she sat down, he swung the head round until it was shining directly into her eyes.
‘That’s too bright,’ she said, raising her hand to shield her face.
‘That’s rather the point,’ he said, drawing on his cigarette and forcibly exhaling into her face.
Just out of her eyeline sat a junior officer, who appeared to be taking notes of their conversation on a typewriter. The noise of the keys and the clash of the return bar was disorienting.
The questions, predictably, were all about Vicenzo. When did they meet? When did she realise he was part of the Resistance? Why did she not report him? Was she part of his cell? Did she really not know about the cache of arms in the house on Via Salaria? And as for the attack in Via Rasella, did she really expect him to believe she knew nothing about it?
It was old ground, questions she had answered before and deep down, she felt in a strong position. She could reply honestly to almost every question. No, she was not part of the cell. She knew nothing of the arms, or the planned attack on German troops on Via Rasella – she had nearly died herself, after all. When asked if she knew Vicenzo was part of the Resistance, she was forced to lie. ‘Of course I didn’t know,’ she replied fiercely. ‘To be honest, I can’t believe it. I think a terrible mistake has been made. He’s an aristocrat, for heaven’s sake.’
Kappler drew deeply on his cigarette, and studied her for some minutes. Suddenly, he stood up. ‘That’s enough for today,’ he said and left the room.
Koch was waiting for her outside in his car. Isabella climbed in and sat alongside him, still trembling slightly. He reached out and took her hand in his. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it. She wanted to snatch it away, but she resisted the temptation. His passion for her was the only card she held, and she was determined to make use of it. Nevertheless, as she thought about the previous couple of hours, she couldn’t resist a moment of moral superiority.
‘It must be terrible to be in the clutches of people like that,’ she said haughtily.
Koch looked away, embarrassed, and started the car.
For two days, Isabella heard nothing from either Koch or the SS. Part of her was relieved. She was exhausted by Koch’s passion for her, and fearful of being summoned back to SS HQ and another round of questioning. Although the odious Kappler had let her go, she sensed he had not finished with her yet, and unlike Koch, he appeared impervious to her charms.
One afternoon, Luciana rang her, asking for an update on her brother’s possible release.
‘I’m afraid I have nothing to tell you yet,’ Isabella said truthfully. She had begun to find Luciana’s single-minded approach rather upsetting, and felt a little used by Vicenzo’s family. They appeared to show no concern for her; it was him, and only him, who was the focus of their interest.
‘Oh, and before I go, Salvato wants to see you tomorrow,’ Luciana said.
‘Why?’ asked Isabella.
‘You’ll find out,’ replied Luciana.
Salvato Cappelli arrived just before lunch. Isabella showed him into the sitting room. Her mother was sewing quietly in one corner.
‘Mamma, would you mind?’ Isabella asked. ‘This gentleman has some private business with me.’
Her mother looked irritated. ‘It seems to me, Isabella, that everyone has something to ask of you, and yet – what do you get from it?’
‘Mamma, please?’
Her mother left the room, and Isabella heard her walking down the corridor towards the kitchen.
‘Thank you for seeing me,’ Salvato began.
‘What do you want to ask?’
‘It’s not I who want to ask, but we, the Resistance.’
‘Go on,’ she said.
‘You appear to be in a good position with this man Koch.’
‘I wouldn’t describe it as “good” exactly,’ she replied. ‘It’s complicated and rather exhausting, if you must know.’
‘Oh, come on,’ he said, ‘Luciana has told me. He’s obviously mad about you.’
Isabella blushed. ‘He is a fan of my work,’ she said grandly. ‘But as for his passion – well, I hate it; it’s most unwelcome and completely unrequited, I assure you.’
‘I realise it’s difficult,’ Salvato went on, ‘but it puts you in a very strong position to help us, don’t you see?’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘We’d like you to arrange a meeting with him – at a restaurant or café – somewhere we could,’ he paused, choosing his words carefully, ‘somewhere we could assassinate him.’
As the full force of