‘Without Koch, you know, it could never have happened,’ she continued. ‘I was right, I think, to befriend him. It really was the only way.’ She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to congratulate her, but instead he was offhand, tapping his fingers on his desk. She was perplexed. ‘I’ve brought you something,’ she said eagerly, handing him the list she had taken from Koch’s office. ‘It’s a list of people they want to arrest. I stole it from Koch’s desk. I thought it might be useful.’
He studied it. ‘Yes it might be,’ he said. ‘There are some key names on here, thank you. I shall be able to warn them.’
‘Good,’ Isabella stood up and smoothed her skirt. ‘I’m really glad I could help. I just wanted to show that I… I am on your side.’
‘Are you really?’ Salvato looked at her intently.
‘Yes, yes of course – why do you ask?’
‘You’ve been spotted all over Rome with that man Koch. People are saying that you are having an affair, and that you have been passing information to him. That you are a collaborator.’
She stared at him in disbelief. ‘You are joking, surely?’
‘Not at all,’ he replied, stony-faced.
‘I am not having an affair!’ she said angrily. ‘I am not! How dare people say that? After all I’ve done for Vicenzo, how can people think that?’
‘I’m just warning you, that’s all. It’s what I’ve heard.’
She left Salvato’s office in a state of shock. Surely, she thought, everyone must realise how much she despised Koch. Everything she had ever done was to save Vicenzo – the only man she had ever truly loved.
She wandered aimlessly through the streets in a daze, weeping at the unfairness of it all, and considered going home. But she realised Vicenzo’s very existence still depended on Koch. He might have been moved to a more congenial prison, but he could be taken by the Germans at any time and tortured or executed. Whatever she did, she must keep Koch onside and not make him angry.
She arrived at the restaurant slightly late. Standing on the pavement outside, she took out her powder compact and studied her face in the mirror. Her eyes were red from crying, her complexion blotchy. She patted powder on her face, wiped beneath her eyes and touched up her lipstick.
Koch stood up eagerly as she walked towards his table, and held out his hands to her. He was dressed as usual in his smart blue suit and white silk shirt. He took her hands in his and kissed her on both cheeks.
‘You look lovely.’ He pulled out a chair for her and as she sat down, she noticed a large bunch of red roses lying on the table. ‘These are for you,’ he said, handing them to her theatrically. ‘Do you like cocktails, by the way?’ he asked.
‘Yes… I suppose so,’ she replied.
He snapped his fingers at the waiter. ‘Two champagne cocktails,’ he barked.
As Koch studied the menu, discussing what they might eat, Isabella’s mind was elsewhere. Salvato’s warning about Rome’s wagging tongues worried her. Might these elegant people, also dining à deux, misconstrue this meeting between an actress and Rome’s most notorious Fascist police chief? At neighbouring tables, she became aware that people were staring and whispering. She suddenly realised how compromising this dinner looked.
Their drinks arrived, and Koch ordered their meal. He looked nervous, she thought – fingering his silk tie, fussing over her every need. She got the impression that there was something he wasn’t telling her.
‘Pietro,’ she said eventually. ‘Why did you ask me here this evening?’
He paused, fingering his glass. ‘I have some important news,’ he began. ‘I am leaving Rome. The Americans will be here soon. I’m going up north where the Fascists are still in control. Freddi has set up a cinematic operation in Venice – other actors like Osvaldo Valenti and Luisa Ferida are both coming. We need people like you. Come with me, please?’ His tone was urgent, passionate.
She was appalled – Valenti and Ferida were well known for their Fascist sympathies. ‘I couldn’t,’ she protested. ‘I simply couldn’t. My family are here, my friends, everyone I know. I couldn’t leave them all.’
‘I can’t leave without you,’ he said, reaching across the table and grabbing her hand.
‘Look, Pietro…’ She was desperate to make him understand. ‘I’m grateful for everything you’ve done, you must know that. But I have to stay here. You do understand, don’t you?’