her passionately. But she was incapable of showing the right amount of anger – or indeed any emotion at all.
‘Try it one more time,’ said Vicenzo gently, after the first couple of takes.
‘Remember, Bella – may I call you Bella? I want to see passion, fury. Can you do that for me?’
He took her hands in his once again and stared deeply into her eyes, as if willing her to succeed. But far from feeling encouraged, she began to feel woozy, and stumbled slightly.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes… No, not really. I’m so sorry. I don’t feel very well.’ Embarrassed, she began to walk unsteadily towards the door.
Vicenzo chased after her and swung her round, studying her face. ‘Something’s happened to you. I know this is not the performance you wanted to give. Would you like to try again?’
She shook her head, as tears of shame spilled down her cheeks. ‘No, but thank you. I’m really not well… I can’t do it.’
‘All right,’ he said kindly. ‘Are you sure you can get home by yourself?’
‘Yes,’ she said uncertainly. ‘I live just across the park. The walk will do me good.’
‘I hope you don’t feel it’s been a waste of time.’
‘Oh no, of course not. I’m just so embarrassed. I feel I’ve wasted your time.’ She glanced across at Girotti, who was smirking slightly.
‘Well,’ said Vicenzo with a wink, ‘at least you got to kiss Massimo. He’s a handsome rogue, isn’t he?’
As she walked home, past the beds of tulips glowing in the spring sunshine, she wondered how she could have been so naïve. To take a pill of any kind was so out of character, but to allow Girotti to control her had been madness. And what had been his motivation? Perhaps he had been trying to sabotage her.
She got back to her villa, climbed into bed and slept deeply.
The following day a huge basket of lilies arrived. She searched among the flowers for a card.
Sorry it didn’t work out this time, but come and visit me on set in Ferrara. I’d love to see you again.
Yours, Vicenzo
Her mother, predictably, was intrigued. ‘Flowers, Isabella? Who is your admirer?’
‘No one you know,’ Isabella replied brusquely, slipping the card into her pocket.
Her mother lingered next to the flowers, inhaling their scent. ‘Still, these are expensive. Whoever he is he must like you.’
‘It’s just a professional relationship,’ Isabella said defensively, as if to convince herself. But long after the lilies had faded and died, Isabella re-ran the encounter with Vicenzo over and over in her mind – his intensity as he watched her performing, his black eyes flashing, the amused smile on his lips, the gentleness of his touch as he held her hands between his.
But it was his reaction to her inability to perform that touched her most. He had every right to be angry with her for wasting his time. But, on the contrary, he had seemed most concerned for her welfare. ‘Our little Isabella’ he had called her when they first met, as if he wanted to protect her – an unusual experience for someone more used to fighting for her own survival. She had taken care of herself and her mother for so long, she’d forgotten what it felt like to be protected. Vicenzo had made her feel special.
Over the next few months, Isabella took every opportunity to talk to people about Vicenzo. Had they ever worked with him? Who did he live with? Who did he love? Her friends at the Acquasanta Golf Club were dismissive.
‘He’s very left-wing, you know,’ one of the old ladies pointed out one evening during a bridge game. ‘I knew his mother years ago; they’re a good family, but he’s always been a bit wild.’ She raised her eyebrows in a knowing way.
Acquaintances at the studio were more forthcoming. As usual, all the best gossip was found in the make-up room. Everyone knew a woman who had been in love with him. One famous actress had even tried to commit suicide over him.
‘Oh, he knows how to break hearts, that one,’ said a make-up artist, as she brushed powder over Isabella’s face. ‘He’s just got that… something, hasn’t he? You’d give up everything for him.’
With such a formidable reputation, Isabella knew she should have dismissed him from her mind. But instead, the talk and the gossip simply fuelled her fascination. She felt compelled to seek him out – after all, he’d sent her a note after her disastrous audition, making it quite