‘It all seems a lifetime away now, doesn’t it?’ Vicenzo replied, rolling over onto his side. ‘As if it happened to someone else, you know? At first, I was locked away in Pensione Jaccarino in Rome. That man Koch was in charge. I think he was cut of the same cloth as your torturer, Carità. These men had the most extraordinary capacity for cruelty. It was a terrible place and I saw some monstrous things – the most awful suffering.’
‘You were fortunate to get out,’ Livia said.
‘I was.’ Vicenzo sighed.
‘One thing I’d like to ask you, if I may?’
‘Of course.’
‘At the trial of Isabella Bellucci, which I covered as you know, I got the impression that she had played a more significant part in getting you released than you let on. I wondered why you felt unable to publicly thank her for what she did. I thought the judgement was rather unfair, and that she should have been properly vindicated.’
‘Livia,’ Cosimo interjected, ‘I really don’t think you should—’
‘No,’ said Vicenzo, sitting up and looking out to sea, shading his eyes. ‘It’s a fair question. And you’re right, Livia. Isabella saved my life. ’
‘So why not make that clear?’ asked Livia.
‘Her involvement became compromised. She got too close to that monster Koch.’
‘But she did it for you,’ Livia persisted. ‘It was obvious that she was in love with you.’
‘I know.’ He looked at her mournfully, wiping a tear from his eye with the back of his hand.
‘You did care for her, didn’t you?’ Livia asked, gently.
‘Very much. Although after what she did to you, I struggled to forgive her for a while.’
‘But I survived,’ said Livia cheerfully. ‘She did what she did because she was scared – scared of losing you. Besides, they didn’t hurt me, not at that time, anyway. In many ways, I’m grateful to Isabella. Because of her, I became an interpreter and that allowed me to help so many people escape the authorities. Just think how many people might have died without my help.’
‘What a positive attitude you have to life,’ said Vicenzo. ‘You’re a lucky man.’ He patted Cosimo on the back. ‘She’s a remarkable woman, your wife.’
‘And I think,’ Livia went on, ‘that Isabella must have loved you very much to do what she did. To put herself in harm’s way every day, to deal with Koch’s obsession with her, to risk interrogation and torture – all to protect you, and all because she was hopelessly in love with you. And the tragedy is that she never really stood a chance with you, did she?’
Vicenzo looked deeply into her eyes and blushed slightly. ‘No, I was never going to be able to offer her the sort of love she wanted. And I’m sad about that. She deserved more. But I did care for her, loved her in my own way – you must believe that.’
Forty
Florence
2019
Livia sat at the same table at Café Paskowski that she always chose. Angelo, the head waiter, had kept it for her, and at ten o’clock she sat down, leant her white stick against the chair, and ordered her coffee. She unfolded her newspaper and laid it carefully in front of her. Using her silver-handled magnifying glass, she perused the headlines, when she was suddenly interrupted.
‘Buongiorno, signora.’
She looked up. She could see the outline of a tall man with dark hair. He looked somehow familiar.
‘We met yesterday, do you remember?’
She did remember – the young man who had taken her arm and propelled her across the road. Her heart sank. She had thought she had got rid of him. ‘Oh yes,’ she replied politely. ‘I do remember now, how are you?’
‘Well, thank you. I wondered, might I sit with you?’
‘If you must,’ she replied. She felt trapped, unable to refuse.
Angelo arrived with her coffee. ‘Signora, your coffee. Is this gentleman staying?’
‘I’m not sure,’ she frowned.
‘Yes, I’ll have an espresso please,’ interjected the young man. ‘I won’t stay long,’ he assured Livia. ‘I just wanted to talk to you about someone we have in common.’
Livia put down her magnifying glass. ‘You must forgive me,’ she said, ‘if I appear rude. It’s just that I am used to my own company and I rarely see friends or acquaintances. So many of the people I knew are gone now, and I’ve become irritable. Losing my sight doesn’t help.’
‘It must be difficult.’ The young man drummed the table with his fingers, as if he was nervous. ‘Do you have cataracts,