Page 83 of The Tuscan Child
Almost as if in slow motion the chunk of hillside gave way. Cosimo grasped wildly at air. He screamed as he fell down the cliff face, his body bouncing among pieces of rock and pebbles. Renzo appeared in the doorway. Blood was running down one side of his face. He staggered toward me. “He knocked me out,” he said. “His own son. Are you all right?”
I nodded, still not able to find words. “He fell,” I said at last. “The rock collapsed and he went...”
Renzo made his way cautiously to the edge of the parapet. Cosimo’s body lay far below, half-covered with rock and turf. Renzo crossed himself. “He was an evil man, I know that now,” he said. “But he was always good to me. The best of fathers. May he rest in peace.”
“You fought for me,” I said. “You wouldn’t let him kill me. You were very brave.”
“I couldn’t believe he’d do it,” I said. “I knew his dealings were not always straight. But I had no idea...but that’s not true. When I learned about Gianni’s murder, somehow I sensed he was responsible. But the partisans in the war...he really was evil, wasn’t he?”
I put my hand gently on his arm. “But he was your father and you loved him. I’m sorry you had to go through this. Come on. Let’s get you back to the town and have this cut stitched up.”
“Don’t forget our beautiful boy,” Renzo said.
“As if I could.” I realised I was still clutching the painting to me. Renzo helped me down the steps, and we made our way toward the valley, where we were met by several men running toward us.
“There was a mad Englishman,” one of them said. “We did not understand what he was shouting about, but he said something about Joanna and a gun so we came and...” He stopped when he saw Renzo with blood streaming down his face. “Where is this madman with a gun?”
“It was Cosimo,” Renzo said. “He tried to kill Signorina Joanna. We fought. He hit me with the gun and knocked me out.”
“Where is he? He must be stopped,” one of the men said.
“He’s dead. He fell from the heights. The hillside collapsed and he went plunging down.”
The men crossed themselves. I noticed that none of them said, “May he rest in peace.”
Then their gaze turned to what Renzo was carrying.
“We found this in the crypt under the monastery.” Renzo held it up for them and they gasped.
“Magnificent. A work of the old masters,” one of them muttered.
“I remember that there were fine paintings in the monastery before the war,” the oldest man said. “We thought the Nazis had taken them all.”
“There are more in the crypt,” Renzo said, “but none so fine as this.”
“Will it make San Salvatore rich, do you think?” one of them asked.
“How can you talk like that?” another man snapped. “This belongs to our heritage. It belongs in a museum in Florence.”
“Florence? Why not Lucca? Is Lucca not as good as Florence?”
And they were off in lively dispute. Renzo grinned at me. We started up the hill to the village. The doctor cleaned Renzo’s cut and put three stitches in it. “You were lucky you did not lose your eye,” he said. “Or bleed to death from the vein in the temple.”
“Yes, I was lucky,” Renzo said. There was a note of bitterness in his voice.
At that moment there were raised voices outside the door, and the doctor’s wife came in looking worried. “There is a mad foreigner outside,” she said. “He claims he is the signorina’s lawyer and—”
She didn’t have a chance to finish because Nigel burst in. “Oh, there you are, Joanna. Thank God you’re safe. What on earth was going on up there? What madman was shooting? Have they caught him yet? Mafia, I suppose. The whole place is teeming with gangsters, so one hears. Let’s get your things. I have a car. I’ll drive you back to Florence and we can go home.”
“It’s good of you, Nigel,” I said, “but as you can see I am quite unhurt. And as for the man with the gun, he is dead.”
“Thank God,” he said. “Can we go now? We can take the night train back home.”
I glanced at Renzo, who was looking rather pale, with the row of stitches making a black line above his eye. “I don’t think I’d be allowed to leave right away,” I said. “I’m sure there will be an inquest at which I’ll have to testify.”
“Not if you are out of the country before the police come,” Nigel said.
“But I want to testify,” I said. “I think it’s important that this business is sorted out. It has to do with my father, you know.”
