sat down on his bed and was amazed to find that, among the various portraits of friends and family, he had a photograph of her on his bedside table. Lying down on his bed, she wept, inhaling the scent that lingered on the pillows. The dogs lay down on the floor next to her, whining.
‘It’s all right,’ she said, reaching down and stroking their heads. ‘He’ll be back soon. I’m here now.’
She must have slept, for when she woke, it was late in the afternoon and almost dark outside. She got up hurriedly, aware there was much to be done. Leaving the dogs with the maid, she took the box of jewels, and promised to return that evening before the curfew. At her house, she went straight to her dressing room. There was a hole in the wall behind her evening dresses, which she assumed had once contained a small safe. She slid the box into the hole concealing it with her dresses.
Isabella packed enough clothes to last a couple of weeks and took her suitcase downstairs. Her mother was in the kitchen.
‘I have to go away for a while,’ Isabella said.
‘Where?’ her mother asked.
‘I can’t say, but I won’t be far away. Please don’t worry about me. I’ll come back from time to time to make sure you’re all right. But I’ll take the car.’
‘How long will you be away for?’
‘I don’t know… as long as it takes.’
Giovanna looked at her quizzically.
‘As for money,’ Isabella went on, ‘you must take what you need from the bank account – for food and so on.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said her mother.
‘Please… I can’t explain. If anyone comes here and asks for me – just say I’m out somewhere. I’ll drop in regularly so you can give me any messages. And don’t trust the phone – they’re listening.’ She kissed her mother’s cheek.
‘You are a strange girl.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Isabella. ‘But I am doing the right thing at last.’
Twenty
Florence
December 1943
Every morning, as Livia signed the register at Villa Triste, she thought about the priest who had been arrested, wondering whether he was still there. Had he ever been charged with anything? After all, the soldiers never found the Jewish people who were supposedly hiding at the church, so technically he was innocent. But she knew enough about the methods at the Fascist HQ to know that innocence did not result in automatic release. The Gestapo must have had intelligence that the church was being used as a refuge, and they would be sure to use all means necessary to extract the truth from the gentle priest. As she waited, she considered asking the desk clerk about him, but fear held her back. She could hear such terrible things coming from the interrogation rooms – the screams of people as they were tortured, and more terrible even than that – the laughter of their torturers echoing down the corridor. There was even a rumour that Mario Carità invited his mistress to watch these torture sessions. The thought of the priest being tortured for someone’s entertainment, in one of those basement prison cells, was terrifying.
Once or twice, Livia went back to the church, hoping to find him there. But by the beginning of December, a younger priest had taken his place, and she had to accept that the old man had either died under torture, or had been sent away to a prison camp. It grieved her that a man of God could be so badly treated. But it angered her too, and that anger seeped into her soul and made her more determined to fight back.
The Germans at Villa Triste were increasingly making demands of her. Once or twice a week, she had to accompany soldiers as they attempted to intercept a partisan, or search for a Jewish family hiding in a barn or a church. By now, many of the Germans had begun to understand basic Italian, so the Resistance increasingly communicated using the local patois. Women, acting as lookouts, would call out to her as she passed by: ‘Who are they looking for?’ While she pretended to the soldiers she was seeking information, one of the women would run ahead and warn the intended victims. When Livia arrived with the soldiers, they would discover the partisans had disappeared.
Her main concern was that eventually the Germans would become suspicious that they never found their quarry when they went out with her. She knew they needed the occasional success, and wrestled with her conscience every