office in the city is completely full up. Besides, the attic room has no insulation. Really, you wouldn’t like it – it’s boiling hot in the summer and freezing in the winter. But the terrace is a good place to hang the laundry. Now help me.’
In the first few days of living in the city, Livia found it thrilling to walk down the narrow cobbled road towards the Duomo each morning and feel that she was really part of this bustling city. She was fascinated by the eclectic mix of people she encountered on her daily journey – the street traders calling out to passers-by; the clerics rushing to church to conduct morning prayers, their black robes flapping; the ladies who, in spite of the war, maintained a certain elegance, clicking down the road in their high-heeled shoes, on their way to coffee or lunch. Livia often wondered who they were meeting, dressed in such finery.
Gradually, the family settled into city life. Luisa coped with the privations, as she saw them, of urban living. Food was getting scarce all over Italy and supplies to the markets were dwindling. Meat was almost unobtainable and all the staple foods like flour, sugar and salt were rationed. Giacomo, of course, appeared to be unconcerned about such trivialities and simply buried himself in his work. Livia relished the freedom her studies gave her. She quickly made friends at the university, and enjoyed spending time with them – roaming the streets with a gaggle of girls, or lying on the grass in the Boboli Gardens. One young girl in particular became her closest friend.
Elena Lombardi was studying the same subjects as Livia, and the two girls quickly formed a bond. Slight in stature, with bright blue eyes and golden curls that framed her pretty face, Elena was the physical opposite of Livia, who was taller, with shoulder-length dark hair and large brown eyes. Brought up in Florence, Elena had attended a day school for girls near the Duomo. Her life had been much freer than Livia’s more strict boarding-school upbringing. To Livia’s delight, she knew the city well, and together they visited quirky little cafés and out-of-the-way bookshops. Elena even had male friends – young men who held no romantic attraction for her, but were simply people to have coffee or lunch with. This made her, in Livia’s eyes, both sophisticated and worldly and she felt lucky to have such a knowledgeable friend.
For her part, Elena loved Livia’s enthusiasm and original way of looking at the world.
‘You’re not like other girls I’ve met,’ she said one afternoon, as they lay on the grass overlooking the central pond in the Boboli Gardens, listening to the refreshing sound of splashing water from the fountain. It was late in the afternoon, and the sun’s heat had begun to ebb away.
‘In what way?’ asked Livia.
‘You don’t follow the herd – you make up your own mind. I like that.’
‘My father’s influence, I suspect,’ said Livia. ‘That, and years of boarding school. It made me rather rebellious.’
‘What was it like?’
‘It was… restrictive,’ Livia replied, her hand running over the grass, feeling it cool beneath her fingers. ‘Although less restrictive than having a governess who insisted on putting a board down my back.’ She giggled.
‘Did she really do that?’ Elena was aghast.
‘She did – even on holiday. We used to go and stay with friends who had a villa on the coast, near Forte dei Marmi; do you know it?’
Elena shook her head.
‘I was only allowed to take the board off when I went swimming.’
‘Did your parents approve of this torture?’
‘My mother did. She always told me I’d be grateful in the end. I don’t think my father really noticed.’
‘Your childhood sounds fascinating, if a little claustrophobic,’ said Elena, laughing. Secretly she was intrigued by her friend’s genteel upbringing. ‘Did you live on a big estate, growing up?’
‘No! There used to be a lot of land with vineyards and so on, but it was sold off a long time ago. My grandfather, and his father before him, were no good with money, or so my father says.’
‘Well, I think you look very aristocratic,’ Elena said, casting a shy glance at Livia’s elegant profile. ‘Like one of the Medici beauties we were looking at yesterday in class.’
Livia blushed. ‘Don’t be so silly.’
‘Are you ashamed of your background?’ Elena asked. ‘You always seem embarrassed talking about it.’
‘I suppose I am,’ Livia said shyly. ‘My father despises inherited wealth. In his work as a