Page 64 of When We Were Enemies
Which is why things got so mixed up with Trombello. He’s a sort of a plant, I think. A man of God living undercover as a man of war or perhaps the other way around. Which uniform did he choose, and which was forced upon him?
“Miss Santini, you’re needed in the clearing.” A guard helps me out of the jeep. My heels, borrowed from Mary, sink into the soft soil.
The prisoners have gathered around the archbishop. A knee-high wooden cross sticks out from the ground like a marker for a grave that hasn’t been dug yet. Even with the June sun high in the sky, I shiver at the thought.
I haven’t seen Trombello since dinner in the POW mess hall, and I’ve been preoccupied with confusion about Tom and excitement about Archie’s business card I carry with me, but I still think of Trombello often. Mostly, I feel foolish for the strange reaction I had to the man who turned out to be a priest. Not that he’d given any indication he’d ever considered me anything other than an interpreter.
And though he’s handsome, I’m not touched by his physical appearance. I’m not drawn to him like I’m drawn to Tom, who can make my insides boil in a delicious heat with one touch. I’m drawn to theideaof Antonio Trombello, that there are men in this world who are both strong and kind.
Perhaps it’s the godly part of him I crave. Perhaps my silly, romantic mind had taken over, and instead of seeing Trombello’s kindness and patience for what it was—a sign of his religion and life’s work—I took it to mean something more.
But it means nothing.
It has to mean nothing.
“Buongiorno, signorina!” Trombello greets me with a wave that makes my heart flutter.
It has to mean nothing,I remind myself, clutching the leather satchel with the plans and paperwork across my body.
“Buongiorno, Padre,” I respond, muted and without meeting his lively eyes. He speaks to me in Italian, so fast I almost can’t keep up.
“Come and meet the Most Reverend Amleto Cicognani. He’s finished his dedicatory prayer and would like to meet you.”
“Meet me? Are you sure?” I smooth my skirt and tidy my hair, wondering how the archbishop knows I exist.
“Yes—all the men have had your name on their lips.Parlano bene di lei.”
“Singing my praises? Without an interpreter?”
“I did my best,” he says in English before returning to Italian. “And it seems Lieutenant Colonel Gammell spoke of you as well.”
I blush at the thought. As a secretary, I’m supposed to fade into the background, my work invisible, though necessary. But Trombello seems to be saying I’m important. Me. Vivian Santini. The praise doesn’t match the level of my work on the project.
“I’m only doing my assignment.”
“False modesty is a form of dishonesty,” he says, wagging his finger. The mention of deceit stirs up my guilty conscience.
My heels catch on a clump of prairie grass, and I stumble.
“Attenta, signorina!” Trombello grasps my elbow, and I steady myself immediately.
“I’m sorry. My shoes aren’t meant for trekking, I guess,” I joke to calm my nerves and to distract myself from his hand on my arm.
“I suppose, no.” He grips a little tighter but without any aggression, putting pressure on the bruise from when Tom yanked me into the car on Friday. I flinch.
“I hurt you?” he asks, stopping to inspect my arm. His eyes land on the bruise. I tried to cover it with makeup before work, but with the heat and the sweat from my skin and Trombello’s hand, it’s rubbed off.
“No, no. That’s from another day. I ... I ...” I stammer through an explanation, every lie since my talk with Father Theodore sending up flares of guilt. What would it help to tell Trombello about my difficulties with Tom? This is what I don’t understand—how do I tell the truth when it could hurt Tom’s reputation or my own?
“I fell, and ... and someone caught me. I’m lucky. It could’ve been worse.” When I hear the false story, it sounds true, even to me.
But Trombello raises one eyebrow.
“You should see a doctor,” he says, sounding overprotective.
“It’s just a bruise. I’m all right.”
He squints and takes a survey of the rest of my exposed skin, but not in a lecherous way. More like he’s looking for any further damage.
