A Postcard from Italy

Grace lifted her phone up and took several pictures of the Venice Grand Canal painting, wondering if she should put some filters on to enhance the scene, but thought better of it as Ellis would most likely need to see the original work in all its naked glory. She repeated the process with all the paintings, and there were a dozen at least, many in the same style. They couldn’t make out the marking in the bottom right corner; it wasn’t even a proper signature and gave them no clues as to whether Connie herself was the artist. The thought had crossed Grace’s mind, though, after reading her diaries – the imaginative style of her writing showed that she clearly had a creative talent. Perhaps painting was in her repertoire, too, and that’s why she went to Italy … to capture its beauty on canvas.

Twenty minutes later, and Grace had photos of every painting.

‘I’ll email them to you,’ she told Larry as he stowed the last painting back in its place.

‘Thank you, Grace. I’m so pleased we have you here with all the good ideas,’ he said kindly.

‘Really?’ she said without thinking, unused to impromptu praise.

‘Of course,’ he nodded. ‘And don’t be worrying about being late now and again, I know it’s hard for you at home.’ A silence hung in the air between them as Grace studied a fingernail. ‘The important thing is that we have you here.’

‘Thank you,’ she managed quietly, fearful now that Larry being nice might make her emotional.

As if sensing this, he jovially added, ‘So how about we have a lovely cup of tea?’

‘I’d like that,’ she breathed, grateful to be talking about something else. ‘And Larry …’ She hesitated, wondering if he would agree to another idea.

‘Go on,’ he prompted.

‘Well, I was wondering if I could take some pictures of Connie’s diaries and letters too? I know I can’t take the originals home, but I could read through them when I’m up in the nigh—’ She stopped talking. ‘Um, if I get time,’ she added. Larry looked at her, momentarily hesitating, as if he wanted to say something more but wasn’t sure if he should.

‘Grace, you can read through them here tomorrow,’ he settled for a few seconds later. ‘There’s really no need to take on more work, I’m sure you have enough to be getting on with at home as it is …’

‘But I’m not sure I can wait until then. Please Larry, it will give me something interesting to do …’ She looked away, disliking how desperate she sounded. But it was the truth. The thought of delving into Connie’s life gave her a sense of purpose, and it would be a break too from the monotony of her usual night-time routine of waiting for her mother to fall asleep … just so she could do something for herself, if only for a short while, uninterrupted, and without fear of being bellowed at and then chastised for not coming to her aid fast enough.

‘Well, in that case, I’ll get the jewellery box into the safe while you get cracking on reading more of that diary to see if you can spot some clues.’

A little while later, Larry returned with two mugs of tea.

‘Betty made it just how you like it,’ he said, handing a mug to her. ‘And said to give you this too.’ He pulled a bundle wrapped in kitchen towel from his pocket. Inside was another generous slice of Betty’s delicious babka. ‘She also said I was to give you a hand with going through Mrs Donato’s things and she’ll take care of the invoice letters.’

‘Oh, that’s kind of her. And thank you, Larry.’ Her eyes lit up as she took the cake. She hadn’t had time again to eat a proper lunch, just half a homemade ham sandwich on the bus back to work. But at least Cora had agreed to serving herself a cheese ploughman’s with a big buttered baguette and tomato soup from a flask while Grace had Googled local engineers in the hope that one could come and take a look at the washing machine that was now playing up. She devoured the cake and took a slurp of tea while Larry lifted the first suitcase from the pile and flipped open the lid.

‘Well I never! There must be dozens of diaries, letters and papers in here,’ he said, placing his hands on his hips in preparation for the mammoth task ahead. ‘Right, let’s make a start. I’ll open and place each one on the chaise longue while you snap a pic, and then I’ll put it all back in the suitcase afterwards. If we get a system going then we might be done by home time …’

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My truelove is never coming home! I swear my heart shattered into a thousand tiny pieces as my knees buckled and I grasped the back of an armchair on hearing the news. Mother and Father travelled all the way here on the train to Tindledale especially to tell me themselves. Killed in a training exercise is what Father explained, with his head bowed and black fedora hat pressed to his chest as he imparted the terribly sad news in the middle of Aunt Maud’s sitting room. Mother put a steadying hand on my arm as she passed her best embroidered hanky towards me. I managed to control my emotions, though, and didn’t cry until I was alone upstairs in the bedroom.

Hitler has a lot to answer for!

This world is so cruel.

Poor Jimmy will never see the baby that is kicking its tiny feet as it grows within me, and this darling soul will never feel the love of the marvellous father that I know Jimmy would have been. The father that poor Jimmy could and should have had the chance to be if he hadn’t gone off to learn how to fight in Hitler’s phoney war! Not even a proper war.

Mother says adoption is the only option now, especially as I’m unmarried and will not be in any fit state to deal with the grief as well as look after a new baby all on my own. Because that is what I shall be: alone! An unwed mother. Not even my best friend, Kitty, knows of my predicament. There was no time for me to even get a message to her before I was sent away, and Mother says she saw her at the station going off to join the Land Army in Oxfordshire, so I can’t burden her with my troubles when she needs to concentrate on doing her bit for the war effort. Mother also says it won’t be long now until baby arrives. But how can I bear to be parted from Jimmy’s child when it is all I have left in the world? And this poor mite doesn’t deserve to be abandoned to strangers who never even knew Jimmy. How will they ever be able to tell our child what a marvellous man he was?

In the lounge below her mother’s bedroom, with her laptop on her knees, having transferred the pictures of Connie’s paperwork from her mobile, Grace felt a solitary tear trickle down the side of her nose as she wished she could reach into poor Connie’s diary and sweep her up into an enormous hug. Although Jimmy had died a lifetime ago, Grace knew the sense of loss for a life you thought you were going to have never really goes away, and she wondered if Connie still felt it after all these years … if it turned out that she was still alive. And Grace was even more hopeful now that her instinct was wrong and Connie was still here.