‘My life is much less interesting. My mother looks after the house – although she used to be a secretary. My father’s a doctor; he’s a surgeon at the hospital.’
‘That must be challenging – particularly at the moment with the war going on.’
‘He gets very depressed,’ said Elena, sitting up, and wrapping her arms around her knees. ‘The hospitals don’t have the supplies they need – it makes him angry.’
‘I’m sorry, that must be hard. Do you have brothers and sisters?’
‘No. I’m the only one, like you.’
The two girls’ History of Art lectures were generally held in an airy panelled lecture theatre, its walls covered with impressive religious works of art. They usually sat together at the rear of the hall, and Livia, who preferred her English Literature classes to History of Art, often found her concentration wandering.
One warm afternoon, she felt her eyelids drooping as their tutor showed slide after slide of works by Verrocchio, a Renaissance artist and mentor of Leonardo da Vinci himself. Livia’s eyes began to wander sleepily around the lecture theatre and settled on an intense young man sitting a few places away. He was scribbling notes in a leather-bound book on his lap, his metal-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose. He had dark hair that flopped over his face, which he pushed back distractedly from time to time. Perhaps sensing he was being observed, he looked around and noticed the delicate, dark-haired girl watching him. He smiled at her. She blushed, looking away embarrassed, and hooked her own shoulder-length hair behind her ears. Elena, sitting next to her, noticed her friend’s reaction.
‘He’s good-looking, isn’t he?’ she whispered. ‘I know his family a little; his father’s a surgeon at the same hospital as my father. Cosimo’s doing a doctorate here – philosophy, I seem to remember.’
‘What’s he doing in our lecture then?’ Livia whispered back.
‘He must be interested in Verrocchio, I suppose,’ Elena replied. ‘And now, it seems, he’s interested in you too.’
When the lecture was over and the students were milling about outside the hall, the young man weaved through the crowd, heading straight for the two girls. Livia blushed slightly as he approached them.
‘Cosimo,’ said Elena, ‘how lovely to see you again.’
He bent down to kiss his friend on the cheek, but he was clearly transfixed by Livia.
‘Cosimo… may I introduce Livia, a new friend of mine.’
He bowed his head a little. ‘It’s wonderful to meet you.’
‘Well,’ said Elena tactfully, ‘I ought to be going – I’ve got a tutorial. I’ll see you later, Livia.’
As the summer faded into autumn and the air grew cooler, Cosimo and Livia were inseparable. They wandered the streets, holding hands and talking feverishly. They discussed everything – their studies, their families and, of course, the war. Nothing was off limits. They discovered that their fathers – both men with a strong sense of public duty – shared a hatred of Fascism.
‘Do you know what I like about you?’ Cosimo asked Livia one chilly afternoon as they wandered around Piazza della Repubblica, the wintry sun sinking in the west, casting long shadows.
‘No,’ Livia replied playfully.
‘You never annoy me.’
She came to a halt outside a café and stared at him. ‘What do you mean? Are you often annoyed by people?’
‘Constantly. Most people speak before they think, and have no sense of humour or irony. You’re not like that. For someone so young, you’re very wise.’
He turned and gazed down at her. She sensed his desire to kiss her, and tilted her face towards his. At that moment, a strong gust of wind blew through the piazza, and she shivered slightly.
‘You’re cold,’ he said. ‘Let’s go in here.’ He pointed towards an impressive-looking restaurant with tall glazed windows. It was called Café Paskowski.
‘It looks rather expensive.’ Livia peered anxiously at the elegantly dressed customers sitting inside.
‘No, it’s not really. It’s popular with poverty-stricken artists and rich aristocrats alike – it’s an interesting place.’ He smiled and winked at her, took her by the elbow and steered her firmly inside. They chose a table by the window from where they could view the comings and goings in the piazza. Lights were coming on in the shops, making the scene outside the window feel inviting.
‘My mother and I used to shop in the department store over there,’ Livia said, indicating La Rinascente, ‘but we always ate in one of the hotels afterwards – all very safe and respectable. I suspect she would have thought this place was too…’ she paused, searching for the right word, ‘… bohemian.’ Livia looked around her at the glamorous clientele.
Cosimo laughed and beckoned the waiter over. ‘Two glasses of sweet vermouth, please.’
‘I’ve never drunk this before,’ said Livia, as the waiter laid their drinks on the table with a flourish. She lifted the glass nervously to her mouth and took a sip. ‘Mmmm… It’s delicious.’
‘Good, I’m glad you like it.’ Cosimo sipped his drink thoughtfully.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, reaching across the table and touching his hand gently.
‘I’m just a bit worried about something,’ he replied.
‘What? Tell me.’
‘It’s not a very romantic subject.’
‘Don’t worry about that. What is it?’
He put his drink down on the table and grasped her hand in his. ‘I can’t stop thinking about what would happen if I got called up.’
‘I understand – it must be a frightening prospect.’
‘I’ve heard so many bad things from my father – so many young men have been wounded, their lives destroyed.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘It seems such a waste, especially for a cause I don’t believe in.’
‘My father says it’s madness to be invading Greece, and even Russia, when the army is so massively under-resourced. It is the work of an “egomaniac”, he says. I can’t understand how some people still think Mussolini has brought some honour to this country.’
They sat for a moment, lost in their own thoughts.
Livia broke the silence. ‘What would you do… if you were called up?’
‘I’d try to get into the Medical Corps, I suppose.’
‘I thought they only took medical students for that.’
‘They must need orderlies,’ he said. ‘Or maybe I could work as a radio operator. I’m good at that sort of thing. Anything but proper soldiering – I’ve never fired a gun and I’m not sure I could kill anyone.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘Oh God! I don’t know… I just want to go on with my studies.’
‘Try not to think about it,’ she said comfortingly. ‘With luck, it will be over soon.’
As Christmas approached, the days grew shorter and the sun began to disappear behind threatening dark clouds scudding across huge skies. When Livia went up to the roof terrace with a basket of washing first thing in the morning, her fingers were often red with cold as she hung the sheets and towels on the line to dry. Sometimes, when she returned to collect it later in the afternoon, the laundry was frozen solid and she and her mother would drape it across the backs of the dining chairs where it dripped water onto the parquet flooring.