Read Online Tomorrow's Vengeance by Marcia Talley - Free Book Online

Susanna over from a table she’d been busily clearing nearby.
    â€˜Coffee all around, I think, Susanna.’
    â€˜Yes ma’am.’
    â€˜Do you mind if we sit here chatting for a while? We’re finished with these dishes so you can clear them away.’
    â€˜No trouble at all, Mrs Gray. I’ll be back in a minute with your coffee.’
    Izzy took a deep breath then let it out slowly. ‘So, where do I begin?’

SIX
    â€˜The Italians are extremely lax in their treatment of Jews. They protect Italian Jews both in Tunis and in occupied France and won’t permit their being drafted for work or compelled to wear the Star of David.’
    Joseph Goebbels,
The Goebbels Diaries
,
    December 13, 1942.
    â€˜I n the years before the war, my family and I lived comfortably in Rome, in Trastavere,’ Izzy began, stirring a generous portion of cream into her coffee.
    â€˜Trastavere! I know it. The old Jewish quarter, right?’
    When Izzy nodded, I told her, ‘Paul and I vacationed in Rome a couple of years ago and we stayed in Borgo, near the Vatican. Several evenings we strolled along the Tiber to Trastavere for dinner. There are some wonderful restaurants there. I remember, oh, what was it? This marvelous fried artichoke dish; it looked like an exploded sunflower.’ I demonstrated with my hands.
    â€˜
Carciofi alla giudia
,’ Izzy supplied. ‘Artichoke in the Jewish style.’
    â€˜Yes, that’s it. Crisp, nutty. Totally delicious.’
    Naddie passed me the sugar. ‘We should put it on Raniero’s list.’
    â€˜Absolutely.’ I sipped my coffee. ‘What did your father do, Izzy?’
    â€˜He owned a small art gallery which was popular with local artists, but he made most of his money restoring paintings for larger galleries like the Vatican Museum.’
    I set my cup down. ‘Wow.’
    Izzy smiled sadly. ‘I was too young then to be impressed.
Abba
worked primarily in the
Pinacoteca
, specializing in fifteenth-century restorations. When he began, the museum had been open only a few years, and many of the works had been in storage since 1815 when they were returned from Paris, so there was much work to do.’
    Paris?
Then the penny dropped. ‘Napoleon took off with them, I suppose.’
    Izzy nodded. ‘Years later, when Bruno and I visited the galleries, I found myself looking closely at the paintings. This Fra Angelico, that Raphael, a glorious Bellini … searching for any small detail that could be by my father’s hand. The halo of a saint, a Pope’s ring, a cherub’s toe.’
    â€˜Bruno was your husband?’
    She nodded. ‘But Bruno’s part of the story comes much later.’
    Filomena materialized at my right elbow, creeping up on us so quietly that I was startled. ‘Biscotti? We make them here.’
    â€˜Yes, thank you, Filomena,’ Naddie said as the catering manager set a silver tray carrying an artistically stacked pyramid of biscotti down on the table in front of us.
    â€˜In Argentina, we call these cookies
cantuccini
,’ Filomena said.
    I loomed hungrily over the tray, as if I hadn’t just eaten a monster crab salad and a crème brulee. ‘That was very thoughtful,’ I said, selecting a chocolate-covered
cantuccini
dotted with almonds. ‘I hope we’re not keeping you?’
    Filomena waved away our concerns. ‘No worries! Stay as long as you like.’ Then she disappeared as quickly as she had come.
    Izzy selected a biscotti for herself, dunked it into her coffee and held it there. ‘After the war began, my father believed we were safe because he had joined the Fascist Party, and was even active at their meetings.’ She bit into the soggy biscotti, chewed, then continued. ‘In those days
everybody
in Italy was a Fascist, at least on paper.
    â€˜Until the
Manifesto della razza
in 1938, that is. That was when Mussolini’s