table. I lit a cigarette casually, and used the match to light the fuse on the bomb. She slipped it under the table, but she couldn’t attach it to the hook – it was too big, or wide, or something. She was panicking, the fuse burning away. So she dropped her napkin, and whilst she pretended to pick it up, pinched the fuse out with her fingers. Then she calmly put the bomb back into her bag. She was incredible, so brave. We took another sip of our drinks, and asked for the bill. We thought we’d got away with it – no harm done. We’d come back in a few days and try again.’ He wiped his face with his hands.
‘Go on,’ said Livia.
‘As we stood up, a German officer at another table came over. He asked Elena what was in her bag. He must have seen what she was doing. “Nothing,” she replied, taking my arm and kissing me. We began to leave, intending to cross the piazza. Once we were outside, she began to walk very fast, but with my foot, I couldn’t keep up. Suddenly, I was surrounded by Germans. When she got to the other side of the piazza, Elena turned around to check where I was. When she saw me, she started to walk back. I screamed at her to run, but she came back anyway. She grabbed the officer and she said to him: “What are you doing? This man is a war hero! How dare you accuse him of anything?” Some of the customers came outside and cheered her on. The soldiers got distracted and started shouting and pushing the customers back into the café. They let go of my arm, and I backed slowly away, hoping she would follow. But when I got around the corner, she was the one surrounded by Germans.’ He began to weep, his head in his hands. ‘I left her, Livia. I betrayed her, she saved my life, and I let them take her.’
Livia wrapped her arms around him. ‘You didn’t, you didn’t,’ she whispered.
He pulled away, desperate to finish his story. ‘I waited out of sight and watched as they marched her across the piazza. I should have gone after her.’
‘No,’ said Livia. ‘You did the right thing. She made a mistake coming back. She should have left you.’
Cosimo stared at her. ‘How can you be so unfeeling?’
‘We all know the risks when we join, don’t we?’ She looked up at her father, who nodded. ‘You must believe me, Cosimo, you did the right thing. There was no sense in both of you being arrested.’ She put her arm around him, but he shrugged her off.
‘I will go and tell them to take me instead,’ Cosimo said.
‘No.’ Giacomo put his hand firmly on Cosimo’s shoulder. ‘They will just arrest you both. I will go to Villa Triste in the morning and see what can be done to rescue her.’
‘But Papa, you shouldn’t get involved,’ urged Livia. ‘Let me speak to them – they trust me.’
‘No,’ Giacomo was emphatic. ‘You’re too important to us now. The last thing we need is for you to get involved. They will believe me, I’m a lawyer, and a friend of the family. Of course it would be quite understandable that I should go.’ He turned to Cosimo, and took the boy’s hands in his own. ‘You will stay with us tonight. Tomorrow we will find you a safe house. You can’t go home, I’m afraid. If Elena breaks down under pressure, she will identify you, and then you, your family and everyone in your cell will be in serious danger.’
Twenty-Five
Rome
March 1944
Through the cold, dark winter months of February and into March, Isabella remained at Vicenzo’s villa. Alone, with just the dogs and Constanza for company, she spent her days reading or drawing, cocooned from the rest of the world, only venturing out occasionally for supplies. Snow continued to fall, and they were low on firewood. Eventually, the gardener felled an old pine tree. Because it wasn’t properly seasoned, the wood burned slowly, but it created enough heat for Isabella to be able to settle down in the drawing room, and sit listening to the wood crackling, the dogs at her feet. At five o’clock, when the curfew was in place and the streets fell dark and silent, she would light the lamps, imagining some future life after the war, living with Vicenzo as the chatelaine of this house. If