thought sleepily, only tomorrow, just to impress the English soldiers with your fancy name. She smiled. Raul would applaud her smart thinking when he knew. It was just the kind of thing he would have done.

  Chapter Six

  April 1944

  ‘I am the Marchesa Eleanora Anna Maria Baroness San Angelo di Magliano e del Monte, and I want you to find a missing person. His name is Raul Carducci, and I last saw him on March the nineteenth this year.’

  Liana’s carefully rehearsed speech went exactly as she had planned – well, almost, she thought, listening to herself. Her English accent was impeccably haughty, although nerves made her voice a little husky and the words tumbled out faster than she would have preferred.

  A hushed silence reigned in the small office. The only sound came through the window – shrill voices of a group of children shrieking excitedly as they played tag in the sunshine of the piazza outside. The two soldiers in the office, the tall blond one at the large central desk and the smaller dark man at the other were both silent.