emotions.
When the crowds and photographers had finally gone, she shook her lawyer’s hand. ‘Thank you, Arturo. I am so grateful. You must let me know what I owe you,’ she said.
‘It has been an honour, signorina. This war has destroyed too many good people. I was determined you would not be one of them. As for your bill… please don’t worry. It has already been paid.’
‘By whom?’ she asked.
‘By Count Lucchese,’ he said, ‘who else?’
Isabella was stunned. It was the final piece in a complex jigsaw of unrequited love and passion. ‘Vicenzo paid?’ she murmured. ‘I see – thank you for telling me.’
Arturo bowed and walked away down the steps of the courthouse.
Isabella turned and looked up at Peter. ‘What sort of woman have you got yourself involved with?’ she asked him.
‘An impressive one,’ he said, kissing her. ‘A woman who is brave, noble and without ego, and who deserved much more from those around her. Let’s go. It’s time to put this behind you, and get on with your life.’
Livia, who had stood aside from the rest of the press pack, watched as the actress put on a show for the photographers. Livia had thought the judgement unfair. It seemed obvious that Isabella was completely innocent. Perhaps she had been naïve, Livia thought. She’d become involved in something larger than herself, had been manipulated from the start by men – Vicenzo, Koch, Wolff. She could imagine the stories the other reporters would submit, and determined that hers would represent the actress as fairly as possible. She bore Isabella no malice for her betrayal. She had long ago forgiven her for that. Now, as she walked away from the court, she felt sad that someone so beautiful and talented should have been so badly treated by the world.
Thirty-Nine
Forte dei Marmi
August 1946
Giacomo’s car wound up the long drive towards the Luccheses’ villa. It seemed quite unchanged from its pre-war days. The gardens were as lush as ever, the clay of the tennis court had been freshly raked and glowed red in the sun.
Livia sat in the back seat with Cosimo, delighting in her memories.
‘Can you see the court over there? That’s where Vicenzo and his brother taught me to play tennis.’
‘It’s quite a place,’ Cosimo murmured appreciatively.
‘The Luccheses are very old family friends,’ Luisa said from the front. ‘I had thought at one time that Livia and Vicenzo…’ she paused.
‘Mamma,’ said Livia, ‘don’t be ridiculous. He was never going to marry me, he doesn’t like women in that way.’
Luisa tutted.
‘Besides,’ Livia went on, ‘I had found my future husband on the first day of university.’ She gazed up at Cosimo and kissed his cheek.
The car pulled up in front of the pink villa and they all clambered out, stiff from their journey. The front door was opened and two greyhounds ran out of the house, barking. They snaked around the visitors, sniffing hands, and nudging them to stroke their heads.
‘Dogs! Come back here!’ It was Vicenzo; he was striding towards them, dressed in cream linen trousers and a navy-blue shirt. ‘Livia!’ he said, hugging her tightly. ‘How wonderful to see you again – and with your husband too!’ He shook Cosimo’s hand and led them all into the house.
Over the following week, while Giacomo and Luisa sat in the gardens of the villa, Livia and Cosimo spent most of their time on the beach with Vicenzo and his younger brother, Raffaele. Lying on the sand, they talked of their wartime experiences.
‘It seems we have all suffered,’ said Vicenzo. ‘I emerged relatively unscathed. Whereas both of you – to lose your sight, Livia, and Cosimo his foot. I am in awe of your bravery.’
Cosimo squeezed his wife’s hand.
‘It’s really not that bad,’ said Livia. ‘Cosi is used to his injury now, aren’t you, caro?’
He nodded. ‘It’s made me re-evaluate things – my career for a start. I was originally studying philosophy and art, but during the war I saw so much suffering. Now I’m training to be a doctor. Medicine is something I can be passionate about – and that I can do, even with my disability.’
‘And although my eyesight is poor,’ Livia added, ‘I can still see well enough, as long as I wear my glasses. What’s extraordinary is how one’s other senses begin to compensate – my hearing, for example, is acute!’ She laughed.
‘Well, I still think you’re remarkable,’ said Vicenzo.
‘And what of your time, Vicenzo?’ Livia asked. ‘I know you were tortured when you were imprisoned – I remember