rounded up and sent to a death camp in Germany – a place called Auschwitz.’
Livia, who had actually written the piece herself, feigned surprise and horror. ‘That’s terrible,’ she said.
‘A couple of girls in our year are Jewish,’ Elena went on. ‘They must be worried, don’t you think?’
‘It must very frightening,’ Livia agreed.
‘Do you know Rebecca?’ Elena asked.
‘Not well, she’s doing history, isn’t she?’
‘That’s right. I knew her from school – she’s such a nice girl. Her parents are terrified the same thing will happen in Florence. They’ve told her she’s not allowed to come to university anymore. They’re all in hiding at home.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Livia earnestly. ‘It’s a tragedy. I just wish there was something we could do to help.’
The two girls sipped their coffee, an awkward silence developing between them once more. It would have been natural to discuss how to rescue Rebecca and her family, but both held back, nervous of saying anything that could get them into trouble.
That evening, Livia mentioned Rebecca’s plight to her father.
‘There are so many Jewish people in the same position,’ he said. ‘And it’s pointless them trying to hide in their homes. The authorities already know where they live. They will be rounded up sooner or later.’
‘Can’t we do something?’ Livia asked. ‘What’s the point of the Resistance if we can’t help these people?’
Livia arrived at Villa Triste the following morning as usual to sign the register. To her surprise she found a German soldier manning the desk. She had heard rumours that the SS were now operating out of Villa Triste, working alongside Carità’s men. Clearly it was true.
She sat down on a wooden chair and waited. The guard deliberately ignored her, and by half past nine she was frustrated, angry and anxious to get to her lecture.
‘Excuse me,’ she said to the soldier. ‘I’ve come to sign in.’ He ignored her. ‘Ich habe seit neun Uhr gewartet,’ she said, tapping her watch impatiently.
The soldier, startled by her use of German, looked up. ‘Du sprichst Deutsch?’ he asked.
‘Ja,’ she replied.
He stood up. ‘Warte dort.’ He left the waiting room, returning a few moments later with a senior German officer.
‘Fräulein Moretti?’ the officer asked.
‘Ja,’ she replied.
‘Komm mit mir,’ he said, beckoning her towards him.
She was taken to a room that looked exactly like the one she had been incarcerated in a couple of months before. She felt a sickening sense of déjà vu as she was invited to sit down on a chair opposite the officer.
‘I understand you speak German,’ he said.
‘Yes – what of it?’
‘How did you learn our language?’ he asked.
‘I had a German governess when I was a child.’
He nodded approvingly. ‘You will do something for us – to prove your loyalty to the Fatherland.’
‘What?’ she asked nervously.
‘You will act as an interpreter when we need one.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I couldn’t do that,’ she apologised. ‘I’m a student – I have lectures to attend.’
‘That is not my concern,’ he replied dismissively. ‘Besides, we won’t require you to work every day, but from time to time we will need your services. When you report here each morning, we will tell you what is needed.’
Her mouth felt dry; perspiration was breaking out on her forehead.
‘You may go,’ he said.
She stood up, and walked unsteadily across the room.
‘And Fräulein,’ he called out, ‘perhaps now we will find out whose side you’re on.’
Somehow, Livia got through the rest of the day, but that evening, back at the apartment, she broke down. ‘Oh Papa, it was so frightening. I cannot work for them. It’s impossible.’
‘I think you must. There is no alternative. Anything else would alert them to your true allegiances.’ Her father slumped down on a chair in the kitchen. ‘This is all my fault,’ he said dejectedly.
‘How?’ she asked gently.
‘I should have left you in the countryside with your mother. Now I have brought you into terrible danger.’
‘I would have been no safer there, Papa. After what that actress told the Germans, they would have arrested me in the villa, which would have brought Mamma and Nonno into danger as well. At least here, Mamma need never know.’
She sat down next to her father at the kitchen table, and put her arm around his shoulders. He looked helpless suddenly, his grey eyes filled with fear. ‘I’ll make us some supper, shall I?’ she asked cheerfully.
He smiled faintly. ‘Is there any food?’
‘A little… not much.’ She had been saving a small ration of flour, which she began to mix with