hands. Fortunately for me, I was taken before a judge who declared I was too unfit to be interrogated further.’
Reading Vicenzo’s testimony, Isabella recalled when Koch had invited her to Pensione Jaccarino ‘for lunch’ – the day she had heard screaming and shouting coming from the basement, which sounded just like a woman and a man being tortured.
She read on, and was horrified to find her own name mentioned at the trial.
The prosecution asked the witness if he had ever seen the actress Isabella Bellucci while he was in Pensione Jaccarino. The Count replied that he had not, but that he had later discovered that she had been brought there by Koch, arrested, released and then rearrested.
When asked how he had finally been released from Pensione Jaccarino the witness replied that he had first been sent to San Gregorio prison, from where he was finally released by the Americans.
This final answer was both elusive and hurtful. Vicenzo made no mention of Isabella’s involvement in either his removal from the Pensione, or from prison. He made it sound as if the Americans, not her, were entirely responsible for his release.
When Koch finally took the stand, he too was asked if he had known her.
‘Yes, I knew Isabella Bellucci,’ said the defendant. ‘She was arrested and thought to be part of the Resistance, but she was released without charge.’ When asked by the prosecuting counsel if the actress had ever been his lover, the defendant assured the court that she had not.
That, at least, Isabella thought, was a relief. But it was disconcerting that she should be mentioned at all. She read on.
At the end of the trial, the defendant was asked if he had any further witnesses. ‘No,’ he replied.
Three hours later, the judges delivered their verdict: the prisoner was to be condemned to death.
When asked to make a closing statement, Koch said simply: ‘It’s sad dying at twenty-seven.’
Isabella threw the paper down angrily onto the bed. She had hoped the whole episode was behind her, that it was a dark and distant memory. But the thought that here, in open court in Rome, her name was once again being dragged up, as if she had been central to Pietro Koch’s regime of terror, was both unfair and alarming.
Peter called her the following morning. ‘How are you today?’
‘Oh…’ she began, ‘not too good.’
‘Let me take you somewhere lovely for lunch. I think you need a bit of cheering up.’
‘You’re very sweet,’ she said. ‘But I’m not sure I’ll be very good company.’
‘Look.’ His voice was calm and gentle. ‘I’m all alone in a strange city, and to have you sitting opposite me is all the company I need.’
It was such a touching thing to say. ‘All right,’ she agreed.
‘Meet me at Hotel De Russie? It has the most marvellous garden, do you know it?’
‘Yes, I know it,’ she replied, ‘it’s beautiful there.’
Peter had reserved a table in the garden. The sun was shining, the food was delicious, but Isabella was withdrawn.
‘I don’t like to pry,’ Peter said eventually. ‘But you seem very troubled. Is there anything I can do to help?’
She began to weep silently. Peter handed her a handkerchief. ‘Just cry,’ he suggested gently, ‘sometimes it’s the best thing to do.’
‘You’re very kind.’ She wiped her eyes and slowly, falteringly at first, began to tell the story of the last two years. Of falling in love with Vicenzo, of discovering his involvement with the Resistance, of how she had done everything she could to save him, including having to befriend the Fascist Koch, whilst also keeping him at arm’s length.
‘I felt trapped in the end,’ she said, ‘between the two of them. I was constantly frightened.’
Peter reached across the table, and took her hand. ‘I think you’ve handled it all brilliantly. I can’t imagine having to conceal your true feelings day after day like that.’
She blew her nose and wiped her eyes. ‘When I read the reports yesterday of Koch’s trial,’ she explained, ‘it brought it all back. After Koch moved away up north, I tried to forget him. And I’ve not seen Vicenzo since that day of the party – he just appears to have abandoned me. I think what hurt most, reading the reports of the trial, is the way Vicenzo denied my involvement. Every day, for months on end, I put myself in danger for him, but he has never acknowledged it.’
‘What disgraceful behaviour,’ said Peter. ‘He put you in an impossible position. He used you mercilessly