fact quite the reverse. They are a united front of intelligent people – lawyers like myself, university professors, bankers, industrialists – who all care about this country, just as I do. And they are not left-wingers. Again, quite the opposite: they reject Marxism, and instead are intent on building a republic, supporting civil liberty and true socialism. They believe in a European federation of free democratic states. They have a vision of the future – and one which I share.’
‘All very laudable, I’m sure,’ Luisa said. ‘But they will get you imprisoned – or worse.’
Livia could hear the emotion hovering at the back of her mother’s voice. She stood silently in the hall, as her mother, flushed and wiping the tears from her cheeks, rushed out of the sitting room. Luisa shook her head at Livia as if to say ‘you talk to him’ and went through to the kitchen.
‘What’s going on, Papa?’
Giacomo was standing in front of the window. It was open to allow a breeze, but the shutters outside were closed, so the sitting room remained airless and humid.
‘Your mother is upset,’ he said calmly, sitting down on the sofa.
Livia closed the doors behind her and perched on the arm of a chair. ‘I can see that, but about what?’
‘I’ve joined the Pd’A, that’s all.’ He picked up a newspaper lying on a side table and studied the front page, as if the subject was now closed.
‘I heard your little speech about them,’ she persisted, ‘but is it safe? Can they be trusted?’
‘With what?’ He looked up irritably. ‘Our freedom?’
‘I just mean… you shouldn’t take any unnecessary risks. They are enemies of the Fascists. Mamma’s right – you could end up in prison.’
‘If I do, I do,’ he said phlegmatically, and resumed reading his paper.
Livia began to understand why her mother found him so irritating. He seemed incapable of seeing any problem from an alternative point of view. ‘What made you join them now?’ she asked gently.
He sighed and put his paper down. ‘They’ve been in existence for a while. I was approached a long time ago and I’ve been thinking about it. They need people in Florence. And I must do something, Livia.’ He stood up and walked across to the window; he pushed the shutters open and a draught of warm air washed over them both. He turned to face her. ‘We cannot stand around anymore, watching that madman destroying our country. Mussolini’s on the wrong side of history and it’s time to put a stop to him.’
That evening, as Luisa ladled out three bowls of cow lung broth, she announced her intention to leave Florence. ‘I can’t stay here anymore, in this heat. Livia must come with me. We’ll go back to the country – for a month at least. Yes?’ She looked hopefully at Livia.
Livia nodded uncertainly. ‘I suppose so. Will Papa come too?’
Giacomo looked up distractedly from his food. ‘Where?’
‘To the villa!’ Luisa said impatiently. ‘To see your father, to get away from the heat and the filth, and this disgusting food.’ She threw her spoon down onto the table and stormed out. They heard her bedroom door slam, followed by muffled sobbing.
Giacomo rose patiently, smiled at Livia and went to comfort his wife.
Livia retreated upstairs to the sanctuary of the roof terrace. She climbed the ladder to the upper level, where she sat down, leaning against the water tank.
Her father found here there half an hour later. ‘So this is where you escape to.’ He sat down heavily beside her. His hair smelt of cigarette smoke as she leant against his chest. ‘Your mother said you had a letter today.’
‘I did,’ she replied.
‘She wondered who it was from.’
‘I thought she would.’
‘You don’t have to tell me, I just thought you should know.’
‘It was from a friend – from university. He’s away fighting on the Russian Front…’
Her father nodded, and lit a cigarette. ‘Poor man.’
‘It sounds pretty bad from what he said in the letter.’
‘You must be worried.’ Her put his arm around her.
‘Yes, I am. I feel so helpless.’
‘I understand that feeling. It’s why I’ve joined the Pd’A.’
‘I think you’re right, Papa. We have to do something.’
‘Yes, but there’s not much you can do right now.’ He gave Livia a hug. ‘You should go to the country with your mother.’
‘I feel guilty – as if I’m running away.’
‘What from? Don’t feel that way. Your grandfather needs you and your mother too, think about that.’