Chapter 29

Tom died in 1986, of that one last heart attack that had been taunting him for years. Of course I was upset, but his death also brought an unexpected liberating feeling. I did not feel an ounce of guilt, not after all he'd put me through. But I hadn't ever been on my own and so I had no idea about managing the finances for a house. My dear niece, Mildred's daughter Alice, was working in London at the time, and she stepped in to help. I was most grateful. After Aunt Edith died, she'd left her cottage to me. Tom had rented it out, of course keeping all of the money. It was Alice who suggested I sell the house in Dorking and live in Aunt Edith's cottage in Gatley. I didn't need much space, and she helped me move in. Tom left me a substantial sum of money – a bonus after all I'd endured.

One evening, a year after Tom had gone, Nathan said in the pub that he'd bought a caravan on a whim. He wanted to take it on a test run, to see if he might enjoy that kind of life when he retired the following year. I was delighted for him, although quite envious.

But then he said, ‘Would you like to come with me?'

‘What do you mean?' I said, surprised.

‘Mags, we've talked about going abroad together. It's been a year and I feel that's a respectable length of time.'

‘Where would we go?' I said.

‘Well, firstly, in case it's a concern, there is plenty of space for us to sleep separately at night. But I thought we could go to Florence like you've always wanted to?'

Ever since those wartime years when I met Luca, I'd dreamt of seeing Florence with my own eyes. I'd read the novel, taken from Lady Violet's nightstand, A Room with a View, and watched the film over and over again on video cassette. When Alice and I were clearing out the house in Dorking, we found a shoebox in the back of Tom's wardrobe containing a huge wad of cash, some papers and Lady Violet's brooch. When I saw that red box from Ellis and Son, I couldn't believe my eyes. I held the brooch in my hand, running my fingers over the tiny diamonds, and joy filled my heart. Now I could fulfil Lady Violet's dying wish. But then it struck me that I had no idea of Tabitha's whereabouts. She'd gone away the year before, and I sensed she might be in Florence, looking for her father.

I'd kept in touch with Tabitha's two daughters, who were grown up by then, and would send them presents at Christmas. Tabitha herself wasn't good at staying in touch, but I was there if she needed me. Mr and Mrs Willis had told her about her real parents when she turned eighteen and at first she wasn't interested in knowing about them. But when she had children of her own she had wanted to know everything about Lady Violet and Luca. She came to see me and I told her, but then she distanced herself from me. I sensed this was because we'd opened up a can of worms and now I reminded her of the parents she never knew. She married and then divorced when her daughters left home, but started an affair with her boss at work.

Her eldest daughter, Melanie, had written around a year before Tom died to say that Tabitha had fallen unexpectedly pregnant. She didn't want to become a mother again in her forties, but couldn't go through with having an abortion either, so she had the baby – a little boy. One weekend she'd left the baby on his father's doorstep, but didn't return.

She sent her baby's father a letter from Italy, postmarked Florence, saying not to worry about her, but she couldn't spend any more years being a mother. It was time to follow her dreams now. The onset of the menopause was giving her migraines and making her feel low at times. She'd been longing for this chance to go to Italy and do the art course she'd dreamt of doing once her daughters left home.

If Nathan took me to Florence, we could try to find her. We could visit Luca at his bakery – if he were still alive.

‘You want to take me to Florence?'

‘Why not?'

‘When?'

‘School breaks up in July and I think we should go then. I have until the beginning of September. We could take our time. Campsites don't cost much. What do you think?'

‘I'd be delighted to accompany you,' I said.

At last, I would get to see Florence with my own eyes, and Nathan was going to take me there. I couldn't believe my luck.

Nathan and I set out early one morning to get the ferry from Dover to Calais. I'd stayed at his house the night before and, being a proper gentleman, he'd made up the spare room for me. If anything was going to happen we'd both need to feel comfortable. Neither of us had slept with anyone else apart from our spouses and it would be quite overwhelming to cross the bridge from friends to lovers.

The caravan was brand new and a home from home. I'd never been inside one before and there was everything one needed. A small sitting area with a table in the centre – these seats could be converted into a bed, and that was where Nathan would sleep. A kitchenette included a small fridge and a gas stove with a few cupboards for storage. Nathan had filled these cupboards with tins, including peaches and evaporated milk, Spam, potatoes, soups and carrots and peas. Camping life suited us as we knew how to live on food that wasn't bought fresh. There was a bedroom where I would sleep and a tiny bathroom with toilet, sink and shower attachment.

We sailed at seven o'clock, and by ten o'clock, French time, we were making our way down the autoroute, heading towards Chal?ns-sur-Marne. Nathan had done a great deal of research. He was a meticulous person, which made a change from living with Tom, who was always a little haphazard when it came to his home life. Nathan had bought a book and underlined with a pencil campsites for us to stay at all the way to Florence.

We reached Chal?ns-sur-Marne that afternoon and, after establishing ourselves, we had a cup of tea in fold-up chairs on the grass outside the caravan. It was absolute bliss. Who would have thought that doing something so simple could bring such pleasure?

Nathan was calm and undemanding company, such a change from being around Tom. I felt so lucky to have found a man like him later in life, and to be given the chance to be truly happy brought immense joy.

We spent the next day on the campsite and bought lots of delicious food at the supermarket – baguettes, Brie, paté, tomatoes as big as one's hand and so sweet, amongst many other delicious items. Nathan bought a few bottles of Bordeaux and that evening we sat outside the caravan and had a nice meal, washed down with the wine. It was drizzling, so we unwound the awning, and, despite the weather, we still had such a lovely time. Tom and I had rarely eaten together, and when we did that would be his time to be grumpy. The experience of preparing food and eating it with someone you loved was a novelty for me.

The next morning we progressed to Pontarlier, near the Swiss border. It was surrounded by mountains and very beautiful. We took the Mont Blanc tunnel, arriving in Courmayeur and then progressed to the Aosta Valley, where we stayed on another campsite with great big mountains all around us. After that we drove to Florence. You can't exactly park a caravan in the middle of Florence, and so we left it on a campsite nearby and drove into the centre from there the following morning. I'd told Nathan all about Luca and Tabitha, and he was interested in my story and wanted to do all he could to help with my mission.

Nathan parked in a space by the River Arno with a view of the Ponte Vecchio. I'd seen this bridge in photographs and on television, but being there in person and having this majestic piece of architecture right in front of me was such a treat after all those years of dreaming about seeing it with my own eyes. It was painted in a beautiful shade of lemon yellow and consisted of small buildings in a deeper yellow colour and terracotta, some with deep green or brown shutters. There were three arches in the centre, where tourists could stand and study Florence from a different perspective.

We made our way to underneath one of those arches and looked down the river at the other bridges. Nathan took hold of my hand, and it was a perfect location for a man and woman who were slowly falling in love with each other. I hadn't reciprocated Nathan's, ‘I love you', said at the Mighty Goat. After saying it to Tom quite readily when he returned at the end of the war, I was more cautious now. For a split second, I thought Nathan might use this opportunity to kiss me, but he didn't. He did however throw me a sideways glance, as if the thought of leaning in and attempting to kiss me was on his mind. I didn't encourage him because I wasn't yet ready. What if he suddenly switched into some awful version of himself that he'd kept hidden?

We went for a cappuccino at a quaint café before making our way to the tourist office, where a nice young lady circled Luca's bakery, Pasticceria Mancini, on a map. I recalled his surname from that dreadful day he introduced himself to Lady Violet when we were taking a walk. Nathan and I found the bakery in a side street in the centre of the city, a short distance from the Duomo, the cathedral. When we arrived, it was busy with people standing at the counter drinking morning coffees, and there was a queue of customers right up to the door. The aroma of baked goods hit me as soon as I walked through the door and the ambience was comforting and warm. Behind the counter was a wonderful selection of bread, cakes and pastries; my mouth watered just looking at it all. We took a place in the queue, as that seemed the best way to approach the counter and ask for Luca. We couldn't exactly push in. When we reached the front, I asked in Italian – I'd been practising for weeks – ‘Vorrei vedere Luca Mancini, per favore.'

The woman behind the counter said, ‘Luca, perché?'

I asked if she spoke English, as it was difficult for me to explain further in Italian. She went to fetch a teenage girl with dark hair pulled into a high ponytail and spoke to her in Italian.

The girl turned to me. ‘Buongiorno. I am Gina, the granddaughter of Luca. This is my mother, Maria. She apologises for not speaking good English. Why you want to see Luca?'

I explained that I'd known him during his time spent in England during the war and her face broke into a smile.

‘What is your name?'

‘Mags.'

‘Mags! He has told us about you, Tom, and Mr and Mrs Marshall and Pam and his time on the farm.' She turned and spoke in Italian to her mother, who nodded and smiled. Gina looked at me. ‘He and my grandmother, Valentina, live in a house in the country, but we invite you to come here and have dinner with him this evening.'

‘Really, are you sure?' I said, not having expected a dinner invitation.

‘Yes, you must come. We make delicious Italian food for you to try.'

I turned to Nathan, and he nodded and smiled. It was nice to be with someone who was prepared to socialise with strangers in order to support me.

‘We would be delighted to accept your kind invitation,' I said to Gina.

That evening, we arrived at eight o'clock sharp. We'd booked into a boutique hotel round the corner for the night so we could drink wine and not worry about getting back before the campsite gates closed.

Gina showed us upstairs, to a grand apartment that stretched above the bakery. In the entrance hall, she introduced us to her grandmother and Luca's wife, Valentina. She was an exceptionally beautiful and curvaceous woman who looked a little like Monica Bellucci, with thick dark hair, highlighted at the front with streaks of blond, and big brown eyes, enhanced with black eyeliner and long eyelashes. She had won the prize of Luca for life and was very worthy indeed. She smiled at us before promptly disappearing to help in the kitchen. We were then shown into a living room, where Luca sat in an armchair by an open window. It being July, the temperature was hot and the air sticky. Like me, he was now in his sixties, and his hair, of which he still had plenty, was completely grey with white flecks at the temples. Luca remained an exceptionally handsome man and had managed to keep the weight off. He wore a white shirt, undone a few buttons at the collar, and blue jeans cut at the ankle, with brown leather slip-on shoes and no socks. We approached, and he stood up.

‘Mags, it is good to see you.'

He leant forward and we kissed on both cheeks. He smelt of cologne with hints of citrus, mixed with tobacco.

‘This is Nathan,' I said.

‘Pleased to meet you,' Luca said, and they shook hands.

It struck me that he wouldn't know Tom had died, and so I told him in Italian. This was another phrase I'd practised.

‘I am very sorry,' he said. ‘He was a good man.'

‘Thank you,' I said. Of course, Luca had no reason to think Tom was anything other than a good man, and contradicting him would be inappropriate.

Gina brought in a tray of prosecco and we all took a flute and said, ‘Cin cin,' as we met each other's eyes and smiled before taking a sip.

Nathan and I sat on the sofa and Gina took a seat opposite, by Luca. It was then that I realised we couldn't just bring up Tabitha, his illegitimate daughter, in front of his wife and family. How on earth was I going to approach this? Would it be possible to get him on his own at some point during the evening? And even then how would I bring up the subject?

Valentina came in, an apron tied round her waist and her hair scraped into a bun. She mopped sweat from her brow with a tea towel, and seemed flustered. She spoke to Gina, who showed us into a dining room where a big fan whirred in the corner. A long table was decorated with jam jars filled with brightly coloured flowers; candles, their flames flickering in the light breeze; and open bottles of Chianti, a local wine I'd read about in the guidebook. The sash windows were pushed up as high as they could go, and we were blessed with a view of the terracotta rooftops and domes of Florence, the River Arno in the distance. It was very A Room with a View indeed. Gina gestured for us to take chairs facing the splendid view, and sat opposite us.

Valentina brought in a salad made from enormous slices of tomato with avocado and mozzarella, garnished with ripped basil leaves. It was absolutely delicious.

‘We call this insalata tricolore as it is the colours of the Italian flag: green, white and red,' Gina said. ‘And these tomatoes are from my grandfather's garden.'

The tomatoes were sweeter and more delicious than those at home; the mozzarella melted in the mouth and Valentina told us, via Gina, that this was because it was made from buffalo milk. Our starter was followed by a bowl of pasta – tubes called rigatoni, the same shape as penne but bigger, served with cold chopped tomatoes, garlic pieces and basil leaves. Such a simple dish, but the freshness of the ingredients gave it an edge. For the main course, Maria served breaded chicken, flattened so it was very thin and tender, with a slice of lemon to squeeze over the top. On the side were bowls of fried potatoes and green beans, cooked until they were soft. Throughout the meal, Maria ensured our wine glasses were topped up, though not by too much, as Gina explained Italians didn't like their glasses of wine too full.

During the break between the main course and dessert, I could see the sun setting. It was a magnificent sight, the sky a mix of purple and orange and blue. Gina brought up a selection of cakes and pastries from the bakery for dessert, along with a tub of vanilla ice cream, which was so refreshing in the heat.

I was glad Nathan had suggested booking the hotel in order to make the most of the experience of dining in an Italian home. Now dark, Florence was lit up with pretty lights and the temperature was cooler. The murmur of people talking came from the street below. After dessert, Luca went out of the room and came back with a bottle of grappa, a very strong spirit I had read about. We drank shots together, clinking glasses and saying, ‘cin cin' again as we did so. I hadn't consumed so much alcohol in years, but because we'd had such a big meal it didn't affect me too much. Gina went off to help Maria and Valentina in the kitchen. Nathan helped to clear the table and then said he was going to use the bathroom. No doubt this was an excuse for him to stay out of the way and give me my moment. I was left alone with Luca, and my stomach churned as I realised my opportunity had come. How was I going to broach the uncomfortable subject of Tabitha? He beamed as he took out a packet of cigarettes and offered me one. I shook my head. He struck a match and lit one for himself. Conscious that Valentina, Maria or Gina could reappear at any moment, I decided to exercise discretion.

‘I must confess, Luca, that I am here for a reason,' I said.

He drew on his cigarette and turned sideways to exhale the smoke. ‘I know,' he said.

‘You do?'

Nodding, he said, ‘Yes, she came last year.'

Presumably he was talking about Tabitha. ‘So, you know that when Lady Violet and I were in Seamouth, she…'

‘Yes. I was a little surprised,' he said. ‘But then it made sense. You were gone for months. She died from having my child, not from influenza.'

Emotions consumed me as I thought back to everything that had happened, all that Lady Violet, Luca and I had been through. How he'd transferred to another farm.

‘When she died, I was very sad for long time,' he said.

‘Of course you were,' I said.

‘I loved Violet with all my heart,' he said, putting a hand on his chest.

Through the door to the kitchen, I could hear the clattering of dishes as his wife, daughter and granddaughter cleared up, and hoped we had a bit longer to talk.

‘So, she came here last year?'

‘Yes, she study art. Valentina not happy,' he said, shaking his head, flicking the ash of his cigarette into an empty glass. ‘We argue.' He raised his arms above his head to make his point.

Of course his wife would not be thrilled with the news.

‘Do you know where she is now?' I said.

He shook his head. ‘She came here with Italian boyfriend from La Spezia. She was waitress in a restaurant there. Perhaps she is there with him,' he said. Maria entered the room, carrying a tray with espresso cups and saucers and a silver coffee pot. She tutted when she saw that Luca was flicking cigarette ash into an empty glass, and placed a silver ashtray in front of him. Nathan reappeared and we exchanged a smile.

If only I'd had time to ask Luca a few more questions. Did he recall the name of the boyfriend? How many times had he seen Tabitha and did she intend to stay in Italy?

We drank our coffee, adding teaspoons of sugar, and it cut nicely through all the alcohol consumed. Shortly afterwards, we said our goodbyes, and carried out the Italian tradition of all kissing one another on both cheeks. I thanked the Mancini family profusely for their generous hospitality – they had gone to so much effort to make it a special evening for us. We went on our way, promising to stay in touch, although I doubted we would. What was there to say?

The next day, Nathan and I drove to the Italian Riviera to look for Tabitha. We left the caravan on a campsite and drove into La Spezia, a beautiful town where the streets were lined with orange trees. Sailors walked around in their white uniforms, visiting from the nearby naval base. We wandered for some time, holding hands, but it was hopeless; there were so many restaurants and we had no idea where Tabitha could be working. We went inside a few pizzerias, one by one, and a fish restaurant, asking if they knew of a Tabitha Willis or Dobson. I had no idea which surname she might be using. All of the greeters shook their heads and did their best to get rid of us so they could seat people at tables. And I hadn't seen Tabitha for so many years that I probably wouldn't recognise her. All I knew was that she had dark hair, like Luca, but most Italian girls did, so this didn't help. We tried one last restaurant, an osteria, and the manager told me that an English woman had worked there until recently, but she was called Lucia. She'd got married and moved away. Defeated, Nathan and I returned to the caravan, and I made a pot of tea.

‘I am sorry that we didn't find her,' Nathan said.

As I was pouring water from the kettle into the teapot, something occurred to me. I thought back to Lady Violet on her deathbed. ‘Do you know something?' I said, joining him at the table.

We sat opposite each other with our cups of tea and a packet of Italian almond biscuits. Nathan squeezed my hand. He was so affectionate, something I'd never experienced with Tom, and I liked it very much.

‘What, my dear?'

‘I've just remembered that Tabitha's middle name was Lucia, and the Willises used the English equivalent. Do you think she might be using that name instead?'

‘It's a possibility,' Nathan said. ‘Lots of people opt to use their middle names when they don't like their first name, or when they want a change.'

On her quest to find her father, perhaps Tabitha had decided to reinvent herself at the same time. The manager at the osteria hadn't known which town this Lucia had moved to though, so even if Tabitha was using that name it didn't make a lot of difference. We'd be looking for a needle in a haystack. There was nothing else we could do in the meantime, but I vowed I wouldn't give up, for Lady Violet's sake.