and an evil fascist like Pietro Koch, could have played in his release. But even though she could rationalise it, I don’t think she ever really got over it. To her it was the ultimate betrayal.’
‘I’m so sorry. I think Isabella was right about Vicenzo. I challenged him about it afterwards. He did care for your grandmother, but his pride got in the way. Still, to live a life full of such pain and regret, as Isabella did, must be terrible.’
‘But your life has not been so straightforward, has it, signora?’ he asked. ‘I read an article about you once, of the extraordinary things you did in the war.’
‘I wasn’t extraordinary. We all did remarkable things back then. Every day was frightening and beautiful at the same time. I think adrenalin got us all through. We had no time for reflection, only action. It was life afterwards that could be hard to bear – the normality of it could be claustrophobic. That’s why I became a reporter – it gave me some excitement.’ She smiled.
‘And did you marry?’
‘Oh yes. I married a wonderful man I met during the war. We used to come to this café when we were students; he introduced me to it, actually.’
‘Is that why you come here every day?’
‘I suppose so,’ she replied. ‘He died a few years ago now, but I feel close to him when I’m here. And it brings back memories – some good, some bad. My friend Elena was arrested here – she attempted to blow up Mario Carità, the Fascist policeman, the man who tortured me, as it happens.’
‘She tried to blow him up here… in this café?’
‘Yes – she and my future husband, Cosimo. It was a mad plan, but brave.’ She smiled.
‘I presume he was about the same age as me when he did these things. I wonder… how do you live a normal life after an experience like that?’
‘It’s difficult. Nothing else can ever have the same intensity. But Cosimo became a doctor,’ Livia said, ‘so his life had meaning. And we had four marvellous children – a couple of them are grandparents themselves now.’
‘And you still live here, in Florence?’
‘Yes, in the same apartment I spent the war in. When my husband was alive, we brought our children up in the family villa in the country. But it needed a lot of upkeep and I decided to move back here after he’d died. My son lives in the villa now with his family, but I am content in this city, with my memories.’ She paused and looked around her.
‘I wonder if I might take your photograph?’ the young man asked.
‘My photograph? Why would you want that?’
‘To show my children, if I ever have any. My generation owe you so much.’
She covered his hand with her own. ‘If it would make you happy then of course,’ she said.
He stood up and took his phone out of his pocket. He backed away across the piazza, anxious to get a picture of her sitting in front of the now famous café. She looked so small and frail, he thought, as he clicked the shutter. He zoomed in, and took a second photograph. Her face, though lined, was beautiful and strong. Her white hair pinned elegantly on top of her head. For a second he saw a glimmer of the young woman she had been, fighting fiercely for what she believed in.
The piazza was buzzing with life. Market stalls around the edges were thronged with people. The café itself, always popular, was busy serving coffee. Lunch guests would be arriving soon. In the distance he heard the bells of the Duomo chiming twelve o’clock. He thought of all the people like her, some who survived, many who didn’t, and the enormous sacrifices they had made.
Returning to the table, the young man took her small hand in his and kissed it. ‘I’m so glad to have met you,’ he said. ‘I just wish my grandmother could have had the chance to talk to you before she died. She would have been so happy to know that your life was not ruined by her betrayal.’
‘My dear boy,’ said Livia, smiling up at him, ‘I had a wonderful life – it wasn’t ruined at all.’
THE END
If you were swept away by Isabella and Livia’s wartime story, don’t miss The Secret Letter by Debbie Rix, another unmissable story of young women displaying incredible courage during the Second World War – available now.