he would expect. Would sacrificing herself to him really save Daniele’s life? Or would he sleep with her first, and betray her later? As sweat broke out on her forehead, she removed her fur hat and backed away from the door.
She began to walk rapidly down the corridor towards the lift. She pressed the button and waited impatiently until it arrived. Stepping inside, she turned to face the corridor and saw Wolff come out of his room. He looked left and right, finally spotting her in the lift.
‘Isabella,’ he shouted, ‘come back.’
She pushed the ground-floor button frantically, but he was already walking purposefully down the corridor towards her. The doors closed in his face and she sank against the mirrored walls.
Back in the lobby, she ran, pushing her way between crowds of officers, out into the street. She stood for a moment on the pavement, wondering where she could hide. Then she remembered the Capuchin church.
She sprinted down Via Veneto and turned onto the side street. Her heart was pounding as she pushed the door that led to the crypt, and to her relief, it opened. Once inside, she stood silently, listening to her own breathing, her heart beating, praying she had not been followed.
Eventually, her heart slowed, her breathing calmed and she began to go over the episode in her mind – her fear about trading her body for Daniele’s life, and her realisation that Wolff would be bound to betray her. Her sacrifice would almost certainly have been for nothing, and yet, as she knelt at the altar in a small chapel in the damp basement crypt, she felt a profound sense of shame.
‘My child, how did you get in here?’ It was a young priest, standing in the doorway to the chapel.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, struggling to her feet, ‘I came through the door from the street.’
‘That door should have been locked,’ he replied kindly. ‘Never mind, come up into the church with me.’
Hesitantly, she followed him.
‘Sit down please,’ he said, indicating a pew. ‘You seem troubled.’
Tears filled her eyes. ‘I am. I have sinned, Father, in so many ways. I have been weak.’
‘Do you seek absolution?’ he asked.
‘I cannot confess,’ she cried, ‘it’s been too long.’
‘It’s never too late,’ the priest said kindly, ‘to wash yourself free of sin.’
Isabella walked the streets after her confession, filled with an overwhelming sense of failure and remorse. Sitting in the darkness of the confessional, she had been too ashamed to admit the worst of her sins – her betrayal of Livia, and her terror as she stood outside Wolff’s door. How could she explain that to a priest? She had spoken instead in generalisations, of not doing as much as she could, of her fear. The priest told her that it was normal to be fearful – understandable even – and that God would forgive her. But when she came out into the street, she did not feel cleansed or absolved of her sins. Quite the reverse. She had failed her friend, and Daniele would almost certainly die. It was her fault.
It was almost dark when she got back to Vicenzo’s villa. She crept silently upstairs, crawled into bed, comforted only by the dogs lying at her side, and wept.
Twenty-Four
Florence
February 1944
It was the coldest winter anyone could remember. When Livia went up onto the roof terrace, she marvelled at the transformation of the city. Instead of shades of apricot and burnt siena, Florence had taken on an almost ghostly appearance, with its roads, parks, roofs and cupolas blanketed with snow. For Livia, who not only had to shop for the family, but also had duties as a staffetta, it made everyday life more difficult, with icy pavements and deep drifts of grey slush piled up at the edges of roads.
Leaving the apartment one morning, Livia headed towards Villa Triste. Relieved to discover there was no translation work to be done, she signed the register and left the building, heading towards the Arno. Her task that morning was to check out the movement of tanks near the river – information that would be transmitted later that day on Radio Cora.
The river was an expanse of grey-blue, reflecting the sky overhead. Livia skidded on the frozen pavements as she tried to avoid pairs of German soldiers patrolling the Lungarno. When she got as far as Piazza Ognissanti, she found the square filled with tanks. German troops were lining up in the large square, and their senior officers were gathering outside the