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‘How did you work that out?’
‘You told me your grandfather had talked of another woman. One of his diary entries said,“We used Lasserno’s heart to save ourselves, yet I couldn’t save Betty.”That was a clue. With the Australians’ love of shortening names I wondered if Betty might be a reference to my great-aunt Elisabetta. In my search for answers about the ring I’d scoured my great-grandfather’s papers. It wasn’t until I saw your grandfather’s diary entries that I thought of looking for any of hers.’
‘What did you find?’
‘Not as much as I’d hoped. A few notes on scraps of paper, tucked into the cover of a book recording the birthdays of my family members over the generations. Some words of love and admiration in handwriting that looked like your grandfather’s. Was Arthur’s birthday the sixteenth of March?’
Tears filled her eyes again, spilled onto her cheeks. She wiped them away, nodding, unable to speak.
‘His name is in that book. I’m sure she never meant to forget him.’
‘You said she died in the war?’ Her voice trembled and broke.
Stefano nodded. ‘I told you she wasn’t spoken of much. Grief gives some people the need to recollect, and others the wish to forget. My family were in the latter category. From what I could piece together, it seems Elisabetta was a bright, bold young woman, who did not like Lasserno’s neutrality in the war when she’d witnessed so much suffering elsewhere. But even more information came from your grandfather. Having his true name meant my investigations could determine his service number, and with that I was able to search your country’s archives. Your grandfather wrote a report to his superiors, explaining his time on the run.’
Lucy’s breath hitched. She and her mother had never thought to look into her grandfather’s war records. The shock of the diaries had been enough. Nothing else had entered their minds.
‘What did it say?’
‘His report told the story of his time in Lasserno, being sheltered by my family. He fled with my great-aunt, who’d helped people via the underground movement before, making her a target. They were caught in a firefight and Elisabetta was injured by shrapnel. He tried to save her, but she was mortally wounded. Arthur had to keep running so he wouldn’t be captured. He reported that Elisabetta’s remains were taken by members of the underground movement who said they would inform my great-grandfather.’
‘Anything about the coronation ring?’
‘Not as such.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Stefano shrugged. ‘It’s more than I’ve ever had before. More than I could have imagined. You gave that to me. To my country. Arthur mentions the violin and his playing, which allowed him and Elisabetta to hide their identities. He doesn’t say how he acquired it—however, your guess that he swapped one precious object for another fits. How else would he have obtained a Stradivarius? It’s what I would have done to save the one I loved.’
His gaze was fixed on her with an intensity which made Lucy light-headed.
‘In my family’s documents I also found this.’ Stefano reached into his pocket and pulled out a yellowed piece of paper. He handed it to her. ‘A letter.’
She took the thin, worn document and opened it to read the neat black script that looked a lot like the writing in her grandfather’s diaries. It was dated after the war ended, and addressed to the then Count of Varno.
I am sorry for everything precious of yours that I could not save. Forgive me. For I will never forgive myself.
There was no signature, just the initial ‘A’, but it was enough. She looked at Stefano, who had a soft and tender smile on his face.
‘My grandfather carried guilt over this his whole life, and never more than in his final days,’ she said. ‘It was awful. He kept saying, “I’m sorry.” We didn’t know what for.’
‘I never understood why your grandfather, a stranger, would have been entrusted with something so precious as the country’s coronation ring. But the story comes together if Elisabetta died trying to get the ring to safety, whilst your grandfather was trying to protect them both. I’m sure he loved her, and she loved him.’
‘All those times he talked to me of holding on to love and never letting it go... I wonder if he couldn’t face your family because of the shame of losing your great-aunt. That’s what he was asking forgiveness for—especially if they were in love.’
In a terrible, heart-breaking way it all made sense.
‘It wouldn’t surprise me,’ Stefano said. ‘Even if it wasn’t your fault, losing someone you loved and were meant to protect would plague you with guilt for eternity.’
In the soft light of the room Stefano’s dark eyes glowed with a banked heat which lit inside her too. No matter how cold it was, he’d always kept her warm. Then he held out his arms, almost like an offering for her to come to him.
‘So here we are. Two people brought together by this story.’
As much as his open arms were a temptation, Lucy held her ground. The reason he’d come to Paris was to deliver the violin. Without it she would never have seen him again, she was sure. He didn’t really want her. He certainly hadn’t trusted her. She wondered if he would trust anyone. Something about that crushed her heart like the wings of a doomed butterfly.
‘The story you’ve given me is a beautiful one. Thank you. And now your job’s done you can go back to Lasserno.’
She wouldn’t subject herself to more pain, to more hope for the heart of a man who probably still hadn’t found his own. Who didn’t know what he wanted out of life. Because she’d asked and he’d had no answer. He certainly didn’t wanther.
