unsteadily on his feet, and raising his glass to them. ‘This war has brought out the worst and the best in us all. I cannot be alone in thinking that I am the luckiest of men to have a wife who has stood by me through everything.’ He raised his glass to Luisa, who blushed.
‘To Mamma,’ Livia called out.
‘And,’ Giacomo went on, ‘to have a daughter like Livia, who, along with her good friends, Cosimo and Elena, displayed a depth of courage that I would never have thought possible. To Livia, Cosimo and Elena – our brave young people!’
Livia stood up next. As the sun went down over the piazza, she replied to her father. ‘Papa, I’m sure I speak for us all when I say that we were just following your lead. Your determination to see a fairer world has never wavered, and we salute you!’
Later that evening, the group broke up. Giacomo and Luisa went back to the apartment, leaving Cosimo and Livia to take Elena home. Outside Elena’s apartment, Livia hugged her friend.
‘Sometimes, I can’t believe that we all survived,’ Elena whispered to Livia.
‘Me neither,’ Livia whispered back. ‘But we did, and we will go on surviving. I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?’
As Cosimo and Livia strolled home in the evening light, they passed through the Piazza del Duomo, and stood quietly admiring the cathedral.
‘I never tire of looking at it,’ Livia said quietly. ‘I sometimes have to pinch myself that I actually live here.’
‘I can hardly believe it’s still standing,’ replied Cosimo. ‘Just a few weeks ago this city was being assaulted by cannon fire. And yet the cathedral is untouched, and more importantly, the spirit of the people is undimmed.’
‘And what of us?’ she asked, as they reached the end of their road. ‘Will normal life ever live up to what we’ve gone through?’
‘You almost sound as if you’re sorry it’s over.’ He kissed the top of her head.
‘Not sorry, exactly,’ she replied, ‘but I worry that life will never again have the intensity of these last few years.’
‘Well I, for one, will be glad of that,’ he said, smiling. ‘And as long as I have you with me, that will be enough excitement for a lifetime.’
And he leant down, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.
Part Four
The Aftermath
‘I like melodrama because it is at the junction between life and theatre.’
Luchino Visconti
Thirty-Seven
Rome
June 1945
Isabella had been invited to lunch at Hotel Flora – no longer headquarters of the German ruling forces, but now back to being a smart hotel for Rome’s elite. The lunch had been organised by her friend, Princess Matilda of Savoy, who was keen to introduce Isabella to a young British officer stationed in the capital.
‘I’m sure you’ll like him,’ the Princess had insisted. ‘You’ve always had an eye for a handsome soldier, and Peter is not just good-looking, he’s also the aide-de-camp to General Alexander. He speaks fluent Italian and is utterly charming. Really, he’s perfect for you.’
In spite of her friend’s enthusiasm, Isabella was reluctant. ‘It’s sweet of you to think of me,’ she said, ‘but I don’t go out much these days.’
‘I know!’ retorted the Princess. ‘We hardly ever see you, but you can’t hide away forever.’
Isabella hesitated. The memories of what had happened between her and Vicenzo and Pietro Koch were still raw. As a result, she had lost confidence in herself and her judgement. She had been wrong about so many things, and fearful of making another mistake, she shied away from all social gatherings. But the Princess was insistent.
‘All right,’ Isabella had said finally. ‘As long as it’s just lunch.’
‘Of course!’ said the Princess. ‘You won’t regret it, I promise.’
As Isabella entered the hotel, she had a sudden flashback of the last time she had been there. She blushed at the memory of Wolff chasing her down the hotel corridor, as she fled from his bedroom.
The Princess was waiting for her in the lobby. ‘Isabella, darling,’ she said, ‘how lovely you look. The others are already in the dining room.’
They walked towards the mirrored doors of the grand banqueting room, but Isabella’s eye was drawn to the newspaper stand, and in particular to the headlines.
Fascist torturer found guilty!
‘Just a moment,’ she said to the Princess. She picked up one of the newspapers and scanned the first paragraph of the story. Pietro Koch, it seemed, had been in the High Court in Rome the previous day.
‘Isabella!’ the Princess called impatiently. ‘Are you coming?’