mother complains a lot, but secretly I think she likes it.’
‘Have you been back to Florence?’ she asked.
‘No, not yet. Mamma won’t let me out of her sight, and for once I’m doing as I’m told. But I’m supporting the Pd’A in any way I can from here. Although Radio Cora has been disbanded, we are getting together with the other liberal parties to form a coalition, preparing for government.’
‘But aren’t the Germans still in charge?’
‘Yes, they are for now, but the writing is on the wall,’ her father went on. ‘The Allies are very close, and we intend to negotiate some sort of peace as soon as possible. Whether we’ll manage it, I don’t know. Oh Livia,’ her father said, his voice sounding old suddenly. ‘I can hardly believe you’re alive. When I heard from our colleagues in the Pd’A that you’d been arrested… when they told me you’d been sent away, I thought I’d never see you again.’ Giacomo began to sob.
‘I know, Papa, but I’m all right, really.’
‘For so long I feared the worst, Livia. I felt so helpless. I should have been able to get you out of prison – that’s my job as a lawyer, as your father.’
She heard the pain in his voice.
‘I understand, and I’m sorry I couldn’t get in touch sooner to tell you that I was all right. But I’m coming back to Florence tomorrow.’
‘No! You mustn’t do that! They might still be looking for you. It’s not safe here.’
‘It’s not safe anywhere, Papa. And as for them looking for me, there must be hundreds of partisans on the run. Besides, I have a new identity, and new papers – they’ll never track me down.’
‘You’ll go back to the apartment?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I’ve not been back since the day I was arrested. God knows what I’ll find.’
‘If the phone is working, will you ring me when you get there?’
‘I will.’
The following day, Livia and Valentina stood on the concourse at Milan railway station. Valentina was heading for Bologna and a job working for the local Pd’A. Livia clutched a ticket for Florence.
‘I will miss you,’ Valentina said tearfully, hugging her friend.
‘And I you,’ replied Livia.
‘Why don’t you change your mind and come with me?’ Valentina suggested. ‘We can work together in Bologna. I can look after you.’
‘I don’t need looking after,’ replied Livia.
‘But your eyes…’ Valentina said, concern in her voice.
‘They’re improving every day,’ Livia reassured her. ‘Besides, I must go back to Florence, you can see that can’t you?’
Valentina nodded; they hugged for a final time.
As the train pulled out of Milan station heading for Florence, Livia had a brief moment of panic that she had made the wrong decision. She hung out of the window and waved to Valentina standing on the platform, until her outline merged with the darkness of the station. Sitting back in her seat, sunlight streamed in through the window, Livia put on a newly acquired pair of sunglasses to ease the pain in her eyes, and breathed deeply. She was heading back into the maelstrom. The struggle to save Florence had begun.
Florence’s Santa Maria Novella station was swarming with people, most of them fleeing the city. German soldiers were patrolling the concourse, but Livia managed to slip unchallenged through the crowds, clutching her small suitcase, with her new papers in her dress pocket. Once outside, she walked quickly to the apartment. She had no key, as all her personal possessions had been left inside the apartment when she was arrested. She loitered in the street, hoping someone would come out of the building and let her in. But after half an hour she decided to ring everyone’s bell hoping to find someone at home. To her dismay, the only apartment to respond was Signor Lombardi’s.
‘Who’s that?’ shouted the old man, hanging out of the window five storeys up.
‘It’s me Signor Lombardi, Livia.’
‘Why are you ringing my bell?’ he asked irritably.
‘I’ve lost my key,’ she explained.
He disappeared from the window and a few minutes later, slightly to her surprise, the front door opened.
‘You’d better come in,’ he said.
She followed him up the five flights of stairs. On their shared landing, he nodded towards the door. ‘I fixed it as well as I could,’ he said. The beautiful chestnut panelled door, destroyed by the German secret agents, had been boarded up with cheap pine. ‘You can make a better job of it after the war. I have a spare key if you need it – your