At first light I woke Hanni and told her of our plan. I left a note for Francesca, along with some money, telling her to help herself to our supplies and that I hoped to be back someday. We ate our last eggs for breakfast, and then we set off. As we walked I instructed Hanni to remember at all times that she was my little sister and we were going to see our grandmother in Stresa. Lake Maggiore. Mountains.

“You know all about lakes and mountains, don’t you?” I asked.

She nodded, her face lighting up in a smile. “Every winter we went skiing at Kitzbü hel. And in the summer we went up to our little house in the Vienna Woods. It was so beautiful.”

“It will be beautiful where we are going, too,” I said. “You’ll love it. Good mountain air.”

We reached the station. A train for Milan was leaving in an hour. From there it would be a short journey on a local train to Stresa. The train arrived. We boarded. Nobody questioned us. In the carriage was an older couple and a priest. We chatted. I told them about my grandmother.

“Your little sister is very shy,” the man said when Hanni only answered in monosyllables.

“I’m afraid this German invasion has terrified her,” I said.

“I don’t blame her. I can’t wait to get away,” the wife said. “Our cousin lives on a farm in Lombardy. We wanted to be out of the city.”

The priest said nothing.

We pulled into Milan with no incidents. The beautiful big station with its gleaming marble floors and new murals was a treat to the eye, and almost empty, apart from German soldiers lounging in corners, guarding exits. I checked the board. A local train that would call at Stresa was leaving in twenty minutes. I couldn’t believe our luck. We headed for the platform. The train was there. A few people were already boarding.

“Just a minute, Fräulein,” a voice behind me said. I turned to see two German soldiers behind me. “Your pass, please?” he asked in Italian.

“I have a letter,” I said. “It is stamped by the authorities, and I am told it is all I need. I go to visit my grandmother in my hometown. She is not expected to live.”

He scanned the letter. “And this child?”

“Is my little sister.”

“The letter does not mention her.”

“That is because originally she was going to stay with my aunt. But then she changed her mind. She does not want to leave my side.”

“You will come with me, please,” he said.

“But my train leaves in a few minutes. Who knows when there might be another one?”

“You will come with me.”

I had no choice. We were marched to an office behind the platforms. A man was sitting at a desk, not a soldier but in a black uniform.