Stella, in turn, talked of her childhood in Livorno. Of her parents who had doted upon her, for, like Nina, she had been an only child, and their family had been small. They had lived in a tiny flat above the print works where her parents’ guides were made.

“I can still hear the presses sometimes. When I’m half-asleep. Whirring and thumping. And the smell of the ink, too.”

“Tell me about your parents. What are their names?” Nina was careful to speak of them in the present tense.

“My father is Andrea Donati. My mother is Caterina del Mare. Her hair is fair like mine. Papà calls her his little star because she shines so brightly. That’s why they called me Stella.”

“What of your grandparents? Your other family?”

“They died when I was little. My father had a brother, but he moved away a long time ago. To France. I remember visiting him once. He had a house in a place not far from Paris. It was called Colombes, and his house was on the rue des Cerisiers. The street of the cherry trees. Only he didn’t have a cherry tree in his garden. I was annoyed when there weren’t any cherries to eat, but the grown-ups just laughed and told me I was being silly. ‘It’s only June,’ Mamma said. ‘It’s too early for cherries.’ Funny how I remember that now, but I can’t remember her voice.”

They were silent for a while, both of them listening for the lost voices of their loved ones.

“We didn’t have any cherry trees in Mezzo Ciel,” Nina said once she was sure she wouldn’t cry. “At least, not at the farm. But there were apricots and peaches and apples and pears. Far more than we could eat at once, so Rosa bottled them and dried them and we ate them all winter long.”

“Was it nice there? On the farm?”

“It was. I . . . I think you should come home with me. After the war. You’re of an age with Agnese.” And then, when Stella didn’t answer, she rushed to reassure her. “Everyone will love you. I know they will. And when the summer comes we’ll go to the seaside and eat gelato and let the freckles sprout on our noses. I promised the girls I would take them to the seaside after the war.”

“We used to go to Sottomarina on holiday,” Stella whispered. “Did you ever have holidays there?”

“A few times, but my parents liked the Lido best. It was closer to home. And the water was always so warm.”

“I don’t remember what it’s like to swim in the sea. Not really. I was eight when the laws were changed.”

“After the war we’ll be able to go wherever we want,” Nina promised.