‘You’re wrong,’ Isabella said bravely, staring him in the face. ‘He’s an artist, like me. We speak a different language from people like you, we live in a different world.’
He released her suddenly, shoving her back down onto her chair. ‘We will put an end to your “different world”. It’s over.’ He sat down behind the desk once again and smoothed his delicate hands across his brilliantined hair. He picked up his gloves, putting them neatly together next to his notepad, and adjusted the collar of his silk shirt. Clearly order was important to him.
He looked tired, Isabella thought, pale-faced with dark rings around his eyes. ‘I will ensure you are given special treatment while you are here, given who you are.’ He looked up at her with his brown eyes, and she saw a glimmer of something unexpected – affection maybe.
‘I don’t want any special treatment,’ she said defiantly.
‘Trust me, you will. I will have you put into a private room upstairs, and not in the quarters with the other prisoners.’
‘No,’ she replied sternly. ‘I will go with the others. I don’t want any favours from you. But I want it noted that I am completely innocent of all the charges.’
He gazed at her, with something like admiration.
‘My life is in your hands,’ she went on. ‘And I suggest that you either charge me, or send me home.’
He stared at her wide-eyed, then suddenly rose from his chair. ‘All right, you can go. But you’re to remain in your house at all times. You may not leave it without my permission, is that understood?’
In reception, she was blindfolded again and shepherded roughly into the back seat of the car. A few moments later, someone – a policeman, she assumed – climbed into the driver’s seat, and they set off.
After a few miles, the car suddenly came to a halt. The engine stopped and the driver’s door opened and shut again. Isabella felt someone climbing into the back seat next to her. She smelt brilliantine hair oil, and felt soft suede gloved hands removing her blindfold. It was Koch himself, and they were now quite alone. Outside the car was the Colosseum, lit by a huge full moon hanging low in the sky. In any other circumstances it would have been romantic.
‘It’s a beautiful sight, isn’t it?’ he asked softly.
She nodded nervously.
‘It seems such a tragedy that the Italian people are so divided,’ he began.
She realised he simply wanted to chat with her, as if she was a friend. Sensing he wanted something more from her, she was aware of his breath on her cheek. It made her feel uneasy.
He turned to look at her. ‘You are very beautiful,’ he said.
She remained impassive, determined not to give him any encouragement. Then, without warning, he got out of the car and climbed back into the driving seat. He drove her home silently and parked outside her house.
‘Well, you’re home,’ he said, turning round. ‘I meant what I said about not leaving your house – do you understand?’
She nodded mutely.
‘I have the power to bring you back in at any time, and I will, if I suspect you of any kind of involvement with the Resistance.’
She climbed out of the car and noticed him watching her in the car’s mirror. As she unlocked her front door, she glanced back. He raised his hand slightly before driving away.
Thirty
Florence
May 1944
The phone rang early in the morning. Livia, befuddled with sleep, stumbled along the hallway and picked up the receiver.
‘Livia, Livia, you must help me… save me!’ Her mother was hysterical.
‘What is it, Mamma?’ she asked, alarmed.
Giacomo, ambling into the hall, mouthed, ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s Mamma. Something terrible has happened.’ She passed the receiver to her father. Livia could hear her mother screaming at the other end of the phone, and saw her father’s face turning white. ‘I’m coming, Luisa,’ he said finally. ‘I’m coming right now.’ He was shaking as he put the phone down.
‘Papa, what’s happened?’
‘The village has been occupied by German troops retreating north from the Allies. They’ve arrested all the men and taken them to the village square. There has been gunfire – lots of it.’
‘What about Nonno and Gino?’ Livia asked.
‘They’ve taken Gino, but not Nonno, thank God. They tried to get him out of bed, but he couldn’t stand up. Mamma thought they would shoot him there and then. But in the end they left him. Perhaps some of these young men do have a heart.’