Read Online The Italian Romance by Joanne Carroll - Free Book Online

approach. ‘They’re too small for him. His garter shows.’
    â€˜Garter!’ Alon sniggered. He lifted a leg of his own trousers and bent down to pull at his sock.
    The phalanx of marching men did not pause at the crossroad. The leader expected all traffic to have ceased, and it had. The dark, high boots kicked out at each row of six, and arms swung like scissors. The sun seemed drawn to the polished leather, sparking and glinting from a unison of raised legs. The sun disappeared into the black shirts. They were only a hundred or so, yet they seemed more. In the new silence of the street, the crash of boots against the ground, and even the cutting of the air, multiplied them till they seemed like a thousand. She held her hand to her breast.
    Alphonso turned the ignition key as the rear paraded out into the intersection. The engine did not take. He tried again, casually. Sonia waited. The car strained. And then the engine caught. Alphonso let it purr till the last of them were on the bridge, and he slid out. Sonia settled back against the seat; her shoulder blades were sharp.
    The breeze brushed against her. She slowly pulled off her gloves, one finger at a time, and flapped them pointlessly near her face. ‘Take off your jackets,’ she said to the boys. They were quiet now. ‘It’s getting hot.’
    None of them said another word. Alphonso drove out of the town and up the hill. The boys, legs wide, were mercifully at rest. Sonia gazed at the hillside above the river; olive trees seemed almost water-coloured, pale grey brushstrokes of smoke, and further up a row of darkening cypress and behind them, in the afternoon light, an even darker congress of cypress, rigid and perfect. The car turned into the avenue. She manoeuvred her hands back into her gloves. The wisteria at the side of the villa was in bloom, its cool blue droplets covering the stone wall of the staircase.
    Her brother’s car was already there, parked in the lengthening shade at the side of the house. He was standing at the driver’s door, still open, lighting a cigarette.
    Alon leaned out of the window as Alphonso circled in under the laurel tree. ‘Papa,’ Alon said. He waved his arm.
    â€˜Wait till Alphonso stops,’ Sonia said to her nephew.
    The boy gripped the door handle with both hands. ‘Papa,’ he shouted again. His father walked towards them and the boy jumped out as soon as Alphonso pulled on the handbrake. He threw his arms around his father, who held his cigarette high between two fingers to vigorously pat his son on the back with his free hand.
    Gianni, still quiet beside his mother, said, ‘Why is everybody here?’
    Sonia put her gloved hands on either side of his handsome young face. He did not pull away, as he usually would. She stroked the side of his nose with her thumb. ‘Nothing is wrong,’ she said. ‘Grandfather just wants to see us, that’s all.’
    â€˜Promise?’ he said.
    â€˜Promise.’ She kissed the soft skin of his forehead andmurmured, ‘Precious. In fact, I have very good news. Your papa wrote. He said to kiss you.’
    He said, breathless, ‘Has he escaped?’
    â€˜No, my love. He’s still in the prison camp, but he’s very well.’
    â€˜Can I write to him? Did he have to write it in English?’
    Sonia laughed. ‘No, darling. He wrote in Italian. And you may write to him.’ She kissed the tip of his nose and said, ‘From your Papa.’
    Beside them, her door opened. Alphonso’s familiar bulk stood over them. ‘Signora,’ he said, waiting.
    Gianni looked up sheepishly, caught out by the older man in a moment of boyish weakness. He pulled free of his mother’s hands and hurled himself out through the other door. Sonia lifted her handbag to her arm and eased herself out, holding tightly to Alphonso’s big hand. Under the shade of the laurel tree, the breeze bouncing the