Page Title

SYNOPSIS

A WWII adventure set in Italy

Count Vincenzo Di Tomasi's student son dies in a street brawl in Padua. His father is convinced Mussolini's Black Shirts are responsible. Fearing for the safety of his English wife and younger son, Joe, he sends them to England.

Seeking revenge, Vincenzo is drawn into a world of danger and intrigue when he joins the Italian Resistance. The War turns in favour of the Allies and when his Tuscan village comes under threat from the Nazis, Vincenzo is ready to make the ultimate sacrifice.

In England, Joe is heartbroken after his father is reported missing presumed killed. Then a letter arrives telling him that Vincenzo has survived. But the reunion between father and son reveals more than Joe bargained for.

PROLOGUE

Padua 1939

The man held his breath and listened, his muscles taut, his nerve-ends pulsating. Something was wrong. Pivoting on his heel, he ran back the way he'd come, moving noiselessly in his rubber-soled shoes, his black clothing merging him into the darkness.

The students he'd been with earlier were still gathered around tables outside the café. They were in high-spirits as they made the most of their final weekend of freedom before the start of the new academic year. They seemed oblivious to the threat closing in on them as Europe prepared itself for war.

He looked up at the clear night sky, and felt foolish. Was he becoming paranoid? This was just a normal Saturday evening. Glittering stars danced their subservience to an almost full moon; the strains of a Benny Goodman melody reached him from a first floor apartment. He sniffed as the aroma of simmering garlic, tomatoes and olive oil enticed saliva to his mouth.

The waiter brought out more drinks, sidestepping a couple of the students who had embarked on a good-natured wrestling match. The onlooker heaved a sigh, recalling his own days at university some ten years before. Knuckling his fist in self-chastisement, he muttered under his breath, "What am I worrying about, there's nothing out of order here?" A pang of hunger reminded him that his dinner would be waiting on the table for him at home. He turned to leave, then gave a start as the sound of caterwauling sent a foraging mongrel streaking into a nearby alley. Yes, he grinned, this was just a normal Saturday evening.

Normal? Not quite. He tensed. The scuff of a footstep, the hint of a movement; was his imagination playing tricks on him? Dio Santo! There was someone lurking in the shadows. An informer, worse? He must warn the students. Under cover of the buildings, he edged towards the café, stopping at fifty yards to try to capture their attention but not one of them cast him a glance. Reckless youths, why hadn't they gone off to distribute the tell-tale leaflets right away? More movement, more footsteps. Merda! He wiped sweaty hands down his trousers and, moistening his lips, gave a low whistle.

One of the students looked up. The man saw him freeze and knew that he too had seen a movement. The boy turned to alert his companions. Too late! A squad of Black Shirts armed with batons and rifles stormed towards the café.

CHAPTER ONE

Castagnetto 1939

Count Vincenzo Di Tomasi let the telephone receiver slip through his fingers. It clinked as it swayed against the table leg. His thoughts whirled. This couldn't be true. Enzo would never have become embroiled in a street brawl. Yes, his son was high-spirited, a little headstrong perhaps but he was the last person to pick a fight. He had no need. He could outwit any opponent with a tongue-lashing. In his mind, he re-ran the call he had just received: polite, formal, but false. This was a cover-up for something far more sinister than a fight between students. His eyes widened with realisation: Enzo had been murdered!

He felt nausea rising and dashed upstairs two at a time, reaching the toilet with seconds to spare. After the first bout of sickness had passed, he kicked the bathroom door shut and tried to regain his breath. But his recently consumed dinner refused to remain in his stomach and the retching began again. It was 15 minutes before he felt stable enough to leave the security of the bathroom.

He heard Alice come out from the sitting room. "Someone left the phone off the hook," she called up to him. "Was it you, Vincenzo?"

He wiped a handkerchief across his mouth and grunted, "Sorry, dearest, I forgot to put it back."

She gave a laugh. "It must have been an interesting call for you to forget a thing like that. Are you coming down for some coffee?"

Coffee! He needed something stronger than coffee. His heart pounded in his chest. How was he going to break the news to Alice? Enzo had always been the apple of her eye, the son who favoured her Anglo-Saxon side of the family.

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