But still I began to worry. Maybe she did, too, because the other day she took me into her library and sat me down. “If anything should happen to me, I want you to take the folder in this drawer for safekeeping,” she said. “Even Vittorio does not know about it.” She opened the drawer and untied a plain cardboard folder. “Most of the sketches it contains are not worth a second look, but in the middle I have placed some important works: an early Picasso, a Miró and a couple of others. I would not want them to fall into the wrong hands. You will keep them safe for me, yes?”

“Of course I will,” I said, “but you yourself have told me that nothing will happen to you.”

“One never knows anything in this life, but I shall sleep more soundly knowing that the wrong people will not get their hands on my treasures.” She paused, then looked up. “And if something does happen to me and I don’t return, I have left them to you in my will.”

November 1942

I have kept up my observations and radio communication. It took me a while to realize I had received no updated codebook for too long. Have they decided they no longer need to update codes, or has my radio receiver been discovered and now there is an enemy chuckling at my daily briefs? I fear it is the latter. Will it only be a matter of time before the enemy traces the source to me? I hesitate between ceasing all messages or keeping on, knowing they might soon discover me. What does it matter either way? I thought. I have no Leo, no Angelo. My life has ceased already. Francesca comes to clean occasionally or to bring me produce she has managed to find at the market. Since I eat well at the contessa’s, I don’t need much.

September 1943

A whole year has passed as if in a cloudy dream. In Venice there is finally optimism. Earlier this year the Allies invaded Sicily. And then the south of Italy. More German ships arrived in the lagoon. I kept sending my messages, hoping they were received. Then on September 8 we got the news we had been waiting for. The Italian government surrendered to the Allies. We were no longer enemies! There was celebration in the streets. “Our boys will soon be home” was the word on every street corner. The joy was short-lived, however, as the Germans were swift in their retaliation.

The German army has invaded. We have troops marching through the city. They have taken over several palazzos, including the Palazzo Rossi. I worried about Angelo but heard the family had moved out to the villa in the Veneto. “Please keep him safe,” I pray every night.