“Oh, it is you,” he said in English. “Why are you still here?”

“I’m not allowed to leave yet,” I said.

“Is this not Paola’s stall?” he asked, looking around. “Where is she?”

“She went to take parsley to the trattoria,” I said. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I suppose so. I need all your tomatoes, and your basil and onions, and do you have garlic? I need a lot of garlic.”

“You must be very hungry,” I said, trying to be flippant.

“It is the feast day tomorrow,” he said, not smiling. “My father feeds all of his workers. He will roast lambs on a spit, and I am instructed to organise the salads and pasta to go with them.”

“He has many workers?” I asked.

“He has much land,” Renzo said. “Olive groves, vineyards, the olive press. He is a wealthy man.”

“And you will inherit it all one day?” I said. “You have no brothers or sisters?”

“My father never married,” he said. “He told me that the girl he loved did not love him, and he wanted no other. Such true love should be applauded, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” I said, hesitating. “But I don’t think I’d choose to be alone for my whole life if I couldn’t have the person I wanted.” I was surprised to hear myself say those words. Did that mean I was ready to move on from Adrian and there was a light at the end of that tunnel? I glanced up at Renzo. “So when you want to get married, you’ll have to choose a girl who will be willing to live here or Cosimo will be alone.”

There was something I couldn’t quite read in his face. “Yes,” he said. “Any future wife would have to be willing to be part of my life here. That may not be so easy. Who would want to shut themselves away in the middle of the countryside?”

“It’s very beautiful here,” I said.

“Maybe.”

“But you had dreams of being a chef,” I said. “You gave them up to take care of your adopted father. That is commendable. I regret that I left my father alone so much.”

“Your father is now dead?”

“Yes. He died a month ago. That is why I am here, because I wanted to know what happened to him in the war.”

“Then I am sorry we can’t help you,” he said in a more civil tone.

We stopped talking as a man approached the table. “Excuse me,” I said to Renzo. “I must take care of this customer for Paola. I just hope I can understand him. The local dialect is hard for me.”

The man was wearing a light suit and had an impressive black moustache. “You are Signorina Langley?” he asked.

“Si, Signor.”

“You will please come with me. I am Inspector Dotelli of the criminal investigation department in Lucca. I need to ask you questions concerning the death of Gianni Martinelli.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

JOANNA

June 1973

I tried not to let alarm show on my face. “But I made a statement,” I said. Actually, with my Italian being quite basic still, I said, “I told the man what I had seen.”

The inspector spread his hands. “A mere formality,” he said. “You will come with me to the police station.”

“I am watching this stall for Signora Rossini,” I said. “I cannot leave until she returns.”

“This man can watch for you,” he said, waving dismissively at Renzo.

“This man is an important customer. He was buying vegetables for the festival tomorrow,” I said, feeling my face turning bright red with embarrassment. “I could not ask him to spend more time.” I was stumbling over the Italian words now, flustered. “I do not know how to answer your questions,” I added. “I speak only a little Italian. I am a visitor from England.”

“But you were speaking with this man. I saw you.” The inspector wagged an accusing finger. He certainly used his hands a lot in his speech.

“That was because we were speaking in English,” I said. “This man worked in London.”

“Then he shall come with you to be your translator,” the inspector said.

“I have business that needs to be taken care of,” Renzo said coldly. “I don’t have time.”

“I am not requesting,” the inspector said. “This is a command from the police. It should not take long.” He looked up. “Ah, here comes the lady now, returning to her vegetables. Good. Come with me.”

Paola was rushing toward us, her face ready to do battle. “What is this? What is going on?” she demanded.

“The inspector from Lucca,” I said, nodding at him. “He wishes to ask me questions.”

“We have told the Carabinieri all that we know,” Paola said. “This young lady is a stranger here. She cannot help you and I do not wish her to be upset.”

“She will not be upset if she answers my questions and tells me the truth. Come, follow me now. It is Saturday, and I wish to get this matter sorted out as quickly as you do.”

With that he put a hand on my elbow and literally steered me across the piazza to the municipal building. I glanced back at Renzo. He was speaking with Paola, presumably reserving the items that he wanted. He was still giving her instructions as he followed us toward the dark doorway. The young Carabinieri agent was turned out of his desk with a mere wave of the hand. The inspector took his place.