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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Stefano
Ambrosi was born in Presently
he resides with his Australian wife and their two dogs in He is
currently writing his second book. Chapter
1
An
Important Appointment
(part sample only)
That morning, Luigi, commonly known as Gigino, washed and shaved early.
He did his tie as best he could. He tightened and buttoned the rigid collar of
his shirt, as they used to in those days before the war. The cuffs and the collar were the only well-preserved
parts since the rest was old. But that didn’t matter because no one could see
the worn bits, hidden as they were under the jacket of his uniform. Gigino wasn’t that concerned. He liked what he saw
when he looked in the mirror. He wore his light blue air force cap over his
thick black hair, combed Prince Umberto’s way, backwards with a lot of hair
grease. Surely midshipman Horatio Hornblower, recently
created by the pen of Cecil Forrester, must have felt just as nervous and proud
when he ironed his tie, wore his best uniform and went for his assessment for
promotion to lieutenant, Gigino thought, as he put on his gold cufflinks. Just like his fictional hero, Gigino also wore a
brand new cap borrowed from a friend for his special occasion. Lorenzo – that was the name of his roommate – had
lent him his because he didn’t much feel like going out that day. Lorenzo was
a nice chap and the two had become good friends. Gigino loved other things
though. Lorenzo wasn’t as much the sporty type and spent most of his free time
lazing around reading or playing chess in the officers’ club. He was also very disorganised and often left their
room untidy. Not out of a sense of rebellion towards military discipline though;
rather, he wasn’t used to doing things for himself. The two young men couldn’t have been more
different. Gigino was very self disciplined and held a record amongst the other
men for never having been reprimanded. Lorenzo, on the other hand, was often in
the doghouse. Gigino didn’t really dislike it when this happened
though, as he could finally have their room to himself. Lorenzo came from a Tuscan aristocratic family and
Gigino couldn’t understand why he had decided to learn to fly. Maybe out of
boredom or to demonstrate God knows what to his father. Lorenzo’s father had made a career out of being a
military man himself, as often happened in aristocratic families. He was now a
retired colonel and quite frequently, living nearby, paid a visit to his son at
the officers’ club. On a positive note, Lorenzo was an excellent bridge
player. He gave Gigino lessons in the officers’ club where they sat apart from
the others with two decks of cards, drinking one coffee after another and
discussing ‘bidding’ and ‘playing,’ the two fundamental strategies of
the game. ‘If you don’t know the whist or the partner
whist, then bridge is not really for you yet,’ Lorenzo said to Gigino during
their first lesson. But he was soon to change his mind. His colleague had a will
to learn and win that far surpassed all others he had played with. In exchange Gigino helped Lorenzo during flying
lessons and then gave him thorough repeat lessons, as he was always top of his
class. That morning there was no such need. It was a day off
from flying for the squadron. It was also a special morning for Gigino and he
had no more intention of going to the officers’ club than he had of seeing his
parents. He had a very important engagement in Having left the airport he caught a train at Pisa
Central Station. Two teenage girls accompanied by their mother caught
the same train at Massa Carrara and sat opposite him. They looked at the young
officer, giggling occasionally. For sure I must strike a dashing figure in my
uniform, he thought smiling. He got off at La Spezia Central Station, confident
and at ease with himself and the world as he wandered down the road in his
elegant blue uniform. He walked past a newspaper stand and stopped for a moment
to read the headlines. The vendor saluted him and in La Spezian dialect said,
‘Good morning, Captain!’, proud at having recognised an officer. ‘Thanks for the captain but I am only a flight
lieutenant,’ Gigino replied. The vendor looked at him more carefully now, lifting
his eyes from the newspaper he was reading. ‘So sorry. I didn’t recognise you. In my time the
ranks were different. When I was young I mean, during the war.’ ‘Oh, yes, right,’ Gigino offered, feeling a bit
silly at having made discussion over something as trivial as rank with a man who
had outlived the Great War. ‘Flight Lieutenant,’ the man continued, ‘are
you by any chance one of those mad people who fly aeroplanes?’ The vendor
stared intensely at Gigino’s uniform. ‘Yes, that would be me,’ Gigino said, proudly
standing upright, as military men instinctively do when called into line. ‘Well, how about that. This is a funny thing,’
the old vendor said. ‘God strike me down! But you are so young!’ In the blink of an eye it seemed to Gigino that he
had gone from being promoted to a demotion so defined as resembling the
sentiments of a young boy on his first day at school. Standing at the school
gate as uncomfortable as any village boy could be in a spanking new uniform,
just waiting to be teased for how ridiculous he must look. What then will Rupert think of me? And ‘Well, good day to you, sir,’ Gigino said, quick
to walk away. But while he was turning the voice of the old vendor
reached him again. ‘Be careful. I’ve seen many fallen aeroplanes in my
time.’ Gigino walked briskly down Via Chiodo, troubled by
the unexpected encounter. His ego had been wounded but that was probably a good
thing. Maybe he had been too full of himself anyway. As one of the flight engineers used to say when
referring to an engine overworking: ‘Let’s ease it up a bit and slow it down
a little.’ Under the circumstances this turn of phrase
wouldn’t have been misplaced. As he continued along the wide covered walkway by the
sea, he came across what he was really looking for. A flower shop. Gigino
stopped in front of its large beautifully decorated window. After considering
its offerings he walked in. The florist, a girl around twenty years, looked him
over before abruptly standing up. The uniform and the statuesque height of the
young officer made her instinctively place her hand to her chest and when Gigino
took off his hat anyone would think the girl was about to faint. A ray of light
from the open door struck him from behind, lighting up his dark and lustrous
hair and creating golden reflections about his head. But he looks almost saintly or madonna-like, she
thought, totally captivated. The young girl took in the depth of his strikingly
intense blue eyes. Like sapphires or perhaps the sea at that hour when the sun
gives way to the moon, she thought. She could see from his face that he was
tanned and even though covered from head to toe, muscular in build. His presence
alone demanded attention. Gigino greeted her cordially and then felt a bit
embarrassed. He understood that he had to say something more and with haste, or
have the florist stand open-mouthed without serving him for all time. ‘Do you have any daisies?’ To which the girl ran into the back room leaving him
alone. After a little while she returned with a woman who
seemed, and most probably was, her mother. She also stood enchanted for an
instant but then promptly regained her composure. ‘Daisies then. How many do you need?’ The young officer hesitated and so she carried on. ‘Perhaps, if I may, you need a mixed bouquet?’ ‘Yes,’ Gigino said. ‘Maybe that’s the best
thing.’ Understanding that he could freely ask her for a
suggestion, he added, ‘They are for a lady around forty you see.’ The florist raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. Gigino, aware of the misunderstanding, promptly
carried on. ‘They are for a family friend that I have to pay a visit to.’ He swallowed deeply, having the clear sensation of
digging himself even deeper. The two women exchanged looks, or better still the
mother looked for the eyes of her daughter who, as if unmoved, remained
open-mouthed, eyes fixed upon Gigino. The florist arched her brows in reproach of her silly
daughter and replied, ‘I think that a mixed bunch of flowers in season will do
fine.’ She moved aside and busied herself with choosing
flowers from some large terracotta pots. Gigino was under the impression that the silly
misunderstanding might have had some pleasant developments, since the woman,
around forty herself, was rather beautiful. He could hardly not notice her tight skirt that
emphasised firm yet well-rounded buttocks that today would be defined as
Brazilian but in those days was just considered a beautiful rear. Her jacket was
also missing its top button and as a consequence emphasised her ample bosom.
Gigino was nonetheless convinced that the blouse underneath had been tied and
buttoned to the top before she had turned to fetch the flowers. Now he realised
it was quite comfortably open to the jacket’s missing button. He swallowed again, finding himself fixated on
exactly that spot. And he realised that she had realised it too and was now
smiling as she tightened the stems of the flowers with a thin green reed. In an instant he remembered the uniform he was
wearing and of being an officer. He looked somewhere else. She turned to her daughter without averting her eyes
from Gigino. ‘Titti, why don’t you go fetch the coloured paper
from the back room?’ As soon as the girl had disappeared she spoke again.
‘An officer, ha? So young. You must be twenty. But what kind of a uniform is
this?’ She gently touched the collar of his shirt. He could feel her breath
against his skin and a hint of rose perfume about her throat that lingered under
his nose. ‘It’s not the Navy one. I know those very well.’ Gigino moved back a little and trying to appear
indifferent replied, ‘Air Force, madame. I’m a flight lieutenant. My name is
Luigi Rossi.’ ‘Well, young man. My name is Liliana. You look
really great in your uniform. A pilot. Good lord! You fly planes then?’ She had placed a hand on one hip now, which only
served to emphasise even more the abundant curves of her body. ‘Yes, but I’m still learning. There are many
things I must study. The routes, the engines, velocity …’ He stopped talking when he realised that Liliana’s
eyes had moved away from his to inspect other parts of his anatomy. Clearly she
didn’t care much for the technical aspects of his job. Though the technical
aspects of his person seemed to be meeting with clear approval. ‘As I was telling you, my name is Liliana, but you
can call me Lilli,’ she purred in a husky voice, having finished her
navigation. ‘How lucky the lady who will receive these flowers,’ she
finished with a big smile. Gigino, while pleased with the compliment, could not
contain the negative thoughts running through his head. How can you be about to
meet the family of the girl you love and still play the flirt with a woman twice
your age that you’ve only just met? But the lady was exciting him in a way he
had never felt before. Lisa was something else. He loved her from the bottom of
his heart, but Liliana, or Lilli, was transmitting another kind of sensation. He had already been with a woman much older than him.
A few years before with three classmates. They had a deal. They would go with
one of ‘them.’ They would gather everything they had in their pockets and
maybe that would be enough. So one Sunday while walking past the hospital the
band of friends headed towards the centre of town, following Via Prione and
taking the little side streets until they reached the prostitute quarter of If the money hadn’t been enough they would have
drawn lots. The boy who held the longest straw would go alone. That was the
plan. They had thought of everything. At the entrance to
the brothel they checked their slightly defective identity cards. Counted the
money again. Took a deep breath. They looked each other sternly in the eye as if
leaving for an important mission from which they might never return. The madam was kind and let them in. She made them
feel as though their first experience wouldn’t be overly traumatic. She led
them by the hand and introduced them to a woman called Suzie who then initiated
them into the pleasures of the fairer sex, knowing how important those moments
were for the young boys and for their future experiences in life. Now, in the flower shop, Gigino did his best not to
look a fool, not to lose control. I’m not going to fail at anything, he
thought. But Lilli moved closer again and in a voice as smooth as velvet she
murmured, ‘There you are. I put a little note with a telephone number inside
the card in case you need more flowers in the future.’ She handed Gigino the flowers, running her long
fingernails gently across the top of his gloved hand before placing the card
under the sleeve of his jacket. It sent a rush of electricity through his spine
and he thanked the Lord his hand was covered, as he was sure the hairs on his
arms were as alert as a squadron on command. She added with a wink, ‘You might come back and see
us one day, Lieutenant?’ The daughter returned with a roll of paper and set
about wrapping the flowers, then Gigino quickly but politely bade them farewell.
Before leaving he turned around and pulled his hat slightly down on one side as
the fashion dictated in those days, gave one last glance to the woman, or better
still, to a well-defined part of her body, and left. Damn you! he said to himself while buying chocolates
in a bar not far from Lilli’s shop. What the hell are you doing? You’ve only
been wearing your rank for a short time and you’re already behaving like a
playboy. Why on earth did you turn around? He was privately offended for not having dominated
and controlled his instincts. But then he looked at the chocolates and thought
of Lisa and the florist was forgotten. He arrived at the entrance to her building, hesitated
for a second and then entered. The doorman, a man in his fifties wearing a long
coat and white gloves, tipped his hat as he greeted Gigino. ‘Good day, sir.’ Gigino replied but his mind was somewhere else. ‘I
am expected by His Excellency, the counsel of His Majesty, the King of
England,’ he said mechanically. ‘I know,’ the man replied in a jovial voice.
‘The young Miss Stafford has informed me of your imminent arrival. The
apartment is on the fifth floor. The last one. The stairs are to the left.’ Gigino was taken aback. He had not expected the
porter to have received such confidential information. ‘Oh, and I believe you are Flight Lieutenant Luigi
Rossi.’ ‘Thank you,’ Gigino said cautiously, again
shocked that the porter should know his name. He was also uncomfortable with the
man’s smile, informal tone of voice and phrase of speech perhaps meant to
tease. I am a flight officer! I see no reason for anyone to
laugh at me, he thought indignantly. But then the newspaper vendor and the
flower seller came back to his mind. And so … In front of the stairs he looked around. On the left
was the lift. It was not that he hadn’t seen one before but this one was
special. It was made entirely of black cast iron and inside there was a small
bench for the ladies to sit covered in a dark red leather. The gold buttons were
bright and shiny just like the door handles. For sure they must get polished every day, he thought
to himself. He pushed the button and the engine began to stir. He felt himself
being jolted from the ground. The lift was climbing rapidly and this concerned
him a bit. ‘Too quick. Slow down!’ he whispered to himself
as he looked up towards the lift’s destination. He realised that his hands
were sweating and he felt not unlike he did on the day he had stood before his
colleagues and received his pilot’s wings. He was emotional, tense and
nervous. How would this meeting go? He managed to sweep such thoughts away as the lift
came to an abrupt halt. Just as he had done when his captain had called out his
name and pinned the eagle wings to his uniform. From the corner of his eye he
had seen his mother crying, his father sitting proudly. And just like then, he
was determined to keep his mind as clear and focused as possible. He quickly went through the English he knew and gave
himself a once over in the little gold-framed mirror in the lift. I am Flight Lieutenant Luigi Rossi, he thought. He
looked at the eagle on his uniform and again he felt invincible. He found himself in front of a heavy dark wood oak
door. A shiny little brass plaque indicated the name ‘ In a matter of seconds it flung open and Lisa
appeared before him breathless and smiling as if she had just finished telling a
funny story and was happy to oblige the new arrival with the tale. She looked
more beautiful than ever wearing a light green chiffon dress. Simple yet
tailor-made to fit her tall slender frame. Together they made a dramatically handsome couple.
She with her wavy shoulder-length blonde hair, light green eyes and pale white
skin and he even taller with his intense blue eyes, muscular body and skin as
dark as hers was light. Her rosy cheeks expressed an excitement she could
barely contain. She had run towards the door overtaking the domestic help and
her mother, who was now standing behind her smiling. ‘Buongiorno, Lisa, Signora Stafford.’
Gigino bit his tongue, frustrated that after all his preparation his first words
to Mrs Stafford were in Italian! What a gaffe. This wasn’t starting out well. ‘Buongiorno,’ Mrs Stafford responded,
accentuating the friendly smile she had on her lips. She was a beautiful woman. Perhaps a little bit
taller than her daughter but in many aspects a carbon copy of Elisabeth, only a
more mature version. The freckles that she certainly must have had in her
youth were now almost gone leaving in their place a pale rose complexion. Her
high cheekbones and slightly turned-up nose, typical of people from more
northern countries, made that face unforgettable. Her wavy hair, reddish blonde
in colour, was worn in a bob cut. A style more suited to the twenties fashion
than the thirties. Her dress, which was tight around the waist, revealed
a delicate yet well-proportioned figure and around her neck she wore a string of
pearls with two smaller ones as earrings. Elegant simplicity, Gigino thought.
Such a contrast is she to my mother. He shivered at the thought that one day the
two women would meet. The lady of the house continued in Italian but with a
strong English accent. ‘Please do come in.’ She stood aside and indicated with an open arm the
long corridor behind her. Gigino was standing at the door with the flowers and
chocolates in his hands and suddenly the moment seemed to overcome him. His legs
refused to budge. It was then that Lisa stepped forward and drew Gigino gently
towards her and away from the open door. ‘What beautiful flowers. Look, Mother!’ ‘Yes. These are for you, madame,’ Gigino said,
quickly regaining his composure and presenting the flowers, which were
intercepted by the maid together with the chocolates. ‘Very nice. Thank you,’ Mrs Stafford replied, and
towards the maid, ‘Put them in a crystal vase, Giannina, and place them on the
coffee table in the living room if you could. We’ll have the chocolates with
our tea then.’ Lisa took Gigino’s gloves and hat and placed them
on one of the side tables near the entrance. For a second she considered him
from head to toe, her eyes affirming the unabashed pride she held for the
handsome young officer she could call her own. Gigino noticed that a portrait of the king of
England, of almost life-size proportions, hung grandly above the little table,
but he had no more time to look as Lisa took him firmly by the hand and
accompanied him down the corridor. At its end facing the entrance he could clearly see a
rather large window made up of several brightly coloured pieces of glass that
filtered the sunlight into the room reflecting it into hundreds of spectrums of
light. In front of the window stood a pink marble column with a black statue of
a young girl holding a bow and arrow on top. Gigino had never seen such things
outside of a museum and certainly not in a person’s house before. He also took in several fine oil paintings, mainly of
the English countryside, set in heavy gilt-edged frames that hung on either side
of the corridor’s elevated walls. ‘What a beautiful house, Mrs Stafford. And what a
beautiful building too,’ Gigino commented, trying to conceal his awe. ‘Thank you, Lieutenant,’ Mrs Stafford replied
cordially as she led the three down the seemingly endless corridor. ‘And my
compliments to your Italian too. It’s very good.’ ‘Thank you, but I find it rather imperfect,’ she
replied as she turned to Gigino, gently nodding her head. ‘I have lessons
every day with a teacher from a college run by the nuns at ‘Yes, madame. I believe I do.’ ‘She comes to our apartment every day and I find
her very good.’ ‘And patient,’ Lisa replied smiling. Gigino relaxed a little. Mrs Stafford was indeed very
nice and easy to talk to. Lisa had told him as much but he was afraid she had
only said this to reassure him. The three stopped abruptly at a room to the right of
the corridor’s end. Gigino knew he would find Rupert there. He felt his heart
step up a beat as he entered last after Mrs Stafford and Lisa. The room was very large and the furniture, if Gigino
were not mistaken, of English and French origin. At the end of the room was a
lit fireplace with a large brass hearth across it. Two big armchairs with wide
backs, certainly very comfortable, faced it. How marvellous it must be reading in one of those
armchairs in front of a well-lit fire, Gigino thought as he walked towards it. From behind one of the armchairs Mr Stafford
appeared. He stood slowly, yet with ease and composure, as a man with inner
confidence would. He was a tall lean man with a thin moustache just like Errol
Flynn’s. His hair was evenly parted down the middle and light brown in colour.
A pair of perfectly ironed golden-brown trousers clashed with an indigo shirt
and crimson cotton vest. Around his neck he wore a foulard or, as it was
then called in ‘How do you do,’ he said, approaching Gigino with
his right hand extended. Oh no, here we come with English, Gigino thought,
concentrating. ‘How do you do, sir.’ And so you answer. ‘So you are the young lieutenant that my daughter
speaks so much of,’ Mr Stafford promptly stated in Italian, shaking his hand. He had a good firm handshake. This was a very
important sign for Gigino. His uncle, who owned a building firm, had taught him
how to judge people by their handshakes long ago. His technique, not unlike his
personality, was very simple and straightforward. It consisted of first checking the pressure. If it
was too strong that indicated a personality that wanted to impress at all costs.
Negative judgment therefore. Too loose indicated a weak personality. Not virile
and often cowardly and insincere. Very negative judgement all together. Holding
the hand for too long indicated a domineering personality. Letting go too soon,
the opposite. Franco’s way of judging was perhaps a little naïve
but Gigino had had the opportunity to test his wisdom on many an occasion and
with time had come to see its merit. Another one of Uncle Franco’s, or Chicchino’s, as
he was often called, favourite words of wisdom was ‘a hundred measurements,
only one cut.’ How true, Gigino thought. One should always think carefully
before making a decision. For while many choices may seem at your disposal, once
the final cut is taken, there can be no going back. Unfortunately, so much popular wisdom had not had a
great effect on Chicchino’s oldest son, Marcello, who, while all in all a good
guy, was far from a pillar of society. Marcello enjoyed a beautiful life in the
city spending his father’s money on cars, women and at the gambling tables. He
also squandered the money that was destined to pay his father’s workers. But
that was another story. Who can say which of his many maxims Chicchino would
have found most appropriate for this situation, Gigino thought. ‘Very nice to meet you, your Excellency. Flight
Lieutenant Luigi Rossi at your service,’ Gigino replied also in Italian, happy
that Mr Stafford had made an effort to communicate in his language. The Englishman continued, ‘Please take a seat.’ This time he spoke in English indicating an armchair
in the corner of the room near a rather large window. It was part of an elegant
set and Lisa rushed with such haste towards the other chair that Gigino was
reminded of the game where the music ends and whoever isn’t able to find a
seat fast enough is out. He smiled openly, realising that Lisa’s parents
were also smiling and most probably thinking the same thing.
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