‘Just because I’ve lost my foot doesn’t mean I’m weak, or frightened.’
‘I know that,’ she replied. ‘No one could ever accuse you of that.’
‘I have to do something, Livia. I can’t bear watching these soldiers marching around the streets as if they own them.’
‘This group – are you sure you can you trust them?’ Livia asked him.
‘Yes. Your father will know of them. They have cells all over the country. Our aim is to make the Germans feel unsafe everywhere – on the streets, in their cars, in restaurants, even in Villa Triste itself.’ He stabbed his fork into the wooden table.
‘How?’ she asked, lowering her voice.
‘I can’t say, but you will hear about what we’ve done after it’s happened. We have weapons and will attack soon.’
‘Cosimo, please be careful.’
‘I’m a soldier remember. I know how to fight. And fight I will.’
As she walked back to the apartment, Livia wondered if she should tell her father of Cosimo’s plans. As Giacomo had himself said, everyone needed to operate in secrecy. And were the plans of GAP any less important than those of the Pd’A? She felt her loyalties were divided. Her father had insisted on a wall of silence between her and Cosimo. Was there now also a wall between herself and her father? Still wrestling with this conundrum, she let herself into the apartment. Her father was standing in the hallway speaking on the telephone.
‘Darling Luisa,’ he said, ‘we can’t come this weekend… Yes, I know it’s been weeks.’ He glanced at Livia, a pained expression on his face. ‘It’s your mother,’ he whispered, his hand over the receiver. Livia smiled supportively. ‘I know my father would love to see me,’ he went on, ‘but Livia has exams… she needs to revise.’
Livia went into the kitchen to prepare supper. She was chopping an onion when her father came in, and sat down heavily at the kitchen table.
‘I don’t know how much longer I can put her off,’ he said. ‘She wants us home for Christmas.’
‘How can we?’ asked Livia. ‘The Germans will never release me. They’re using me more and more.’
‘I didn’t tell you,’ her father began, ‘but I wrote a letter to the Villa Triste commander, asking if you could have a few days to visit your mother over Christmas.’
‘You shouldn’t have done that without telling me first.’ Livia was irritated that her father should have done something so risky without warning her.
‘I’m sorry,’ her father replied uncertainly. ‘Perhaps it wasn’t the right thing to do…’
‘It’s all right,’ Livia said gently, ‘I know you were acting in my best interests, but this relationship with the Germans is complex. It takes all my ingenuity to navigate it. You have to remember – they don’t care about me or my mother, or Christmas, for that matter. They tortured a priest who they suspected of harbouring Jews; they’ve probably killed him by now – a priest, for God’s sake. These people are vicious brutes. They have no heart, Papa.’
Her father’s eyes filled with tears.
‘Out of interest, have they bothered to reply?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he said weakly, ‘with Teutonic efficiency. You are not allowed to leave the city for any reason.’
‘There you are then. I could have told you that. I think perhaps we have to tell Mamma the truth – get it over and done with.’
‘Don’t you know your mother at all?’ Giacomo said, his head in his hands. ‘If we tell her that you are working for the Gestapo, she will panic and insist on returning to Florence. Then she will discover the family in the attic. The whole edifice that we have constructed will come tumbling down over our heads. No, we must keep her in the countryside, for everyone’s sake.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Livia agreed. ‘Let’s sleep on it, and call her tomorrow evening. I’m sure we’ll think of some innocent explanation.’ She walked round the table and kissed the top of Giacomo’s head. ‘Don’t worry, Papa.’
The following day, when Livia woke, large flakes of snow fell from a dark sky. It continued to snow all day, and by late in the afternoon, as Livia walked back home, it was drifting against the buildings, reaching almost to the windowsills of the ground-floor windows. By the time she reached the apartment, her boots were soaking wet, her coat and hat covered with snow. As usual, her father was working at the dining table.
‘Oh good,’ he said, ‘you’re back. I’ve been waiting for you before telephoning your mother. We can