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THE SWEET HILLS OF FLORENCE
Jan Wallace Dickinson has lived and worked in both Italy and Australia for more than twenty-five years. She has a wide range of commercial and academic experience at all levels, in both countries. Her particular interest is Italian literature and history, and she has worked as an editor, translator and bookseller.
Ai partigiani
For Alice and Tom
THE SWEET HILLS OF FLORENCE
Jan Wallace Dickinson
Published by Hybrid Publishers
Melbourne Victoria Australia
© Jan Wallace Dickinson 2018
This publication is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced by any process without prior written permission from the publisher. Requests and inquiries concerning reproduction should be addressed to the Publisher, Hybrid Publishers, PO Box 52, Ormond, VIC. Australia 3204.
First published 2018
ISBN 9781925272840 paperback
ISBN 9781925282542 ebook
Cover design by Art on Order
LIST OF CHARACTERS
Anna Maria: elderly servant, husband Sesto
Annabelle Albizzi: youngest child of Achille (Papà) and Eleanora (Mamma)
Benito Mussolini (Ben, Il Duce): leader of National Fascist Party, Prime Minister
Bruno: Ben’s son who died
Carla (Elena) Capponi: works for underground, loves Paolo
Clara (Claretta) Petacci: Mussolini’s lover, daughter of Dr Francesco and Giuseppina Petacci
Delia (Dellie): youngest child of Umberto (Bert) and Madeleine Morton (Maddie), sister of Frank and Tom, granddaughter of Achille
Edda (Countess Ciano) and Galeazzo Ciano: daughter and son-inlaw of Mussolini
Elena: Mussolini’s daughter from mistress Angela Curti Cucciati, works in his office
Elsa Albizzi: Annabelle’s aunt, mother of Enrico
Enrico: Francesco and Elsa’s only son, Achille’s nephew, first cousin to Annabelle and Delia
Francesco Albizzi: Achille’s older brother, Annabelle’s uncle, father of Enrico
Giacomo: Annabelle’s brother
'little' Anna Maria: Ben's daughter who is not normal
Lorenzo (Enzo): Annabelle’s second cousin; son of Michele and Elisabetta
Marcello (Marc): Clara’s brother
Myriam (Mimi): Clara’s sister
Nonna Annabelle: Annabelle Drummond, Australian, mother of Achille & Francesco, grandmother of Annabelle, for whom she was named
Nonna Lucrezia: Annabelle’s great-grandmother
Rachele Guidi: Mussolini’s wife
Roberto: second cousin to Annabelle and Enrico
Romano: Ben’s son
Rosario (Paolo) Bentivegna: works for underground
Umberto (Bert), Annabelle’s brother
Vittorio: Ben’s eldest son
PART ONE
CHAPTER 1
Florence 1941
The Day of the Dead
Mussolini did not feel the rain. Straining tall in the open tourer beside his great friend, the Führer, his exaltation would have overcome a blizzard. The Official State Visit. All the pomp of the preceding visits had paved the way for this. It was a long way from Predappio. He would suffer now with his usual cold – could feel it coming on, but just this once he did not care. He clenched his teeth, praying his nose would not drip. He clenched his hands too, arms rigid at his sides, legs wide apart to maintain his balance in the lurching vehicle. Chest puffed to bursting point, he managed to maintain his stony expression, only with great effort. A certain dignity was required, and really, the difference in height between him and Hitler was barely a few centimetres.
‘We passed like two gods over the clouds,’ he boasted to Clara that evening.
The streets glistened. The wheels of the cavalcade sucked and slobbered at the paving stones and tram tracks, spraying grubby water onto the shoes and trousers of the welcoming citizens. Duce! Duce! Duce! Heil Hitler! Heil Hitler!
Standing beside her father, Annabelle could smell his rage, more pungent than sweat.
‘Pagliaccio! Fantoccio! Vigliacco!’ Quietly. The time for shouting was past. A clown, a puppet, a coward. Achille would rather be dead than see this day – he said it over and over – but he had Annabelle and her mother to think about. Hysteria, he said. Hysteria. His long, narrow face was more lugubrious than ever. The chanting and salutes soared on the frosty air. A brass band played.
In sunshine, the colours of Florence were golden: ochre, sienna, umber. In today’s rain, the colours seeped and ran together into grey and greyer. Achille averted his eyes from the sodden swastikas drooping from the buildings, their scarlet and black piercing the drear of the day – the only colour anywhere. His muttering was in monotone too – he wondered they hadn’t put them on the Duomo as well … his own father saw that icing-sugar facade go up after so many centuries … thank God he was dead and couldn’t see this, not that he, Achille, believed in God … only an expression. And so on and so on.
November, the worst weather of the year. Annabelle’s nose and eyes were streaming, her lacy handkerchief a soggy mess. Her father handed her his own sensible, monogrammed one. She blew and wiped and sniffled, facing the procession. Her eyes flicked back and forth like a small animal in a forest, searching the crowd for Enrico. Please let him have stayed away, or if he came, please let him not do anything stupid, or if he did, please let him get away.
‘The imbecile,’ said Achille. ‘The country is broke, the army is
