the village to collect her father’s newspaper. The headlines brought the war back into sharp focus.
Italian troops fight bravely on in Russia
As she hurried back to the villa, her thoughts turned to Cosimo. While she had been spending Christmas in front of a warm fire, he had been in the frozen wastes of Russia enduring terrible suffering. She remembered his friend Mario talking of ‘the living hell’ they’d experienced on the Eastern Front. But this headline made it sound as if the battle was being won. Could that be true?
She hurried home to discuss it with her father, but his study door was closed. She stood outside breathlessly and was about to knock, when she heard voices coming from inside. Straining to listen through the thick chestnut door, she was unable to make out who was speaking. Intrigued, she tapped at the door.
‘Who’s that?’ her father called out.
‘It’s just me, Papa. I’ve got your newspaper. Can I come in?’
‘Just a moment,’ Giacomo replied.
The voices fell silent; Livia heard the key rattling in the lock, and Giacomo finally opened the door. He resumed his place behind his untidy desk, where she laid the newspaper on top of a pile of folders stacked in front of him.
‘Sit down, sit down,’ he said distractedly, as he tied a sheaf of papers together.
She sat down on the battered sofa. ‘Papa…’ she began.
‘Yes, Livia?’ He slid the sheaf of papers into the desk drawer and locked it.
‘I heard voices just now. Who were you were talking to?’
‘No one.’ He peered at her over his rimless glasses.
‘Well I definitely heard voices,’ she persisted.
He paused for a moment and picked up the newspaper absent-mindedly, studying the front page. ‘I was listening to the radio, if you must know,’ he said.
‘Why did you turn it off?’ she asked. ‘I was hoping to get some news myself – the headlines don’t say very much.’
‘I think that’s rather the point,’ he replied, throwing down the newspaper dismissively on the desk. ‘There is no truth in Italy anymore, Livia, only propaganda. Our newspapers and radio programmes are controlled by the government and filled with lies. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Why listen to the radio, if it’s all lies?’
He studied her for a moment. ‘Can you keep a secret?’
‘Yes, of course. I’m part of the Pd’A now, aren’t I?’
‘Yes you are, forgive me. I forget sometimes that you’re no longer a child. But this is an important secret – and a dangerous one which, if it was discovered, would get us all into terrible trouble.’
‘I won’t say anything, I promise,’ she said with conviction.
‘I was listening to a foreign radio station called Radio Londra. It’s broadcast by the BBC in England.’
‘In England? But that’s against the law, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. We could all end up in prison if they found out. That’s why I keep the radio in here, locked away. I don’t want Angela or Gino to know anything about it – or your mother, for that matter. But the fact is, it’s the only way to get anything like accurate news.’ He picked up the newspaper. ‘Did you read this rubbish?’ he asked scornfully.
She nodded.
‘Anyone seeing this headline would think we were doing rather well, wouldn’t they?’
‘Aren’t we?’ Livia asked, inwardly dreading the answer.
‘Of course not! We are losing – badly. Russia is a bloody, frozen nightmare. Stalin’s troops are well supplied and there are lots of them. Whereas our boys are short of munitions, shelter and food. The Battle of Stalingrad is all but over… and we’re being annihilated.’
Livia suddenly stood up, walked over to the window and looked out onto the snow-covered garden. ‘Did they mention casualties on the radio?’ she asked, trying to hold back the tears.
‘I’m afraid they did,’ her father said dispassionately, ‘sixty thousand prisoners and as many as twenty thousand dead.’
Livia began to sob. Her father crossed the room and wrapped her in his arms. ‘What’s the matter? I know the news is terrible but—’
‘My friend Cosimo is there,’ she blurted out.
‘Oh, of course! How stupid of me.’ He turned her round to face him and wiped her tears away. ‘I’m sorry, darling, that was thoughtless.’
She bit her lip. ‘Do you think Cosimo might be dead?’
‘I’m sure he’s all right,’ Giacomo said comfortingly, holding her to him.
‘No, Papa.’ She pushed him away. ‘Don’t patronise me. I need the truth now.’
‘Well,’ he began, gazing down at her, ‘I think, my darling, it will be a miracle if he is still alive.’