2006 - Wildcat Moon Page 32

  Archie stopped and listened. In the garden of the Casa delle Stelle the cockerel crowed triumphantly and the sound of nuns singing drifted down from the convent.

  It was that damned song again.

  An old woman called down to him from where she sat knitting on a balcony. “He is coming soon,” she hissed. “On a boat from Naples.”

  “Who is?” Archie asked.

  “They have asked Signer Rabiotti to bring the car down to the harbour because he is so frail. They say he is coming back here to Santa Caterina to die.”

  “Who is?” Archie asked impatiently.

  But she shook her head and began to croon softly to herself.

  Archie wandered home to find Lissia skipping outside the Ristorante Skilly.

  She grabbed hold of his arm and kissed him on both cheeks.

  “Why are you so happy?”

  “Because my friend II Camaleonte is coming to Santa Caterina.”

  Archie stared at her and shook his head in disbelief.

  “And because,” she whispered, “I am going to have a kitten all of my own.”

  “You can’t Lissia, because we’re going home soon.”

  “This is Lissia’s home now.” she said. “I’d like to be a mammy cat and have little kittens.”

  “You can’t have kittens, Lissia, because you’re a woman and women have babies.”

  “I know where you get babies from,” she said.

  “So do I. You get them from under cabbage bushes or sometimes rhubarb,” he said, though he didn’t believe it any more.

  Lissia giggled, “I had one once but it came out of my tummy.”

  “You know what Mammy has told you about telling lies—you’ll get blisters on your tongue!”

  The candles were lit in the shrines and a soft wind blew in off the sea. A full moon rose over Santa Caterina and bathed the convent in a silvery light.

  As if on cue the villagers filed out silently from their houses and lined the harbour and the narrow streets.

  Archie stood outside the Ristorante Skilly with Alfredo and Lena and watched as the boat made its way slowly towards the harbour and moored. They were bringing Il Camaleonte home to die.

  A group of men came slowly up the steps half carrying an old man dressed in a white suit that was several sizes too large. He wore a large Panama hat that was too big for his head. The men helped him carefully into a black car, the engine spluttered to life and the car pulled away, moving slowly through the narrow streets.

  Archie watched and saw that as the car drew alongside the waiting people they looked up, made the sign of the cross and then lowered their heads again.

  Luca, from the Silver Bird Cafe had made his way through the crowd and stood next to Archie, his hand on the boy’s shoulder. As the car approached, Archie saw that Luca’s eyes had filled with tears and the hand that rested on Archie’s shoulder was trembling.

  Archie looked up and saw Il Camaleonte slumped in the back of the car between two stiff-backed nuns. For a moment he caught a glimpse of the sunken old eyes and his body felt weak. The old man raised his left hand feebly and waved to the silent people.

  Archie swallowed hard. He’d never thought for a moment that he would find out what had happened to Thomas Greswode. He’d never dreamed that he would see him in the flesh, however briefly.

  The little boy who Archie had thought was buried beneath the floor of the wobbly chapel had grown up to be one of the bravest men ever. And yet he’d chosen for people not to know who he really was. He’d wanted to work in secret.

  Archie copied Luca and made the sign of the cross, shaking his head in wonder. Alfredo had been right. Santa Caterina did have its fair share of heroes for a little place.

  Then as the car began to climb the steep hill the bells of the convent rang out joyfully to welcome home Il Camaleonte.

  Miriam Blomstein had watched the headlights of the car as it made its way up through the winding streets and in through the gates of the convent In a short while she would meet Il Camaleonte again. She remembered their first meeting in London, how a quirk of fate had brought them together.

  She had been sitting in a misty-windowed cafe just off the Edgware Road trying to eke out a cold cup of tea. It was past midnight when the man had sat down opposite her and said quite simply, “You are looking to escape, Madame?”

  She’d been about to jump up and make a run for it but he’d put his hand firmly on her arm and looked into her eyes with such tenderness that she’d known immediately that she could trust him.

  He had passed her the following morning’s newspaper, an early copy of The Times with her photograph on the front and the headline: WANTED. JEWEL THIEF. Then he had turned to another page and shown her the advertisement ’Wanted. Governess to teach ten-year-old girl…’

  He had ordered fresh tea and a plate of toast and as she’d eaten hungrily she had listened in disbelief as he had carefully unveiled his plan to her. If she wanted the opportunity to escape the police, who he said were, as they spoke, searching her flat a few streets away, all she had to do was agree to help him. She was to visit a theatrical outfitter, buy a selection of wigs and spectacles, built-up shoes and several outfits. Then when her appearance was sufficiently changed, she must contact a Miss Vera Truscott and apply for the post of governess at Killivray House. In the meantime he would see that she had somewhere safe to stay in London.

  The following day, he met her at a discreet distance from the agency and supplied her with forged papers in the name of Clementine Fernaud. She was to take a train from Paddington to Reading and stay overnight in an hotel Then she was to await further instructions. She was to be well paid for a job that could be difficult and dangerous and then she was guaranteed safe passage abroad.

  Il Camaleonte sat hunched in a chair wrapped in a woollen rug but still he shivered. Sister Isabella put a match to the fire and the kindling crackled and sparks were drawn up inside the enormous chimney. Then she sat down opposite him.

  “Sizzle,” he said, “it’s so good to see you again. It’s been too many years.”

  His voice was barely audible, his breathing spasmodic. She watched him with eyes brimming with tears, leant across and took his hand in her own. His flesh was papery now and the pulse in his wrist feeble.

  “I haven’t long left now, Sizzle.”

  “Hush, Thomas, with some rest you may get well.”

  “Sizzle, you know the truth as well as I db. That’s wishful thinking. I am tired now, it is my time. I’ve spent many months preparing for the end, so many loose ends to tie up. But everything is taken care of…I have left money for the nuns here at Santa Caterina so that you can carry on your good work. My other properties have been left to other worthy causes…”

  His body was suddenly racked by a coughing fit and Sister Isabella hastily fetched him a glass of water, holding it to his pale lips.

  “Loosen my shirt, Sizzle, I feel as though I am choking.”

  She undid his tie and opened his collar and saw the small star-shaped birthmark, the same one that Rosa Gasparini had.

  “You are thinking of her? Aren’t you?”

  “I am. I often think of your mother.”

  “And my father too?”

  “Him too.”

  “How I miss them both, Sizzle. If I believed in the afterlife I would think that in a short time I will see them both again.”

  “But you don’t believe?”

  He shook his head.

  “Everything has turned out well with our visitors?”

  “Si, the mother and child have already gone off to Ischia. There were no problems and they are staying with the Gabbatini family. In a few weeks they will be taken to France. Where will they go next?”

  “It’s best that I don’t say. No one will be looking for her now that they think she took her own life. Sister Angelica tells me she looks very fetching with the hair dyed black and permed.”

  “Oh, quite a transformation!”

  “
Is Miriam here?” he asked.

  Sister Isabella nodded. “Shall I bring her to you?”

  Il Camaleonte looked up as Miriam Blomstein came into the room. She was a striking woman, with dark, lively eyes and a beguiling smile.

  “Well done, Miriam, you were wonderful! Now you must drink some wine and tell me all that has happened since we met last in London.”

  She stooped and kissed him on both cheeks, sat down opposite him and poured herself a glass of wine.

  “While I was at the hotel in Reading I got your instructions and I must say I was relieved not to be playing the role of governess! I’m not really the type at all! Anyhow, on the following day the woman was waiting for me at the railway station. As instructed I helped her to get into her disguise.”

  “How was Margot?”

  “Extremely anxious but once she was dressed up in the wig and spectacles the transformation was unbelievable! Of course it helped that she was a good actress so she took to the part incredibly well. She even had the French accent down to a fine tee. It must have been good because even her own daughter didn’t recognize her!”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, then we swapped train tickets and papers. I took the train she was meant to take. And Margot went back to Killivray as Clementine Fernaud.”

  “And how was your time with the nuns?”

  “Well, luckily they’d never seen Margot Greswode before so they didn’t know they were being tricked. I just had to remain there and act a little deranged until someone made contact.”

  “And did that come easily to you?” he said, with a hint of a smile.

  Miriam laughed and took a drink of wine. “Of course it nearly all went awry when Jonathan Greswode came back early to Killivray. Margot rang me in an absolute state because he said he was coming to visit St Mary’s to arrange for me to be transferred to an asylum. If he’d turned up and seen me then that would have stopped our pretty plans!”

  “What happened at Killivray?”

  “Well, as you know the plan was for me to bide my time at the convent. When the time was right Margot and Romilly would make their escape in the car which you would be sending. But then things went horribly wrong. Jonathan Greswode turned up early, which put Margot into an absolute panic. He’d brought a woman down to Killivray with him and Margot overheard his plans to shut her up in an asylum. It was all getting too much for her and then…”

  “Then what?”

  “She found out what he’d been doing to the child…”

  Il Camaleonte looked across at Miriam and saw the pain in her face.

  “She’d gone up to her room and been woken by the child dying. The old nanny was asleep and stinking of brandy so she’d stayed with Romilly all night. Poor Romilly had no idea that Madame Fernaud was her own mother. And Romilly confided to her that Jonathan Greswode had…had…”

  “You don’t need to say more.”

  “The next morning Margot went out to the Skallies and met with a woman there who ran the pub, to ask her if there was anyone local who had a car.”

  “So the woman from the Pilchard helped her?”

  “In the end, but Margot said she was a feisty devil and had ideas that Margot was spying on her and her child. Quite a character, from what I can gather.”

  Il Camaleonte smiled and signalled that she continue.

  “That’s where it all took a turn for the worse. Margot took the key to’ the gun cabinet and took out a gun. Then she sat in his study and waited for him. She knew his habits, knew he was a bad sleeper and that he usually came down to his study in the early hours of the morning for a cigar…And when he did she was waiting for him.”

  “Did she mean to shoot him?”

  “I don’t honestly know, she won’t speak of it but I think so. She and the child had endured a terrible time at his hands. I think that she wanted to know that that was the end of him once and for all.”

  “He was a bully like his father, Charles. Tell me, how did you manage to escape from the good Sisters of St Mary’s?”

  “Well, the original plan was that Margot would contact me and let me know when they were leaving Killivray and then I would make my escape from St Mary’s. Of course, as soon as the murder was discovered I had to take a gamble. If I ran away from St Mary’s then suspicions would be awakened. Far better that the police thought the governess had done it and abducted the child.”

  “You must have nerves of steel, Miriam.”

  “I had good practice during the war,” she said. “When the police came to tell me the news I gave them the theatrical works! Ranted and raged. The police realized they’d never get any sense out of me and left me to the nuns.”

  “You are a genius, Miriam,” Il Camaleonte said with a smile.

  “Well, I knew that the nuns feared for my mental state…thought me a likely suicide risk. I was in a room on the third floor and they watched me like hawks but one of the windows had been left open in the upstairs lavatory. I’d escaped from harder places than that and in the wink of an eye I was out…”

  “Miriam, there is something that I must tell you,” he said softly, reaching out for her hand.

  “What is it?”

  “The woman at the Pilchard Inn is an old friend of yours.”

  Miriam looked at Il Camaleonte in surprise.

  “A friend of mine? I haven’t had any friends in years, I’ve been on the move all the time.”

  “Hannah Abelson,” he said and watched her face with interest.

  “My God! She is alive?”

  “Apparently very much so. One day soon you shall both meet, of that I have no doubt.”

  “But I thought that she had perished along with the others from Bizier. How was she saved?”

  “She was found in the woodshed at Le Petit Bijou after her parents had been taken. She had been out walking her baby brother when the Germans came for her parents.”

  “I can’t believe this. My friend Hannah is alive! And Solomon? Is he alive too?”

  “No. Sadly, Solomon died.”

  “What happened to the Abelsons?”

  “They were sent to their deaths,” he said with a weary voice.

  “Like my own parents.”

  There was a long silence before Il Camaleonte spoke again.

  “We scoured Bizier for you, Miriam, to try and get you out but we couldn’t find you. I thought of you often in the years since that day, wondering how you had fared, whether you had made it.”

  “I knew that I had to run away. I’d seen them take the Abelsons and I’d run home but by the time I got there I was too late…”

  There was silence for a while and then she said in a barely audible voice, “It was the day after we’d been on an outing to the beach…such a day we’d had, the last truly happy day that I can remember. The weather had been gloriously hot and Hannah and I had swum in the sea for hours and then played together on the sand. Mr Abelson took a photograph of us. Of course I’ve never seen it. I still have a shell that I picked up that I’ve kept all this time…”

  “Where did you go, Miriam?”

  “I knew it wasn’t safe for me to stay in Bizier. I made my way down to Narbonne to some friends of my parents but they too had been rounded up. There was a beach hut I knew of on Narbonne Plage and I knew where the owners hid the key. I stayed there for many weeks, then I made my way up through France, stealing, hiding out until the war was over…”

  “And since then?”

  “I haven’t led a very good life, I’m ashamed to say. I’ve got by—by foul means rather than fair. Tell me, though, how did you find me and come to be sitting in the cafe in London?”

  “I’d been trying to track you down for many years. I picked up your trail and put out my feelers. I have many connections,” he said, tapping the side of his nose. “And I was so pleased to be told that you were there in London. I needed someone very brave and you were the right person. Indeed when I am gone there will be much work for people such as yourself. I
f you don’t feel up to that then I have left a little something for you as a thank you. Now I am tired and must sleep.”

  Miriam got slowly to her feet and looked down at the old man. She’d heard the stories of many of the children he’d saved, but she’d never dreamed that she would meet him. His eyes were dosed now and there was a hint of a smile about his mouth. She bent down and kissed him gently on his cheek and then she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Sister Angelica lit the candles in the room to drive away the gloom but Il Camaleonte had asked for the windows to be left open. He wanted to hear the sound of the sea, the call of the owls down in the garden of the Casa delle Stelle. He knew now that by the time the old cockerel crowed again he would be safely out of this world, for good this time.

  He would be buried with his mother and father in the hilltop cemetery amongst old friends. They would write: Thomas Greswode born in Santa Caterina died August 1960. It was amazing how many names one man could assume in a lifetime, how many times one man could be buried.

  Down in the church the nuns were praying; if he listened really hard he could make out the low murmur of their voices, the clink of their rosary beads.

  He closed his eyes and listened to all the night sounds down in Santa Caterina. The music of the metal curtains as the breeze caught at them. The tinkle of a music box as a child was stilled into sleep. The far-off laughter from the Ristorante Skilly; the smell of tobacco smoke mingling with the scent of lemon trees.

  Archie could not sleep. He lay awake looking up at the ceiling. He heard a clock chime midnight. His rucksack was packed and soon he would be saying his goodbyes to the people of Santa Caterina. He stifled a sob and bit his fist. He’d been happy here, happier than he’d ever known that a boy could be.

  Suddenly he sat up. Someone was moving around stealthily in the bedroom next door. Then he heard footsteps going down the stairs and the key turn in the front door. He got out of bed and crossed to the window, opened the shutter a fraction and looked down.