‘I just wish I could get some film work again.’ She smiled bravely at Peter. ‘That might help to put the whole ghastly thing behind me, but I worry that even my career has been destroyed by it.’
‘Surely not,’ Peter said encouragingly.
‘You’d be surprised,’ she went on miserably. ‘The other day I read the most awful piece about myself in a movie magazine.’
‘Really? What did it say?’
‘I can hardly bring myself to tell you.’
‘I imagine it’s all lies anyway,’ he said loyally.
‘As it happens, I remember it word for word. “Bellucci”,’ she announced theatrically, ‘“is devoid of any dynamism. She and her fellow actors have become lazy and stylised”.’
‘Ouch.’ Peter grimaced. ‘That’s tough, and I’m certain it’s also quite untrue.’ He smiled.
‘I feel as if my whole career has been destroyed.’
‘You mustn’t give up,’ he encouraged her. ‘Now the war is over, these things will be forgotten and there will be plenty of work for you. I suppose it’s just been so complicated. The involvement of your industry with the regime muddied the waters. But that doesn’t mean that you have no talent, quite the reverse I’d have said. And you’re certainly beautiful enough to light up the silver screen.’
‘That’s such a sweet thing to say.’
‘Well it’s true; you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.’
A few days later, Peter rang her to say he had to go away. ‘I’ll be back in a few weeks, but do please take care of yourself.’
‘I will,’ she said. ‘And I have a little good news.’
‘Go on,’ he said.
‘I had a call the other day from a director who is looking to shoot a film in Sicily. I’ve decided to do it.’
‘Well, that’s wonderful,’ he exclaimed. ‘Will you stay in touch? I’d very much like to see you again.’
‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘Let’s meet when we’re both back in Rome.’
With the prospect of a new job on the horizon and a new man in her life, Isabella began to feel a little more optimistic.
Walking into town one afternoon, intending to visit the hairdresser, she passed a newspaper stand. The headline was unmissable.
Koch executed.
Her heart racing, she bought the paper, and took it with her to the hairdresser.
A footnote to the story mentioned that Count Vicenzo Lucchese, the famous film-maker, had apparently filmed the execution. Compelled to witness the final chapter in this nightmarish saga, Isabella hurried to the nearest newsreel cinema. Wearing sunglasses for fear of being recognised, she bought her ticket.
Inside the cinema, protected by the darkness, she waited for the newsreel to begin. She wondered about Vicenzo’s motivation for filming such a ghoulish event. Had he been driven by a desire to see the job done, to prove to himself that Koch was really dead? Or was it an opportunity to have the last laugh, to be standing behind the camera observing the final disgrace of his enemy?
When the Koch newsreel began, Isabella found herself both mesmerised and horrified in equal measure. The film started with a wide shot of a rough clearing, somewhere in the middle of the countryside. Soldiers stood to one side carrying rifles. A police van was driven into the clearing and Koch was led out of the back doors. He was wearing a smart light-coloured suit and white shirt, his hair neatly combed. Apart from the fact that his hands were tied together, he could have been off for a pleasant lunch, Isabella thought. Koch appeared quite calm as he was briefly addressed by a small group of officials. He then calmly walked a few yards to the place of execution, where he knelt before the chaplain. Kissing the crucifix, he made the sign of the cross, before sitting down on a small white chair, facing away from the firing squad. He refused the blindfold. Tied loosely to the chair with a rope, he turned to look directly at his executioners the moment their guns were raised. Defiant to the last, she thought. As he was shot in the head, he fell forward, the blood seeping onto his pure white shirt.
To her surprise, Isabella felt nothing. She sat in the cinema long after everyone else had filed out. Alone in the darkness, she thought about the whole experience. It seemed surreal, almost as if it had never happened. Perhaps now, she thought, it would finally be over and she could begin her life anew.
Her new film, set in Sicily, was hard work; the roads and bridges around Catania had been destroyed