Mr Ronconi opened the kitchen door. He saw Bethan in the passage and his face broke into an enormous smile. ‘It’s so long since you’ve come to see us, it’s wonderful to have you here. Come in, come in. You too, Evan.’ His face paled as Evan stepped forward and he saw Huw Davies behind him.
‘It’s the boys!’ Mrs Ronconi’s hand flew to her mouth as a sob caught in her throat.
‘I don’t know anything about the boys, Mrs Ronconi,’ Huw assured her quickly.
‘Then why are you here?’
Huw looked at Mr Ronconi. In all his years of policing he’d never felt as ashamed of having to do his duty as he did now. The only thing that stopped him walking out through the door was the thought that the next man who came to arrest Mr Ronconi might not have the same respect for the family that he did. ‘I’ve come to take you into custody, Mr Ronconi.’
An incredulous silence settled over the passage. The five younger children crowded behind their parents. Tina followed them, opening the door wider. To Huw’s amazement it was Mrs Ronconi who regained her composure first.
‘Please come in, constable, Bethan, Mr Powell.’ She stepped back into the kitchen, where Laura was already halfway through making tea. ‘You five, into the parlour,’ she ordered the younger children sharply.
‘But Mama …’ Alfredo whined.
‘Now! And if you need something to do you can learn your catechism.’
Laura’s baby whimpered; she picked him up and put him on her shoulder as Alfredo led the solemn column of children past the visitors in the passage.
‘Is this something to do with what happened outside the Tumble café today?’
‘No.’ Huw took a deep breath, realising that Mrs Ronconi hadn’t understood the meaning of the word ‘custody’. ‘After Mussolini’s declaration of war on the Allies today, all Italian nationals have been given the status of enemy aliens. I’ve come to take Mr Ronconi to an internment camp.’
‘Internment … you mean arrest?’ As comprehension dawned, Mrs Ronconi clung instinctively to her husband. ‘But why? We live here. This has been my home for over twenty years, and my husband’s even longer. We are not enemy aliens –’
‘I know that, Mrs Ronconi,’ Huw agreed. ‘And if it were up to me, I’d wring the neck of whoever gave the order. But the fact remains that Mr Ronconi’s name was on a list that came into the station this afternoon from the Ministry. You never took out British citizenship?’
‘I never saw any reason to,’ Mr Ronconi acknowledged. ‘I am Italian. I was proud to be until Mussolini came along.’
‘But they can’t intern him,’ Mrs Ronconi pleaded. ‘Not with two of our boys in the Guards, fighting in France. Please, let him stay with us,’ she begged, refusing to relinquish her hold on her husband’s arm.
‘I can’t,’ Huw apologised wretchedly. ‘The fact remains Mussolini came down on the wrong side today and a lot of innocent people are going to suffer. There’s nothing I can do except take Mr Ronconi in, and plead his case as far as I can. I’m sorry, sir. Believe me I’m sorry. It’s not just you. There’s someone from almost every Italian family in Pontypridd and the Rhondda on the list we’ve been given. We’re arresting old friends …’
‘I understand.’ Mr Ronconi straightened his back. ‘Have I time to get my coat?’ he asked with immense dignity.
‘And pack a few things. Winter things as well. No one knows where they’ll be sending you.’
‘I’ll pack your bag, Papa.’ Laura handed her baby to Bethan and left the room.
‘No!’ Mrs Ronconi clung to her husband as he tried to follow Laura. ‘You’re not taking him. You can’t. It’s not right. Our sons fight for your army and you take him …’
‘Not
your
army, Mama,’ her husband corrected. ‘It’s “our”. We’re all fighting the Fascists. And Constable Davies has no choice but to do his duty.’ He led his wife to one of the easy chairs. She crumpled into it and began to cry, softly, quietly. Huw could have borne it easier if she’d continued to rant and rave.
‘I’m sorry Mr Ronconi, Mrs Ronconi but there are officers outside who have to search the house.’
‘Now you look for spies here!’ Mrs Ronconi sobbed.
‘On the sheet we had from London it said that you belong to a Fascist organisation.’
‘We don’t belong to any organisations,’ she protested.
‘The Italian club?’ Huw prompted.
‘We meet, we talk about the old country, we drink some wine,’ Mr Ronconi explained in a flat voice.
‘Alexander, Luke?’ Evan looked to where his lodgers were standing in the doorway. ‘Nip down to the house and tell Megan and Phyllis that Mrs Ronconi and the children are joining us for supper.’
‘No …’
‘It’s better that the children are out of the way when the house is searched, Mrs Ronconi,’ Bethan interposed as Luke and Alexander left. ‘If you don’t want to leave while they’re here, Laura and I will stay with you.’
‘Where are you taking my Giacomo?’ Mrs Ronconi demanded of Huw.
‘He’ll be put in a camp. There are a lot of them. I’m not sure which one he’ll be sent to, but he’ll be able to write to you in a day or two.’
Mrs Ronconi rose from her chair. Despite her diminutive size and the weight she was carrying she looked positively regal. ‘Where my husband goes, I go.’
‘Mrs Ronconi, I’m sorry, that’s just not possible.’
‘I go!’ She glared at Huw.
‘Who is going to look after the children if you come with me, Mama?’
‘They can come with us.’
‘Please can I have a few moments alone with my family?’
‘Of course.’ Huw stepped aside. He glanced at Evan and Bethan and motioned with his head to the washhouse. Tina and Gina trailed awkwardly behind them. They stood in the small back yard trying to ignore the heated Italian words flowing out of the kitchen.
‘I’m glad you two are here,’ Huw addressed Gina and Tina. ‘I’ve no choice, I have to call the men in to search the house in a few minutes, and then there’ll be no peace for any of us. What I’m going to say to you now could lose me my job, but I know you’re both sensible girls. Get the businesses out of your father and mother’s names as quickly as possible; tomorrow if it can be arranged. Sell them to British nationals.’
‘Sell them?’ Tina repeated hollowly.
‘In name only,’ he explained hastily. ‘Put them in Laura’s name, or better still Trevor’s, and prepare your mother. The next step is resettlement of the families of enemy aliens into inland areas away from the sea. Rumour has it you’re all going to be moved to the Midlands next week. Probably Birmingham.’
‘But we don’t know anyone in Birmingham,’ Gina protested.
‘You’ll be allowed to stay together. Laura won’t have to go, she’s married to a British national.’
‘But Laura will never be able to manage all three cafés by herself.’ Tina suddenly realised the implications of what Huw was saying. ‘Even if Mama goes, Gina and I will be needed to work …’
‘I’ve told you all that I can. You haven’t much time. Begin looking around for people you can trust right now.’
‘People we can trust, or marry?’ Tina questioned astutely.
‘I know if Will was here he’d marry you, and then you’d be able to stay, which is why I want to do all I can to help. That boy is the closest to a son I’m ever likely to have.’
Tina frowned at her sister. ‘I don’t suppose Luke would consider marrying both of us to get us out of this mess?’
‘How can you joke at a time like this?’ Gina countered indignantly.
‘You want me to cry like Mama?’ Tina asked hotly, trying to close her ears to her mother’s wailings.
‘No, it’s just that …’
‘Come on, Gina.’ Tina caught her by the hand and dragged her back into the house. ‘We have to say goodbye to Papa.’
The morning after Mr Ronconi’s arrest was the first since the German invasion of France that Bethan failed to listen to the news on the wireless. Rising early, she drove down to her father’s house. Leaving Rachel with Megan and Phyllis, she carried on through the town and up the road that led to the Common.
She found her mother and father-in-law in their dining room that overlooked the garden. Her mother-in-law was monitoring the progress the elderly gardener was making in planting out seedlings, in between supervising the maid who was serving breakfast.
‘Bethan, how kind of you to call, and so early.’ Andrew’s mother never failed to make Bethan feel like a grubby, charity case who should be grateful for whatever largesse the lady of the house saw fit to bestow. ‘There’s nothing wrong, is there? Andrew hasn’t been –’
‘I haven’t heard anything from Andrew in over two weeks.’
‘Dear me, no one seems to have heard anything lately. There appears to be quite a hold-up in the military mail.’
‘It’s called a retreat in the face of overwhelming odds, dear,’ her husband informed her baldly.
‘Come in and sit down, Bethan.’ Ignoring her husband, she pulled a chair out from the table. ‘Would you like tea or coffee?’ she asked her daughter-in-law. Remembering working-class preferences, she picked up the teapot.
‘I’d prefer coffee, please,’ Bethan said, being deliberately contrary. ‘I came to see if you can do anything for the Ronconis, Dr John?’ she asked without further preliminaries.
‘I heard that he was arrested last night along with just about every other Italian café owner in Pontypridd.’
‘Arrested?’ his wife echoed. ‘You never told me anything about this.’
‘That’s because you were asleep when I came in. The Vittoris sent for me in the early hours. Old Mrs Vittori became hysterical after the police ransacked their house and took her son away.’
‘I wondered if you could possibly speak for Mr Ronconi?’ Bethan pleaded. ‘After all, you’re head of the practice, and Trevor is Mr Ronconi’s son-in-law.’
‘I’ve already tried,’ he said shortly as his wife poured coffee from a silver pot into a porcelain cup for Bethan. ‘Huw Davies was still at the Vittoris’ when I got there. He told me that Mr Ronconi had been arrested so I went down to the station from the Vittoris’ house. There’s nothing I can do. It’s a War Office, not local, directive. They’ve rounded up every Italian who hasn’t taken out British citizenship, and those they think are members of Fascist organisations. I pointed out that the entire Italian club could be classified as Fascist by that definition, as Mussolini has put every society in Italy and all affiliated organisations under government control, but it was to no avail. And before you say anything about Tony or Angelo, practically every man arrested has at least one son or brother serving in the armed forces.’
Bethan took the coffee her mother-in-law handed her. ‘It was just a thought. Thank you for trying.’
‘You do know the next step is the rounding up of all the wives and children? They’re going to be sent to inland areas well away from the sea.’
‘I heard a rumour,’ she answered vaguely, not wanting to get Huw into any trouble.
‘It’s not just a rumour. A couple of Italian families in the Rhondda have already sold their cafés to their friends. Get Mrs Ronconi to put everything in Laura’s name, if she hasn’t had the sense to do so already.’
‘The problem isn’t one of simply hanging on to the cafés. It’s running them. The Ronconis need the money to live on, but Laura can’t possibly manage all three cafés on her own, not with a baby to look after, and even if I took the baby off her hands she could only look after one place.’
‘Who’s managing them now?’
‘Tina, Gina, and until yesterday Mr Ronconi.’
‘Tina is the one engaged to your cousin William, isn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll see the sergeant this morning and tell him she’s needed to look after Laura for six months to help her to recover from childbirth. He might not believe me, but he doesn’t like what’s happening to the Italians any more than the rest of us, so I think he’ll go along with it. I’m sorry, Bethan, it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do.’ Crumpling his starched linen napkin he threw it over the debris of haddock skin and bones on his plate. ‘This is the unacceptable face of war, the side I’d almost forgotten about. People you’ve known, liked and lived among for years being dubbed enemies and traitors overnight. In the last show it was the poor pork butchers and German bands.’ He rose from his chair and brushed his lips over his wife’s cheek. ‘I would like to stay and talk, but unfortunately I have a surgery starting in ten minutes.’
‘But you’ll see the sergeant about Tina?’
‘As soon as surgery’s over.’
Andrew’s father was as brusque with her as he’d always been, but for the first time Bethan saw a resemblance between him and his son as he stopped to straighten his tie in the hall mirror. There was the same tension in the jawline that denoted an unspoken, tight-lipped anger. Neither he nor Andrew was accustomed to expressing emotions, but she sensed that Dr John was as enraged by the high-handed round-up of the town’s Italian café owners as she was, and even more furious that his hard-won respect and standing in the town was insufficient to put a stop to the senseless persecution.
Bethan stopped off at the Ronconis’ Taff Street restaurant on the way back, to find Alma and Diana trying to console an irritable and highly sensitive Gina. If anything, the place was busier than usual, and when she looked around she realised that what Will and Eddie referred to as the crache ‘be-hatted brigade’ of middle-aged women were out in force sampling teas, coffees and what passed for cakes under wartime rationing conditions. It was good to know that the Italians who had served the community faithfully for so many years weren’t entirely without friends.
‘Tina wouldn’t let me go back to the Tumble after yesterday, she’s running the place herself,’ Gina complained as Bethan joined them.
‘What about the High Street café?’
‘We haven’t opened it this morning. Laura’s gone down the police station with Mama to see if they can find out where they’ve taken Papa. Bethan, what’s going to happen to us?’ For all her outward confidence and air of sophistication, Gina looked very young and very frightened at that moment.
‘I don’t know, Gina.’ Bethan tried to find words that would reassure, but it was difficult without resorting to meaningless platitudes. ‘I wish I did. I’ve asked Andrew’s father to do what he can. As soon as he finds out anything, I’ll let you know. I promise.’
‘If you have trouble finding someone to run the High Street café, I can take over for a few days,’ Diana offered.
‘You’ve got Wyn’s shop to run,’ Gina protested.
‘Wyn and I talked it over this morning. The sweet shop never gets that busy until the early evening cinema rush, and I’ll be able to help him with that if I go straight to the shop after I’ve closed the café. And when Wyn has to go to the hospital for check-ups, Myrtle can take over our shop. Mrs Edwards is always prepared to keep an eye on Wyn’s father for an hour or two.’
‘If you’re serious, we may well take you up on that offer.’
‘We’re serious,’ Diana assured her.
‘I just don’t know how we’d manage without all of you helping us …’ Tears ran down Gina’s cheeks.
‘You won’t need help for long.’ Alma put her arm around Gina’s shoulders. ‘The War Office will soon realise it’s made a mistake and release your father and the others. Look at Charlie – they imposed a curfew on him before taking him into the army, and now they’ve promoted him to sergeant … oh no!’ Alma put her hand over her mouth. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. He warned me not to tell anyone.’
‘Typical Charlie,’ Diana smiled fondly, remembering his reserve when he had lodged with her mother. ‘Trying to keep everything to himself, as if we wouldn’t see the stripes on his uniform when he comes home on leave.’
‘Gina, cook’s gone doolally tap again!’ one of the waitresses shouted up from the basement kitchen.
‘Is he threatening to walk out?’
‘Not yet, but you’ve a better chance of calming him down if you get to him before he reaches that stage.’
‘Tina’s much better at handling him than me. I wish she’d left me in the Tumble café,’ Gina grumbled as she left the table.
‘You’ll cope,’ Bethan called after her as she dived down the stairs.
‘She’ll cope because she has to, like the rest of us.’ Alma arranged the cups the waitress had brought to their table and picked up the coffee pot.
‘And because people like you two are rallying round. Nice relaxing honeymoon you and Wyn are having,’ Bethan said as she handed Diana the milk jug.
‘It seems wrong to take a honeymoon with a war on, besides,’ Diana smiled, ‘Wyn and I are happier keeping busy with the shop.’
‘What it is to be young, in love, and happy,’ Bethan teased gently, winking at Alma.
‘It’s early days, but so far we haven’t thrown anything at each other. The only problem is, Wyn’s too placid to have a really good row with. I’m beginning to find out I can stand anything except being agreed with.’
‘Not much danger of that continuing when William and Eddie get home,’ Bethan warned.
‘Wyn sounds a bit like Charlie. If he doesn’t like something he retreats into silence instead of complaining. It’s infuriating.’
‘I’m not sure that’s such a bad thing, Alma,’ Bethan contributed. ‘Andrew and I have both said things in the heat of the moment we wanted to take back later, but couldn’t.’
‘You and Andrew always seem so happy,’ Diana protested.
‘Not always.’ Seeing a wistful look in Alma’s eyes Bethan decided the conversation was getting too serious. ‘You should have seen his reaction when I starched his underpants the first week we were married.’
‘Did you do it deliberately?’ Alma asked as Diana burst out laughing.
‘Just got carried away when I did the weekly wash. Apparently he spent so much time scratching and wriggling in work, a rumour went round the hospital that he’d picked up body lice.’
‘I think even Charlie would shout if I did that to him.’
‘Have you heard from him recently?’
‘I had a letter today. He says he’s well. I’d rather see for myself, but there doesn’t appear to be any hope of leave, not soon anyway.’
‘I’m sorry, it must be hard.’
‘It’s hard on all of us,’ Alma said resignedly.
‘Harder on you with a business to run.’
‘Not really; the boy I’ve taken on pulls his weight. He’s not as good as William or Eddie of course,’ Alma qualified. ‘Who would be? But he’s willing, and I’m taking on a girl from the workhouse next week in the hope of boosting the brawn and pie production to somewhere near the level it was before Charlie left.’
‘I take my hat off to you for trying.’
‘It keeps me busy. I’m even thinking of expanding.’
‘Expanding!’ Bethan stared at Alma in amazement.
‘Into Wyn’s High Street shop,’ Diana explained. ‘We had to close it because of lack of stock, but if Alma can supply us with brawn, pasties and pies, we’ll reopen it.’
‘You make me feel idle and inadequate.’
‘Idle, with a baby and a house that size to run!’ Alma left her seat and looked across the road at the queue that was forming outside her shop. The ten-minute break was the longest she’d taken in a working day since Charlie had left. ‘Remind Gina I’m only across the road.’
‘We will.’
‘And if there’s anything I can do …’
‘You’ll be the first one we call on,’ Bethan promised.
Tina was sitting at the counter of the Tumble café, a newspaper spread out in front of her and a thunderous look on her face. She glanced up as Bethan walked through the door.
‘Have you seen this?’ Without waiting for Bethan to reply she pushed the copy of the
Daily Mirror
she’d been reading towards her.
NOW EVERY ITALIAN COLONY IN BRITAIN AND AMERICA IS A SEETHING CAULDRON OF SMOKING ITALIAN POLITICS AND BLACK FASCISM HOT AS HELL.
EVEN THE PEACEFUL LAW-ABIDING PROPRIETOR OF A BACK-STREET COFFEE SHOP BOUNCES INTO A FINE PATRIOTIC FRENZY AT THE SOUND OF MUSSOLINI’S NAME.
WE ARE NICELY HONEYCOMBED WITH LITTLE CELLS OF POTENTIAL BETRAYAL, A STORM IS BREWING IN THE MEDITERRANEAN AND WE IN OUR DRONING, SILLY TOLERANCE ARE HELPING IT TO GATHER FORCE.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve been reading this load of drivel?’ Bethan pushed the paper aside in disgust.
‘And not just me by the look of it. Now I know why this place was attacked, our windows smashed, Papa arrested, my mother –’
‘Ssh,’ Bethan warned, as she looked around. Fortunately no one was sitting in the front room of the café.
‘… and why we need a policeman on our doorstep,’ Tina continued to rant.
‘I’ve been to see my father-in-law. I asked him if there was anything he could do to make your family’s situation any easier.’
‘Why should he want to help us?’
‘Because Laura’s married to one of his junior partners. Have you given any thought as to how you’re going to manage the cafés now your father’s left and your mother’s about to be sent away?’
‘We haven’t really had time to talk about it.’
‘You’re going to have to make time.’
‘I know. Laura tried warning Mama that she may have to move last night.’
‘It’s not just your mother, it’s nearly all the Italian families in Pontypridd. Dr John said the same as Huw Davies: you have to put the cafés into Laura’s name as quickly as possible.’
‘What’s the point when there’s no one to run them?’
‘I can help.’
‘You’ve got a baby.’
‘So’s Laura, and looking after two babies is no more work than seeing to one. I can take John any time Laura needs to leave him, and if an extra pair of hands are needed, we’ll leave both babies with Megan and Phyllis.’
‘You’d do that for us?’
‘Aren’t you forgetting Maud’s a Ronconi? That makes us practically sisters, and besides, your family has a lot of friends and customers in Pontypridd. You can’t just close your cafés on them.’
‘So it would appear.’ Tina smiled for the first time since Bethan had walked through the door.
‘If you’re prepared to allow your mother to go wherever they send her with just the younger children, Dr John said he’d go to the police station and tell them Laura needs you to look after her and the baby for six months. It’s not much, but we thought it might help Laura if you were around, and hopefully William will be home before the six months are up. Then you two can get married, and as the wife of a serving soldier no one will be able to order you to go anywhere you don’t want to. Between Laura, you, me and Diana, if Wyn can spare her, we may be able to keep all three cafés open.’