The Triangle

CHAPTER ONE
Italy 1936

The image gradually formed, sharp and clear in the tray of developer. After all these years, Paul never tired of the magic of the photographic darkroom. Tall and slender, wearing his working apron, he bent over the bench. Although the picture was in monochrome the blue collar punctuated with gold shields and inlaid with semi-precious stones looked well. He called his wife, who was serving in their shop in the front of the studio.

'Amy. I have a photo for you to see. It cries out for your touch. It needs to be hand tinted in colour.'

'I will come in a moment, I have a customer here.'

'It is not ready yet. I will tell you when I have fixed it.'

The regalia was certainly impressive. Years ago the Worshipful Master had asked Paul to take it to his studio after the last meeting at the Lodge. There had been an unusual note of urgency in the Worshipful Master's voice, when he suggested that he took it to his studio and hid it. Paul now understood why.

With the Fascists coming to power there could be no knowing when or where the Brethren would meet again. At the time the request seemed strange. This symbol of office seldom left the Lodge, except on an annual trip to one of the Brethren, a jeweller, who would add another gold shield and stone before it was passed to the next holder.

The Blackshirts had seized the Lodge and smashed its contents, but the Worshipful Master had already hidden the register of Brethren . He and a few others had gone on meeting, but in absolute secrecy, in back rooms and Cafés.

Paul began to wash the photographic image. Suddenly there was a splintering sound. He could hear his wife screaming in reception. Then the din of raised voices came from the studio. Not bothering that he fogged the image over which he had taken such care, he flung open the darkroom door.