thudded so loudly she was convinced he would be able to hear it. ‘Really?’ She tried to sound relaxed.
‘Oh come now, you know we do. Your friend Elena.’
‘I wasn’t sure where she was,’ Livia said.
‘Oh yes, she’s here, although she is not very well.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, frightened now.
‘She is not very strong. I will show you, if you like.’
He stood up, opened the door and gestured her to follow him. They walked down the corridor, pushing through a door at one end that led to a staircase. At the bottom of the staircase were another series of rooms with iron-barred observation-panels on the doors. Every cell contained either a man or a woman, lying on the floor in pools of blood, moaning and crying. Some appeared to have terrible wounds on their arms and legs. The awful stench of excrement caught in Livia’s throat. Carità stopped at the last cell.
Peering into the darkness, Livia could just make out Elena, lying on a dirty mattress on the floor, her eyes closed. It was impossible to tell if she was asleep or unconscious, and her face had been battered so badly, she was almost unrecognisable. Only her golden hair identified her.
‘Elena,’ Livia called out. ‘Elena darling…’
Elena didn’t move.
‘What a shame,’ said Carità, ‘she was such a pretty girl.’
‘What have you done to her?’
‘She must tell us what she knows; did you know what she was planning?’
‘No!’ Livia swallowed hard. ‘Of course not! I have no idea why she’s here.’
He stared at her, musing, a smile playing on his lips. ‘She tried to kill me.’
‘I really can’t believe that,’ Livia said bravely. ‘She’s just a sweet, ordinary girl – clever, but not political. She’d never kill anybody. It’s just not in her nature.’
‘She’s part of a Resistance group called GAP,’ he went on.
‘I’m sure that can’t be true,’ Livia insisted.
‘Oh it’s quite true,’ replied Carità. ‘And she is either very brave, or very stubborn. She refuses to tell us anything.’
‘Maybe there’s nothing to tell,’ she said defiantly.
‘Ha!’ he shouted, pushing her so violently that her head hit the brick wall with a crack. He grabbed her by the neck. ‘You people – you think you can outwit us.’ Livia could smell his sour breath and felt his spittle on her cheek. ‘But we will find every partisan, every disloyal, traitorous bastard and we will kill them all.’
‘I don’t know why you’re telling me this,’ she said, trying to placate him. ‘I am a loyal Italian. I work for the Germans as a translator. I’m doing everything I can to support you.’
‘I hope so,’ said Carità, eyeing her suspiciously. ‘Because we will be watching you. Get upstairs.’
She took a last look at her friend lying motionless on the floor, and walked unsteadily down the corridor, hardly daring to breathe. Back upstairs, as she approached the main door, glimpsing the sunshine outside, Carità called her back. ‘Signorina!’
‘Yes?’ Livia’s heart lurched.
‘What do you know about arms?’ he asked.
‘Nothing. I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Don’t insult me. You know exactly what I mean. I’m talking about secret caches of weapons, hidden in a building near the Ponte Vecchio.’
Livia exhaled quietly, trying to get control of her racing heartbeat. ‘Nothing,’ she replied. ‘I know nothing about anything like that.’
He narrowed his eyes, studying her. ‘Get out,’ he said suddenly.
She rushed out into the street and walked briskly down the road before darting down a side street, where she collapsed onto the pavement in tears.
Twenty-Seven
Rome
March 1944
Isabella had opened the garden gates, and was just getting into her car, intending to go to the Acquasanta Golf Club for a game of bridge, when a policeman walked into the garden.
‘Buongiorno, signora,’ he said politely.
‘Buongiorno,’ she replied. ‘How can I help you?’
‘Would you come with me please?’
‘I beg your pardon,’ she said. ‘Where to?’
‘To the police headquarters at San Vitale.’
‘What on earth for?’ Isabella was confused.
‘I cannot say, signora,’ he replied.
Her heart began to race. ‘I need to just tell my mother where I’m going, is that all right?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait in the car.’
During the short drive to the police station, Isabella’s mind was whirring with questions. Why did they want to speak to her? Was it something to do with Vicenzo? She resolved to behave with polite indifference. She would make it clear she was an honest, upright citizen. It was a part she knew she could play.
She sat anxiously in the waiting room until a tall, overweight man introduced himself as Commissario Guarnotta. ‘Come