Page 11 of Last Letter Home
He rolled his eyes.
‘It was the shock,’ she said crossly. ‘Oh, that’s pretty.’ He was holding a patterned teacup.
‘It’s such a shame, isn’t it?’ he said, placing the cup on the range and looking about dolefully. ‘This place must once have been idyllic. A garden villa up in the hills. What do you think – Mariella’s family’s summer residence?’
‘Rather than a farmhouse? She didn’t explain.’
A long time ago, people had been happy living here. It had that atmosphere. She’d felt it a moment ago, but when she glanced at the window now, she saw it was cracked and filthy and that where she’d dreamed herbs and fruit trees was actually tangled jungle which almost reached the house. Something that could be the remains of an old truck lay just visible under a blanket of creeper. She shivered, imagining how the soldiers might have treated the place, wondering what brutal things had happened here.
‘Briony?’ She jumped. Luke’s muffled voice came from further into the house. She turned to see that he’d opened another door. She followed and found herself in the front hall, where bits of wooden banister hung down from a ruined staircase. ‘Hey.’ Luke’s figure filled the doorway to a room at the front. ‘You must see this.’
It was the room with the noticeboard that they’d glimpsed from outside. The clatter of wings announced a fleeing pigeon. It cocked its head at them from a high beam. Broken tiles crunched under their feet and patches of bare earth were slippery with damp and bird droppings.
The flakes of paper on the rotted board were held to it only by rust or habit. ‘A map once, I think,’ she murmured, seeing the ghost of a pattern, and for a moment was aware of Luke’s presence close by, the warm, salty scent of him.
‘What were they doing here?’ Luke was murmuring, gazing round the room. ‘These soldiers, in the middle of nowhere?’
‘The Allies invaded mainland Italy in September 1943,’ she told him. ‘This would have been roughly on the route north after Naples.’
‘But why would they have come up here to this villa?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe it was a good lookout place before all the trees grew up. You would be able to see down to Tuana.’ It was then they both heard a distant humming. ‘Hey, is that a car?’
They listened. ‘It’s some way away,’ Luke said. ‘Whatever, we ought to go and rescue poor Aruna.’
Briony nodded.
He took one more glance about, then as he turned, his foot slid on a tile, which struck something that clinked. He prodded at a lump of mortar with his toe, then bent and picked out a small, oblong tin that had been hidden underneath. It was light in weight and rusted shut, but when Briony shook it gently, she heard a rustle from inside.
‘Let’s take it with us,’ he said.
‘Do you think we ought?’
‘Yeah. Come on. I’m worried about that car.’
But by the time they’d left the house the engine noise was fading.
When they reached the lane beyond the gates, there was Aruna sitting on the rock exactly where they’d left her, her pointed face furious.
‘You’ve been nearly an hour. What the hell have you been up to?’
‘It wasn’t that long, Ru. How’s your blister?’ Luke murmured, stooping to see, but she drew her foot away in a sharp, rude movement. He looked dismayed.
‘We’re sorry,’ Briony cut in, trying to help. ‘It’s my fault, I kept wanting to see more. It’s an amazing place, I wish you’d come. The gardens must once have been beautiful. And the house . . .’
Her friend shrugged without speaking. Luke stood up slowly and folded his arms, contemplating Aruna, one eyebrow cocked.
‘And what’s that?’ Aruna said finally, nodding towards the tin in Briony’s hand.
‘Just something we found.’
‘What’s in it?’
‘Have you got a key?’ Luke asked. Aruna had and the women watched him work away at the lid of the tin. Eventually, he levered up one corner, bent it back and squinted inside. ‘Here,’ he said, passing it to Briony, who took it from him. She tipped a heap of dry, tawny shavings out into her palm, rubbed and sniffed its faint remaining pungence.
‘Tobacco, is that all?’ Aruna said, disgusted.
Briony didn’t answer. She knew that dusty fragrance. It brought her grandfather instantly to mind, his voice soft and husky like hers, the feel of his big hand in her child-sized one. The memory was so strong that for a moment she was overtaken by grief and longing.
