been quiet, she would have kept any secret. And that was how I found out that she’d never revealed mine that night in the portego – the night I spied on the Maleovellis as they dined with the Moronisinis. Hafeza would never, never tell, especially not the dreadful secret about Giaconda and Signor Maleovelli, the one that I now knew we shared.
A noise of sheer despair finally broke my concentration. It was Hafeza. Her mouth was contorted in a rictus and I could see the stump of her tongue flapping in her mouth. Dismayed that I could cause such pain, such alarm, I stopped extracting and began to distil, quickly, using all my power. I wanted to hasten forgetfulness, allow this dear, sweet woman I had judged so wrongly the panacea of oblivion.
‘No! No!’
It took me a moment to realise the sounds came from Hafeza. I was so stunned to hear her voice, I dropped my guard. With a forceful shove, she separated us. She scrambled to her feet and stood panting, her hand on her chest, her eyes wide as they stared at me.
‘Hafeza.’ I held my arms out. She threw up her own to stop me. ‘Mi dispiace,’ I said, my voice hollow. ‘How can you ever forgive me?’ I took in her tortured face, at the memories I’d brought to the surface caused by a lifetime of servitude to those who had brutalised her. The lines were heavy, the sadness etched all over her ageing mien. ‘Oh God,’ I said, and sank back to my knees, my head dropping into my hands. ‘Forgive me, forgive me.’
A gentle pressure on my head caused me to look up. Hafeza was stroking my hair. ‘Don’t touch me!’ I cried. But she ignored me and, picking up my hands, clasped them in her own aged, dry ones and held them over her heart. She knelt and gave me a tremulous smile. I inhaled deeply before shakily returning it.
‘Forgive me, Hafeza. I should never have doubted you.’
She placed a finger against my lips, and instead released my hands and opened her arms. I fell into them. In that instance, I opened myself to Hafeza. Just as I had discovered aspects of her I did not know existed, I allowed her to see inside me as well. For the first time since Dante, I gave of myself in a way I never had before – my hopes, my secrets, my dashed dreams.
I began to cry – quiet, deep sobs that tore at my chest and spilled into Hafeza’s. Tears rolled down her cheeks as we comforted each other, sharing an awareness of what we once were and what, under the Maleovellis, we’d allowed ourselves to become.
WITH THE MALEOVELLIS AND TARLO GONE, the casa was suddenly quiet. Servants had retired to their dining area downstairs, Jacopo was locked in his study, and at last Hafeza was able to attend to the disruption the preparation of her two charges had caused.
Folding Tarlo’s undergarments, Hafeza found herself thinking over what had happened this morning – what the little Estrattore had done. With a soft smile, Hafeza stroked the delicate fabric of her camicia before stowing it away. It reminded her of Tarlo – fragile and yet with an inner strength that only a fool would underestimate. She knew that now. Did the Maleovellis, she wondered? They must, she thought, otherwise they would not be intending to kill her.
With a heartfelt sigh, Hafeza blew out the candles around the room. She stood in the semi-darkness, in front of the fire, staring into the flames. There was so much to do before Giaconda and Tarlo came home, and yet she found she could not attend to her duties just yet.
She’d known that Tarlo had not had an easy life; one had only to remember what she’d been like when she first came to Casa Maleovelli. The way she would flinch if an arm was raised near her, how those eyes would darken with despair if she thought she’d hurt someone’s feelings; how she would try so hard not be noticed, quietly slinking around corners, melting into chairs and walls. Hafeza sighed. She knew those signs all too well.
Only something had changed Tarlo. She remembered the day she first noticed it. The day that Tarlo, despite Hafeza’s inability to reply, stopped speaking to her. Later she also stopped smiling. Hafeza, who had thought she’d finally found someone she could nurture, had despaired. Like Tarlo, she’d also withdrawn into herself,