Two weeks after the costume party, Carlos still hadn’t returned. For the first week Marina tried to squelch her concern. He had warned her that he might be gone for a longer stretch this time. In the afternoons she worked in Bernard’s library and pictured Carlos striding through the door. He would give her flowers, or a pretty shawl. They’d make love in the garden shed and she’d feel silly for worrying.
But by the start of the second week, she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had settled over her. For the first time, she wished Carlos wasn’t a partisan. She missed his coy smile that always came with a joke. She missed his confidence and his little kindnesses. There was no one to take her hand when she was cold, to make big plates of spaghetti when she had worked all day and forgotten to eat lunch.
The door to the library opened.
‘Marina, is it all right if I come in?’ Ludwig asked.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I came to say goodbye.’ He took off his jacket. ‘I’m sorry it’s been a while. It took longer than I thought to select and pack the books.’
Marina had been so preoccupied worrying about Carlos, she’d forgotten that Ludwig was going to the monastery. He looked older, Marina thought. His shoulders were hunched and there were new lines around his mouth.
‘Are you sure it’s safe? What will happen when it’s discovered that the books from the Institute are missing?’
‘I’m leaving most of the collection behind,’ Ludwig replied, sitting down. ‘I can hardly fit 360,000 books in my car.’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘The Nazis have arranged for two freight trains to cart everything to Germany. They won’t miss one trunkful of books and paintings.’
‘I’m sure the Institute will miss you.’
‘I’ve been packing for days,’ Ludwig told her. ‘There are so many priceless documents I have to bring, including maps of Florence from the thirteenth century. Did you know that Florence was once a small town where merchants came to exchange goods? I found the first architectural drawings of the Duomo, when Giotto’s Bell Tower and Vasari’s frescoes were merely visions in the artists’ minds,’ he continued, as if he was talking about parting with old friends. ‘I will miss the beautiful buildings of Florence. But mostly I will miss the people I meet because of the collection, the visiting scholars: experts on the Medici family, on Pope Julius II. A professor from Milan who devoted his entire career to examining Michelangelo’s The Last Supper.’
‘What will you do at the monastery?’ Marina hated hearing the anguish in Ludwig’s tone. ‘Who will you talk to?’
‘I suppose it’s true, the monks aren’t good conversationalists,’ Ludwig said wryly. ‘But I’m writing a new book. It will keep me busy until the war ends.’
‘Do you think it will end soon?’ Marina asked.
Ludwig shrugged. ‘I’ve had no news from Berlin but I think the tide is turning in Italy. The Allies are getting closer by the day; I predict the Germans will retreat by summer.’ He looked at Marina and for the first time he smiled. ‘Perhaps you can go back to Rome.’
Marina wondered if that was why Carlos had been away for so long, if he was somewhere in the hills, waiting to guide the Allies into Florence. She thought of her father’s house and the gallery in Rome. Did she want to return to her old life or did she want to stay near Belle and Bernard and Desi in Florence?
‘I just want everyone to be safe,’ Marina said. Tears formed in her eyes. The thought of bombs falling, the museums being destroyed, was too much to bear.
‘Are you all right?’ Ludwig leaned forward in his chair.
‘I’m fine.’ She pushed away the tears. ‘I’ve grown so attached to Villa I Tatti and everyone here. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.’
‘Do you still have the pistol?’ Ludwig asked.
‘Yes, of course.’ Marina pointed to the bookshelf. ‘It’s hidden, and your books are safe.’
‘I do worry about you,’ Ludwig lamented. ‘Today on the street I was offered a gold watch by someone selling it on the black market. Thieves are growing bolder all the time. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.’
Ludwig was so kind to her, even though they’d only known each other a short time. He was almost like an older brother and they had so much in common.
‘It won’t, I promise,’ she assured him. She smoothed her skirt. ‘We’re in a much better position than most. Few people get to sit out a war in a villa in Tuscany.’
‘Don’t forget that you have Gerhard,’ Ludwig offered. ‘He’s already said…’
‘Said what?’ Marina’s head shot up.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Ludwig stood and smiled warmly. ‘Just know that you can ask him for help.’
Marina didn’t want their conversation to end on a melancholy note. She didn’t know when she would see Ludwig again.
‘When I arrived at the Santa Maria Novella train station, I was cold and alone. It was the hardest night of my life.’ She twisted her hands. ‘Then you showed up, and you were so kind.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘Though I don’t know what you thought of me. I barely said a word in the car because you were German.’
‘I understood completely.’ Ludwig returned her smile. ‘I’m glad you gave me a chance to show you that not all Germans are Nazis. Everyone is guided by something: for me, it has always been art and beauty.’
Impulsively, Marina stood up and hugged him.
Ludwig hugged her back. When he left, Marina felt a small tug at her heart. The war had taken someone else from her.
She went to the bookshelf to check on the pistol. But when she felt for it behind the row of books where Carlos had hidden it, it wasn’t there. She reached her hand further along the shelf but there was nothing. She hastily removed the tomes, hoping it had just fallen behind one. The shelf was empty.
Her heart hammered.
No one but Carlos had known the pistol’s new hiding spot.
She raced up the staircase to the third floor where she had hidden Ludwig’s collection. The illuminated manuscripts, books on early Renaissance art and architecture, they were all there. The rush of relief changed to a pounding in her ears as she tried to account for everything. A book of sketches signed by Raphael was missing. As was Titian’s diary – which meant that the Verrocchio was gone too.
It had been Carlos’s suggestion to move the valuable items to the third floor where it would be harder for a thief to find them.
Perhaps Carlos knew he was in danger, so he took the pistol from the library. But why would he have taken the books?
That evening Marina was sitting in the living room at Villa I Tatti, trying to read but struggling to concentrate. Bernard entered in a smoking jacket and velvet slippers.
‘Marina, I didn’t know you were here.’ He carried a newspaper and some letters. ‘I came down for a glass of brandy. Would you join me?’
‘I’d love to.’ Marina nodded, putting down her book.
Bernard poured two glasses of brandy and handed one to her.
‘I’ve been reading the American newspapers. Eisenhower is all gung-ho about the war. American troops are bombing everything in their path, everyone at home thinks we’re winning. They don’t see the destruction caused by the bombs or what Hitler is doing to the Jews.’ He frowned. ‘For many American women, the biggest inconvenience is living without a new vacuum cleaner. If they only knew what the rationing is like, that women and children are starving.’
‘At least they’re trying to help.’
‘You’re right.’ Bernard sat opposite her. ‘But it’s getting worse in Florence all the time. I heard that two dozen prisoners are being held at Villa Triste and the guards don’t even know why they’re there. I doubt they have enough food and water.’
‘At Villa Triste?’ Marina’s heart pounded.
Carlos could be there. But Gerhard would have known. He would have told her.
‘Are you all right?’ Bernard asked. ‘You’ve gone very pale, and your hands are shaking.’
Marina glanced down. Bernard was right, her hands were trembling.
‘I’m fine. I just hate imagining innocent people in prison.’
Bernard studied her expression. He sipped his drink.
‘Is there anything else troubling you?’ he asked. ‘We haven’t seen Carlos since the week of the costume party. Is everything all right with you two?’
Marina stiffened. She put down her glass.
‘Carlos is away on business for his parents. He’ll be back soon.’
‘I saw something curious in Florence a few weeks ago.’ Bernard ran his fingers over the rim of his glass. ‘Carlos was standing in the Piazza della Signoria, talking to Captain Bonner. I didn’t know they knew each other.’
That did sound odd. A few weeks ago would have been before she had switched the paintings. Before Carlos encouraged her to accept Bonner’s dinner invitation.
‘Carlos must have met Captain Bonner when he was here at Villa I Tatti,’ Marina said.
But as soon as she said it, she had doubts. She had been alone with Belle when Captain Bonner visited. But perhaps he and Carlos had met while he was there. It was possible.
‘Perhaps.’ Bernard set his glass on the coffee table. ‘How about a game of backgammon? I haven’t played in years.’
Marina tried to behave normally, even though her thoughts were racing. She needed to occupy her mind.
‘I’d like that. My father taught me to play. He was a champion.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘Every now and then he let me win though, or he wouldn’t have had anyone to play with.’
When Bernard finally went to bed Marina remained in the living room. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Too many questions occupied her mind.
What possible business could Carlos have had with Captain Bonner? They certainly didn’t socialise in the same circles. In fact, if Captain Bonner knew what Carlos really did when he wasn’t delivering firewood, he would have him arrested on the spot.
She hadn’t heard from Captain Bonner since the night she switched the Verrocchio. Perhaps he had been called back to Berlin. She would have to ask Gerhard if he had heard anything.
Carlos’s disappearance had nothing to do with Captain Bonner, she told herself.
She let her mind wander as the fire crackled in the hearth. The most obvious reason she hadn’t heard from Carlos was that he was dead. But somehow, she thought she would know – her heart would know it. There was nothing to do but believe that Carlos was still alive. But where was he?