‘No,’ said Constanza. ‘I’ve not seen him for days.’
‘I’m terribly worried that something’s happened to him.’ Isabella grabbed Constanza’s hand. ‘If you hear anything – promise me, you’ll let me know.’
Back home, Isabella paced the house for the rest of the afternoon. Something was wrong. Finally at half past four the doorbell went. Standing outside was Vicenzo’s cousin, Amadeo.
‘Come in,’ she said, looking anxiously around in case they were being observed.
Amadeo looked pale and drawn. ‘Vicenzo’s been arrested.’
Isabella felt a jolt of fear, like an electric shock, running through her body.
‘I knew something bad had happened,’ she exclaimed tearfully. ‘I waited for him for over an hour at our meeting place today, but he never turned up.’
‘We’re all very worried,’ Amadeo said.
‘Of course. Do you know where he is?’
‘No, not yet. We have people trying to find out.’
‘Please let me know as soon as you hear anything, won’t you? I would do anything for him, anything at all.’
‘I know that.’ Amadeo held her to him. ‘We’ll find him,’ he said gently, ‘don’t worry.’
That night, try as she might, Isabella was unable to sleep. She eventually dozed off, but a little after midnight woke with a start; her mother was screaming.
‘Mamma?’ she called out, alarmed, as she hauled herself up in bed.
Suddenly three policemen burst into her room, brandishing machine guns. ‘Come with us,’ one of them demanded.
Her mother followed them into the room. ‘I’m sorry,’ she cried to Isabella. ‘I let them in. I was just going to bed, and they were knocking on the door.’
‘It’s all right, Mamma. I’ll handle this.’ Isabella, though terrified, was determined to stay calm. She climbed out of bed and pulled a robe around her. ‘I presume I am allowed to get dressed first?’ she asked the policemen imperiously, before picking up a pair of trousers and a shirt and sweeping into the bathroom. A few moments later, she emerged fully dressed.
‘Where are you taking her?’ Giovanna demanded, grabbing one of the policemen by the arm, as they frogmarched Isabella down the corridor.
He shrugged her off.
‘She’s a good girl,’ Giovanna shouted after them, ‘a famous actress. She knows Mussolini!’
‘Don’t worry, Mamma,’ Isabella called back, ‘I’ll be all right.’
The men bundled Isabella down the stairs to the hall, where she was blindfolded and pushed out of the door into a waiting car.
They drove around for what felt like twenty minutes, before she heard the crunch of tyres on gravel and angry voices. The car stopped. She was pulled roughly out of the car and led into a building, where her blindfold was removed. Squinting, her eyes gradually adapted to the light and her surroundings.
‘Give me your papers and any jewellery you are wearing,’ demanded a woman in a curious black apron.
Isabella handed over her handbag and watch – all she had with her.
The woman led her down the corridor to a tiled room furnished only with a table and two chairs. High up on the wall was a window protected by iron bars.
‘You will be interrogated by Commisario Koch,’ the woman said as she locked the door behind her.
Isabella waited. There was something familiar about the name. She wracked her brains, before finally recalling Vicenzo had mentioned a man named Pietro Koch who was working hand in hand with the Germans. He was a sadistic creature, Vicenzo had said. She began to feel nervous – frightened even.
Without her watch, it was hard to know exactly how long she waited, but she observed the moon drifting across the night sky through the barred window, and reasoned that an hour or more had gone by. Eventually, a tall, slender young man entered the room. He wore a smart double-breasted blue suit with a high-collared white silk shirt. In the circumstances, it looked incongruous, as if he was dressed for dinner. He was tanned, with brown eyes and, despite a slightly bulbous nose, was almost handsome. There was something about him that reminded her of her first love, the army officer Ludovico Albani – perhaps it was the moustache, or the wavy hair smothered in brilliantine. He had the same upright bearing and slightly imperious manner, but his footsteps, as he walked delicately across the room, were quite different from Ludovico’s. This man’s were soft, almost velvety, like a dancer. He removed a pair of suede gloves and placed them on the table. Isabella stood up nervously.
‘Please, do sit down,’ he said. His voice was gentle and educated.