about hope,’ he said, reading out loud an Emily Dickinson poem. Livia was touched by the idea of hope being like a little bird.
‘It seems appropriate at this time, I think,’ said her father. ‘We must all have hope; and however delicate, however vulnerable it is, it must be nurtured, especially now.’
As soon as Christmas was over, Livia was eager to return to Florence, and sought ways to distract herself, helping her mother in the house, or offering to collect supplies in the village. This at least gave her the chance to buy a newspaper and read it while she drank a coffee in the village café. In spite of her father’s insistence that the papers were full of government propaganda, she was nevertheless curious to see how events in the outside world were being reported. One headline announced an Italian victory on the Soviet Front.
Christmas Battle! Victory is Ours!
She brought the newspaper back to the villa and laid it on her father’s desk. ‘I thought Gino might like to see this,’ she suggested. ‘He’s been so worried about his boys.’
‘That was thoughtful,’ said Giacomo. ‘Let’s go outside and find him.’
Gino was piling up firewood in a neat stack near the shed.
‘Gino, my friend,’ her father began, ‘Livia’s brought you a copy of the newspaper. There’s a story about your boys’ regiment.’
Gino looked up brightly. ‘Really? Are they all right?’
‘Well, they’ve beaten back a counter-attack by the Soviets. It’s being hailed as a great victory.’
Giacomo handed the old man the paper, who glanced at it briefly before handing it back.
‘Is that good?’ Gino asked.
‘It is,’ said Giacomo.
‘Do they mention casualties?’
‘Only minimal Italian casualties, it says; so that’s good news, isn’t it?’ Giacomo smiled encouragingly at the old man who nodded and lit a cigarette.
‘We’ll pray for them, Gino. I’m sure they’ll be home soon.’
In the first week of January, snow began to fall. It drifted in greying piles at the sides of the road as the family drove down the winding hill towards Florence. Once in the city, the Lancia began to skid on the cobbled streets, forcing Giacomo to drive at a snail’s pace to avoid hitting any parked cars. When they finally arrived at the apartment, it was already dark and a full moon hung low over the city, casting a pale silvery glow on the snow-covered steps that led to the front door. Giacomo wrestled with the key, his fingers blue with cold, and once the door was open, went back to help Luisa out of the car. ‘Be careful, darling,’ he said, as he opened the passenger door, ‘it’s very slippery.’
‘I’ll go and open up the apartment, shall I?’ Livia suggested, rushing into the lobby. She was eager to see if there had been any post for her while the family had been away, and was anxious to conceal any letter from Cosimo until she had had a chance to introduce him to her parents. In the lobby of the building, she quickly unlocked the postbox for their apartment, and removed the pile of mail, sifting through it. To her delight, there was Cosimo’s letter, which she slipped it into her coat pocket to read later, just as her father was helping her mother into the hall. Livia handed him the rest of the mail.
‘Take it upstairs for me,’ he said, ‘and one of the suitcases as well.’
Inside the apartment, Livia put her father’s mail on the hall table, and retreated to her room. The air was so cold that when she exhaled, her breath turned to mist. She lay down on the little divan bed, covering herself with a woollen rug and eagerly took the envelope out of her pocket. Next door, in the sitting room, she could hear her mother complaining to Giacomo about the lack of firewood. Confident she would not be disturbed, Livia began to read.
21st December 1941
Cara Livia,
My darling… I miss you. Without you the Christmas holiday stretches away interminably. I think of you constantly. My parents and sister are all here and we will try to have an enjoyable time. My father needs a few days off. You remember I told you he was a doctor? He is exhausted – the hospitals are filling up with wounded soldiers. We will do what we can to cheer him.
My little Livia, let’s meet as soon as you are back, shall we? On the first morning of term at eight o’clock outside Palazzo Strozzi? Can you manage that? I shall have a sleepless