them!
Well… I must end now. I’m tired and we have an early start.
I miss you.
With love,
Isabella
Two weeks later, she received a reply.
I am so proud of you. I know you have such depth and will do the part beautifully. Just make sure you don’t fall in love with the intoxicating Louis…
This last comment gave her hope. The idea that he might be jealous of her working with the famously handsome actor suggested that he did feel something for her after all.
As winter turned to spring and the rain finally retreated, Nice recaptured some of its pre-war beauty. In the evenings when she emerged from the darkened studio into the sunshine, Isabella would stand for a while, relishing the setting sun’s rays on her skin and think of Vicenzo. She resolved that when she returned to Rome, she would finally declare herself to him. It was time, she realised, to be honest… time to tell him that she loved him.
Ten
The hills above Florence
Christmas 1942
It was late in the afternoon when the Morettis’ black Lancia drove through the wintry olive groves. The pale-grey sky was heavy with snow and the grey-green leaves clinging to the trees glowed in the watery sunlight.
Returning to the villa for Christmas, Livia sat in the back seat, gloomily staring out of the car window. She had been reluctant to leave Florence, trying to convince her father that she should remain in the city.
‘Please let me stay here,’ she had begged Giacomo.
‘Why?’
‘It’s my friend… Cosimo. I’ve already told you about him. He’s away on the Eastern Front and if I’m in Florence I can get news of him from Elena or his mother.’
‘But Livia, nothing will happen over Christmas. Come with us to the villa. If you don’t, your mother will be so disappointed.’
Now, as the car swept up the long drive and the pale-gold villa came into view, Livia’s heart lifted. This house, the place of her birth and her childhood, gave her a sense of security. Perhaps it was the fact that nothing seemed to change: the arching umbrella pines that loomed over the house, the olive trees that stood in large pots on either side of the door. As a child, they had reminded her of two elderly gentlemen, standing to attention, their bark twisted and gnarled. Even the fig tree that rambled up the south-facing wall, its branches now bare, offered the promise of summer when it would be groaning with ripe fruit. The house and its grounds provided a sense of continuity where everything remained the same, and in spite of her initial reluctance, Livia was pleased to be home.
As soon as they arrived, Luisa went through to the kitchen to discuss meals with Angela. Livia and Giacomo discovered Alberto asleep in the sitting room. In spite of the rug over his knees, his hands were like ice.
‘Why is there no fire lit in here?’ Giacomo asked irritably. ‘I’ll go and find Gino and bring in some wood. Livia, wake Nonno, will you, and try to warm him up – perhaps with some hot tea or soup?’
‘Of course,’ said Livia, kneeling at her grandfather’s side and rubbing his hands warm.
Once the fires had been lit, the house began to come back to life. They had no Christmas tree that year – it seemed too frivolous. Instead Livia decorated the sitting room with tinsel and glass balls, which glowed and twinkled in the firelight.
In spite of the food shortages, Luisa managed to produce some tasty meals. Fresh vegetables were scarce, but she bartered some of her fig jam for a neighbour’s store of beans, and Giacomo took his guns from the cabinet and went out into the fields and shot game – hare, rabbit and pigeon. In the evenings, the family sat together in the sitting room, warmed by a roaring fire, reading or playing games.
On Christmas Eve, Giacomo went down to the cellar and brought up a couple of bottles of wine.
‘This is the last of the vintage I bought some years ago,’ he said, caressing the dusty bottles. ‘I was saving them for a special occasion – Livia’s marriage perhaps.’ He winked at his daughter. ‘But I think we should drink a couple this year.’ He uncorked a bottle and poured the dark liquid into crystal glasses.
As she sat by the warm fire, sipping the wine and watching the snow falling outside, Livia thought it was almost possible to imagine the war was over.
A couple of days after Christmas, Livia went to