Tuana lay sleepy under the afternoon sun as Briony and Luke strolled hand in hand through the main square, he with his jacket draped over his shoulder, she in the stylish pale green dress he’d picked out for her in a Naples boutique and a soft straw hat that framed her face. Here was the pavement café with its scattered tables and chairs where she and Aruna had rested, even the same waiter, clearing the table where they’d sat. It was odd coming back, for the memories were mixed ones. Luke hadn’t wanted to, but Briony had persuaded him. She still ached for Aruna, but needed to see the town with her new knowledge of what had happened here, to think about it all and what it had meant for her family. To gain some kind of peace about it.
‘I really don’t remember going in here,’ Luke murmured, as she mounted the steps to the church.
‘You must have done.’
He shook his head. ‘I was at the dentist when you went, remember? And the other times we came it was to shop.’
She pushed open the wooden door and they entered the cool gloom, their footsteps echoing in the high-ceilinged space. Soft flames from a rack of votive candles drew her to the altar. ‘There it is,’ she whispered, and pointed with her sunglasses to the oval plaque on the wall next to the altar rail.
‘Antonio,’ Luke read aloud and his rich voice bounced from wall to wall until they heard the whole place whisper the name, Antonio, Tonio, onio.
‘Sorry,’ Luke said more quietly, and Briony, selecting a narrow candle from the box beneath the votive, shot him a smile. ‘Do you think that does any good?’ he asked, watching her place it in a holder and light it.
‘It’s symbolic. It was my relatives who were responsible for the boy’s death. I can’t imagine there’s anyone left alive to say sorry to.’
‘Maybe you’re right.’ He didn’t appear sure, but at least he was trying to understand. She reached out and briefly squeezed his arm.
They left the church to its memories and its dreams and stepped out into the sunshine again. Briony unfolded a tourist map. ‘The town hall’s down this way,’ she said and set off down one of the narrow streets that meandered off the square, Luke obediently in tow. They found it, but there wasn’t much to see, it being a rather plain edifice with a round arched double doorway that was locked, so they continued on until they came to where more recent properties had caused the town to creep out across the hillside. Briony shaded her eyes against the sun and looked around for a building that might have been the barn where the town’s wartime rations had been stored, but wherever it had been it must have gone. Instead her gaze swept the valley and up to where the shoulder of the mountain rose steeply above the town. It should be there somewhere, yes, that was it.
‘Hey.’ She nudged Luke and pointed to an ochre blob among the dark mass of trees, waiting until he saw it.
‘The Villa Teresa! Still there!’
‘Hope so. Shall we go and see it? We’ve got time before we’re due at Mariella’s.’
Luke leaned in and kissed her. ‘Your call, my love.’
The road out of the town was one they hadn’t taken before, winding up the hillside, at times so narrow that Briony, who was driving, held her breath that something wouldn’t be heading down the other way. Occasionally there were turnings off, sometimes signposted, sometimes not, but she followed her instincts and carried on. Eventually, just as they were cresting a hill, dark trees on either side of the road, she paused at where a gravelly lane led off downhill. On an ancient broken sign she made out the word ‘Teresa’.
‘Go for it,’ Luke said beside her and she turned the wheel. The trees thinned out and she tried to avert her eyes from the spectacular view of the valley in order to negotiate the sharp bends in the road. Eventually, they arrived at the point where a year before she’d reached after climbing the hillside in search of the villa. She and Luke exchanged glances, anticipation mounting. She drove on slowly, noticing every detail of the way. There was where Aruna sank down in pain at the side of the track and Luke stuck a plaster on her foot. There was the brief glimpse of Tuana before the bulk of the escarpment swallowed it again. Here was the corner beyond which she’d see the locked wrought-iron gates of the villa. She rounded it and stopped the car abruptly.
‘Luke! What’s going on?’ Before them the old gates stood wide. The turning circle was ploughed by deep wheel marks. Further marks scored the drive.
‘No idea.’ Luke lowered a window to admit a blast of hot air. ‘I can’t hear anything. Shall we go and look?’
They walked furtively up the drive towards the villa through a garden as rampant as ever, to be astonished by the sight of metal poles reaching up above the greenery. The sound of tinny music reached them, and male laughter. ‘What on earth?’ she hissed to Luke. But then they passed the barrier of trees and stopped in astonishment at the scene before them.
Three burly workmen were sitting on boxes around a makeshift table playing cards. The scene was so much like the old war footage of the soldiers nicknamed the Three Stooges that for a moment Briony was confused. But a very modern sports car was parked to one side, and the house beyond could hardly be seen for scaffolding and sheets of plastic, but here and there she could glimpse the signs of repair: new rafters, part of a metal joist.
‘Who’s doing this?’ she gasped.
‘And are they supposed to?’ Luke growled.
The men hadn’t seen them, they were so intent on their game, and so they left them to it and tiptoed back to where they’d left the car.
‘Well,’ Luke said, glancing behind him. ‘That was a surprise. What should we do now?’
‘Go to Mariella’s,’ Briony said grimly, opening the car door.
They returned to the winding road, which they continued along until they came to a fork and took the left-hand option down the hillside. Though they looked for a turning that might lead them to Mariella’s house, they must have gone past it, because they found themselves at the café by the graceful bridge over the river.
‘I’d forgotten how pretty it is. Shall we walk up to Mariella’s from here?’ Briony suggested, stopping the car outside the café.
‘If we can get something to drink first? I’m not ready for a climb.’
‘Good idea. I’ll text Mariella to say.’
In the welcome shade of the café there was no sign of Signor Marco, the balding proprietor. Instead a generous-sized woman with a roll of greying hair served them, his wife, perhaps. She spoke little English but beamed at them a great deal as though to make up for it. They sat outside under a bright umbrella and she brought them ice-cold lemonade. They sat quietly, hardly feeling the need to talk, they were so at ease together. Briony’s thoughts drifted back to the year before, the unease of their holiday here. She would never have guessed that things would have changed in this way. Here she was, her book finished, ready to be published in October. She knew she’d have to find the courage to step out into the world to give talks about it, maybe even on TV, the radio. Although she was nervous, she was determined to try. Her promotion had come through, too. Luke had already started proudly introducing her as a professor, even though she wasn’t strictly one until the new academic year. And the biggest thing of all that had happened was Luke. It was he who filled her with a happiness that she’d never known before. They were still taking things step by step, learning to trust one another, but the bonds between them were strengthening. His parents had been tactful, but warmly welcoming, and Martin and Lavender, too.
A young Italian couple had come in and came to sit at the table beside them. Signora Marco came across with bottles of Coke and greeted them with kisses and endearments. The young man was assured, elegant in a crisp shirt and jeans. Briony glimpsed an expensive-looking watch on his wrist, noticed the sleek phone on the table. The girl was lovely, blooming with youth and graceful, shoulder-length dark hair in a middle parting, a pretty sundress riding her thighs. She appeared faintly familiar, probably like one of her students, that must be it.
‘Who did you think that pretty girl was like?’ she remarked as they left the café.
‘What pretty girl?’ Luke replied, quite seriously.
‘The couple sitting next to us.’
‘Oh them. I hardly noticed.’
Briony laughed.
The path up to Mariella’s house was as onerous to climb as Briony remembered, and the dog barked as fiercely as before, but this time Mariella met them at the gate, embraced them both and ushered them inside. The kitchen table was spread with a cloth and plates of dainty cakes and biscuits. There was the fragrance of brewing coffee. ‘Sit, sit down,’ she bade them and set about pouring syrupy dark liquid into tiny cups.
Briony couldn’t stop herself asking straight away. ‘We went to look at the Villa Teresa. What’s happening there?’
At this a great smile spread across Mariella’s face. ‘You have already seen,’ she said. ‘I wanted to surprise you. The answer is l’amore.’
‘Love?’ Briony said, not understanding.
‘My daughter is to marry Piero Mei.’
‘Congratulations!’ Briony said politely, something teasing at the edge of her memory. Mariella’s daughter, a quiet, solemn girl stowing linen in a cupboard.
‘Please, you don’t understand. It is the Mei family who wanted the Villa Teresa. All these years. And now Ciara and Piero will marry and the Villa Teresa will be theirs.’
And suddenly it all made sense. ‘The girl in the café just now, remember?’ she told Luke excitedly. ‘I thought she looked familiar. She’s changed so much in a year, Mariella. I didn’t recognize her.’
‘She is twenty-one now, cara, but yes, you’re right. Love has made her beautiful – and a little, how shall we say, advice from her mama! And Piero, his father, he pay for the villa.’
As Mariella talked, Briony gradually realized that the Mei family – she’d not heard the name on the memorial plaque pronounced correctly before – were young Antonio’s. It had been Antonio’s father who had returned to Tuana after the war and initiated legal proceedings against Mariella’s grandfather for possession of the Villa Teresa!
‘Like the Montagues and the Capulets, a very Italian ending,’ as her father would put it later with a twinkle in his eye, bright and cheerful now that Lavender was restored to health.
Luke and Briony stayed at Mariella’s for a couple of hours talking about everything that had happened, the story behind the tragedy of Antonio, how Briony had found out about Paul and Sarah and poor Harry Andrews. Briony supposed that they would never discover what happened to Harry in the end. He had disappeared into the dusty ruins of London, just one more victim of the conflict that had destroyed the lives of so many.
They left Mariella with fond goodbyes and a promise of an invitation to the wedding, though Briony was nervous about whether they should attend, given all that had happened.
‘I will speak to Signor Mei. I want peace with everybody now.’
This idea meant so much to Briony that she embraced Mariella all over again.
When she arrived home after their holiday and she popped into college to collect her post, there was a letter waiting for her from Greg. My father asked me to send you this, which he found some time ago in my grandmother’s papers. He said you’d guess what it means. He thinks it makes sense of something she once said, about falling out with her sister.
Greg had enclosed an envelope addressed to Sarah at Flint Cottage in Paul’s distinctive handwriting. It had been torn open long ago. Briony withdrew the letter inside and read it quickly, then read it again. My dearest Sarah, it began. . . . I’m back in London . . . A peculiar feeling came over her and for a moment she found she could not move. When her thoughts began to flow again, everything began to fall into place.
This was the letter Paul had sent after his return to London which Sarah had never received, his last letter home. Diane must have taken it from the doormat. But why? Diane had never liked Paul, she remembered him hinting that in another letter. Also – her thoughts roamed – perhaps Diane was jealous of her elder sister, who was loved by Ivor, the man Diane was eventually to marry. Or perhaps her twisted intention was to help Ivor? Unhappy, enigmatic Diane. Whatever the answer, she had nearly spoiled Sarah’s happiness. Whether Sarah ever suspected this, it was impossible to know, but maybe Diane felt guilty about it for the rest of her life and that’s why she hardly saw Sarah again.
Briony refolded the letter and slid it into her bag. She’d keep it with all the others, she decided, and if she and Luke were lucky enough to have children, one day, when they were old enough, she’d show the letters to them and explain how Paul and Sarah, Jean and Martin, she and Luke, and all the children, were each part of an ancient love story that goes on and on and will never end.