Chapter 18

The next day was fairly uneventful, but thoughts of Luca helped me to pass the time while completing routine tasks. Then, on Tuesday, when Lady Violet woke from her afternoon nap, she asked me to accompany her on a walk. We went down to the lake and crossed Long Meadow, heading towards the Dairy Field where the parachutist incident had occurred. Lady Violet still had no inkling of what happened that day, and revisiting the scene made me apprehensive. What if we came across another parachutist, and this time he succeeded in killing one or both of us? My mind running away with me, I pictured newspapers reporting us being murdered with photographs of Lady Violet on the front pages. However, I was on cloud nine after my rendezvous with Luca, and I attempted to use this morale boost to relieve my anxiety.

‘Where are we going?' I said.

‘To seek inspiration, Maggie. I need to create a spectacular work of art, and I thought if you accompanied me on my quest you might have an idea. You are rather creative, after all, with all those dresses you've made for yourself.'

‘All right,' I said.

The beauty of the hills did soften the blow of being stuck in the countryside somewhat. Fields stretched ahead for miles with no sign of human life whatsoever. A rabbit hopped out of a burrow by the hedgerow, saw us and disappeared back to where it had come from rather swiftly. A plane passed over, the swastika evident on its underside, and I hoped a German spy hadn't jumped out with his parachute somewhere nearby.

‘Should I bring an easel out here, Maggie? Do you think I could do the countryside justice? I would rather like to paint a rabbit like the one we just saw, but how on earth do I get it to come out of its burrow and stay still for long enough? Or a squirrel with its bushy tail. How about a fox, a beautiful red fox? Impossible to paint a wild animal, unless it were stuffed, of course.'

I winced at the thought of this. ‘The lake is rather beautiful. You could try painting the folly or the waterfall,' I said, hoping to entice her away from the Dairy Field and the bad memory associated with it.

‘That doesn't interest me,' she said.

We progressed over the stile and into the Dairy Field. As the vision of the white shape from that awful day came to mind, a man appeared over the brow of the hill. Even from a distance, there was no doubt the man was Luca, and once again my heart raced at the sight of him. Our next encounter could not come soon enough. He moved with the self-assured gait of a man who knew how to please a woman. Luca, my Luca. But in Lady Violet's presence, I would have to pretend we were merely acquaintances.

Lady Violet clutched my arm. ‘Who is that man?' she said. The war made us all suspicious of strangers, and her reaction to seeing him was understandable.

‘It's Luca, an Italian prisoner of war who works on Home Farm.'

He threw us a friendly wave and walked towards us. How would I manage our interaction in Lady Violet's presence? I reassured myself with the fact that she wouldn't want to speak to a farm labourer, especially one from a country we were at war with.

As he got closer, she used a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, and gasped.

‘What a beautiful man, Maggie. He is the answer to what we have been discussing. I must paint him as soon as is physically possible. Just look at him.'

This wasn't what I'd expected, at all, and a sudden fear filled my whole being.

When he reached us, he removed the flat cap he was wearing and gave us both a nod, and I said, ‘Lady Violet, this is Luca.' It struck me that I didn't know the surname of the man I'd shared a kiss with only a couple of days earlier.

‘Buonasera, Luca,' she said.

‘Piacere, signora,' he said. ‘Luca Mancini.'

Lady Violet was being given privileged information and they'd only just met. He proffered a hand and, as she shook it, he looked her in the eye and then, rather obviously, studied her entire physique, those brown eyes running up and down her long slender legs and settling on her breasts, perfectly packed into the fitted white silk blouse that I'd selected the previous evening. For she was a vision for any man, no doubt, and, standing next to her, I was bound to look rather plain. She reciprocated, eyeing him in a way a woman of her class really shouldn't. Jealousy filled my every pore and I clenched my teeth. If I'd known Luca was going to appear out of the blue like this, I would have found a way to take Lady Violet somewhere else for our walk. And she spoke his language? This meeting did not bode well for me, and I longed to turn back the clock, ensure that it didn't take place. But it was too late.

‘You speak Italian?' I said to Lady Violet, quietly.

‘Just a little,' she said, as if it were nothing, while continuing to smile at Luca. They could not take their eyes off each other. ‘I spent some time in Tuscany with my governess when I turned eighteen. Of course, there's no possibility of visiting while this damn war is on.'

By now, I was used to Lady Violet referring to the war as an inconvenience.

‘Oh,' I said.

They exchanged a few words in Italian, I had no idea what they were saying, and felt like I was playing gooseberry as they interacted. Seeing my Luca look at my mistress in this way hurt me a great deal. Meeting him had given me some hope of being happy in this place. How could he treat me like this when we'd kissed only two days earlier? As a POW working at Home Farm, which was owned by Gatley Hall, he needed to be civil. But this was taking courtesy further than was strictly necessary. I looked away, tears pricking my eyes.

Lady Violet, no doubt oblivious to how I was feeling, nudged me with her elbow. ‘Well, this is a stroke of luck. Maggie, you may go back to the house. Luca will accompany me to the studio this very moment and I'll do some preliminary sketches. He'd be delighted to sit for me.'

And so, I was dismissed.

‘All right,' I said, and quietly mumbled goodbye. Neither of them replied as they continued to converse in Italian. I headed in the direction of Gatley Hall, pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of my dress to wipe my eyes as tears ran down my face, at full throttle now there was no one to hide them from.

As I walked past the lake, I told myself to be strong, despite my broken heart. Would our encounter still take place the following Sunday? Did I want it to when, clearly, Luca had eyes for other women?

Surely there was no chance of romance blossoming between an Italian POW and a countess? Besides, she was married and would certainly not succumb to his advances, if he dared to make them.

I convinced myself that she merely wished to paint his portrait, but after witnessing the chemistry they had with each other, envy had taken up residence in my gut.