‘Coming!’ he shouted back. ‘Ciao, girls.’ But it was at Gina that he took his last, long look before he went.
Afraid that he would become a bargaining tool in peace terms with the Allies, the Germans searched for Mussolini, but the new Italian government had moved him up into the Appenine mountains to an isolated skiing resort, which they hoped would be easy to defend. However, it did not take long for the Germans to bribe someone to betray his whereabouts.
On 12 September 1943, a commando unit made a daring landing, in a plane, right on the mountain peak and Mussolini’s guards gave him up without resistance.
Then Il Duce was back in power, a puppet whose strings were now pulled by the Germans. The reprisals he took against those he felt had betrayed him were bloody and ruthless – even his own son-in-law, Ciano, was shot, and hundreds of others soon followed, many of them denounced in secret letters. Italy was disintegrating into madness.
Few letters got through now to Vittoria, but she heard whispers of what was going on. Milan was in turmoil; there were a dozen Fascist squads in the city. They competed against each other, fought over territories, ran protection rackets, burgled empty houses, looted after air-raids, arrested anyone they suspected might be anti-Fascist.
Mamma and Carlo were still living in the ruins of their home. Carlo had taken over the running of what was left of the Serrati factory – everyone needed drugs – and he survived by paying one group to protect him and his factory against all the others. Day and night armed guards were at the gates of his home and his workplace. The bombed section was left to fall down and the firm operated in the untouched sheds. Life in Milan was hell, Anna wrote to her daughter. Niccolo disappeared one day, either ran away to join Filippo in the mountains, or was abducted by Germans or one of the Fascist gangs – although if it had been the latter they would have sent a ransom demand for him, and none had come.
Olivia’s brother celebrated his seventeenth birthday by going off to join his father’s regiment. Within a month he had been wounded and after that he disappeared. All his mother and sister could do was hope that he was alive somewhere, in a prisoner-of-war camp or with the partisans, and one day would come home.
‘Mamma says it’s better that we shouldn’t hear,’ Olivia said. ‘Not knowing if he’s alive is better than knowing he’s dead. At least we still have hope.’
‘Of course you do,’ said Gina, putting an arm round her friend’s waist. ‘Don’t worry, Livy, he’s safe, I know it. He’ll be back when the war is over.’
Vittoria shivered. What would life be like when the English and the Americans came? She was afraid to think about the future.
In the spring of 1945 Vittoria’s mother wrote to her aunt.
I have just heard that Filippo was shot by the Germans in a reprisal for the partisans blowing up a train. Nico sent me word, a scrap of paper was pushed through the door the other night. A letter from Nico – at least he’s still alive, poor child. But what sort of childhood has he had? He’s still just a boy, and he has been killing men for months. I wish he would come home but he is staying up in the mountains with his group, he says they will take revenge for Filippo, and then I suppose the Germans will kill Nico, too.
Aunt Maria crossed herself. ‘Those poor brave boys. Oh, this is a terrible world we live in.’
‘What else does Mamma say?’ Vittoria asked.
Aunt Maria continued, in her wavering voice, ‘“God bless you, thank you for taking care of my little girl. Kiss Vittoria for me and say that as soon as it is safe she shall come home. It makes me happier to think that she is not in as much danger as her brothers.”’ Aunt Maria folded the letter, sighing. ‘Amen to that. We are lucky to be in Venice, Vittoria.’
Those last months of the war were an endless nightmare. The Allies swept up through Italy, with the Germans giving way in front of them and the Italian army disintegrating.
In April 1945 Mussolini was persuaded to talk to the leaders of the partisan movement about his future. The most they would offer was that he should have a fair trial. Realising he had no hope, he tried to escape, but within minutes had been stopped by the 52nd Garibaldi brigade of partisans. His fate was sealed.
There was no time for a formal trial – the Americans were only hours away. The partisans executed him and his mistress. The bodies were driven in an open truck to the Piazzale Loreto in Milan where they were strung up by the heels, and left there, upside down, like pigs in a slaughter-house, while the crowds jeered and threw things at them.
Italy fell apart. Italian fought Italian, Communist against Fascist, and in some parts of the country bodies littered the streets. But Venice was still quiet, a little oasis of peace. At last, the Germans fled back into their own country and the English and the Americans occupied Italy.
Walking home slowly from school one summer day, Vittoria heard English spoken for the first time in years. She stopped in her tracks and turned, heart pounding behind her rib-cage. A group of khaki-uniformed men were standing on a corner with a map in their hands, staring down at it.
One was Frederick Canfield. He looked different in uniform, older, thinner, tougher, but it was him. Why were they here, these English soldiers? Had they invaded Venice?
When she got home, Rosa rushed her in to see her aunt, who held out her arms. Vittoria flung herself on to her knees and clasped Aunt Maria round the waist.
‘Oh, Aunt—’
‘Toria, I have such news for you!’
‘I know, I saw them! English soldiers have got here – what will happen to us?’
Aunt Maria pushed Vittoria back so that she could see her face. ‘What are you saying? I was talking about your mother.’
Vittoria looked up at her aunt no colour in her face. ‘My mother? Is she dead?’
‘No, no, child, she’s here. Upstairs. She was so exhausted by the journey that I sent her to bed, but you’ll see her very soon. Let her sleep for a few hours.’
Vittoria looked up the dark, narrow stairs. ‘Which room is she in? Can’t I just go and peep at her? I won’t make a sound.’
Aunt Maria brushed her dark hair back from her forehead. ‘No, darling. Be patient a little while longer. Did you say you saw English soldiers? Oh, the saints have mercy on us! I wonder what that will mean for us all?’