“We’d take quite good care of them and return them to the Villa. 206 aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a charming place. I’ve seen you about. They tell me you’re an American.”
“Yes.”
“I’m English.”
“No!”
“Yes, English. Did you think I was Italian? There were some Italians with one of our units.”
“It would be fine if you would take the cars,” I said.
“We’ll be most careful of them,” he straightened up. “This chap of yours was very anxious for me to see you.” He patted Gordini on the shoulder. Gordini winced and smiled. The Englishman broke into voluble and perfect Italian. “Now everything is arranged. I’ve seen your Tenente . We will take over the two cars. You won’t worry now.” He broke off, “I must do something about getting you out of here. I’ll see the medical wallahs. We’ll take you back with us.”
He walked across to the dressing station, stepping carefully among the wounded. I saw the blanket open, the light came out and he went in.
“He will look after you, Tenente ,” Gordini said.
“How are you, Franco?”
“I am all right.” He sat down beside me. In a moment the blanket in front of the dressing station opened and two stretcher-bearers came out followed by the tall Englishman. He brought them over to me.