the family headed back to Florence. As they unloaded the car, Giacomo handed Livia a small black suitcase. ‘Take this up to the attic for me, will you?’ he said quietly. ‘And don’t tell your mother.’
‘Why, what is it?’ Livia whispered.
‘The radio. We’ll need it here now – to get information for the Pd’A. We’ll keep it up in the attic. Your mother never goes up there, so it should be safe enough.’
Later that evening, Livia was getting ready for bed when Giacomo knocked on her bedroom door. ‘May I come in?’ he asked. ‘I want to ask you a favour; it’s something I’d like you to do for the Pd’A.’
‘I’ll do anything, you know that,’ she said eagerly.
He sat down on the edge of her bed. ‘Would you monitor the news on the radio for me?’
‘Of course, but why me?’
‘Because I think you’d be good at it. And now you’re part of the group, I’d like you to have a proper role.’
‘Well, thank you.’ Livia was delighted.
‘It’s important that we spread real information about the war. Once people realise how badly our army are doing, any support for the government will begin to recede. The workers in the north are already striking, thanks to the encouragement of the Communist Party. People are losing heart, but they need information.’
Livia nodded.
‘Do you remember at the last meeting of the Pd’A we discussed starting a newspaper? Well, the radio broadcasts will form an important part of that. I need you to listen to the news, and write up a report each day. That information will form the basis of an article for the newspaper. We’re calling the paper L’Italia Libera, and I believe we can really turn the tide in this country, and help people understand what an unmitigated disaster the war has been.’
‘Do you really think it will help?’
‘I do. I think we’ll soon have Mussolini on the run.’
‘And you think I could do this – that I’m up to it?’
‘Livia,’ her father said, taking her hands in his, ‘I have infinite faith in you. You can do anything you set your mind to. We’ll start tomorrow.’
The following evening, Giacomo and Livia set up the radio in the attic. Luisa had been preoccupied making dinner, and had scarcely noticed the pair disappearing upstairs.
‘I’m just going out with Livia for half an hour,’ Giacomo, standing in the hall, called out to his wife.
‘Another of your meetings?’ said Luisa, hardly looking up from her pasta making.
‘Yes, something like that,’ he answered vaguely.
‘Well, don’t be late for dinner.’
‘We won’t.’
Her father went through the pretence of putting on his coat and opening the door. But instead of going outside onto the landing, he slammed it shut and then, followed by Livia, crept up the stairs to the attic.
‘Where did you hide the radio?’ he asked Livia.
‘Here,’ she said, opening a cupboard in an old desk that stood beneath the window overlooking the terrace.
Giacomo took the radio out of its case, and set it up on the desk, draping a thin wire up and over the top of the window frame.
‘This is the aerial,’ he explained, ‘the higher it is, the better the signal.’
He hauled a battered armchair over to the desk and sat down, twiddling the dials of the radio. Eventually, through the static, came a man’s voice, strong and clear, with a slight English accent.
‘Here we are,’ said her father. ‘They call him “Colonel Buonasera”, but his real name is Colonel Stevens. He’s half-Italian, but quite fluent, I think. Did you bring your notebook?’
Livia nodded, and perched on the arm of her father’s armchair, they listened to the broadcast. When it was over, they crept back down the stairs and went through the motion of opening and closing the front door.
‘We’re back,’ Giacomo called out to Luisa.
‘I’ll serve dinner then,’ she said from the sitting room.
‘If you could tidy up your notes this evening,’ Giacomo whispered to Livia, ‘I’ll write them up as an article and get it into the paper.’
The following day, Livia woke early and opened her shutters. Fine powdery snowflakes floated down from a dove-grey sky. Her room felt cold and she shivered as she pulled on corduroy trousers and a jumper.
In the kitchen, she searched for a piece of bread, but there was none. She took her coat from the rack in the hall, and was just putting it on, when her mother appeared from her bedroom.
‘Where are you off to? Term doesn’t start till tomorrow.’