‘Oh, I’m sorry, did I not say? It’s based on the opera La Bohème. You would play the part of Mimi, opposite Louis Jourdan. It will be shot in French at the Victorine studios here in Nice.’
She sat in stunned silence for a few moments. ‘In French? You want to shoot it in French?’
‘Oui, I hear you speak French very well.’
‘I speak it a little, but really not well.’ She could hardly believe her schoolgirl French would be good enough.
‘I’m sure we’ll manage,’ he said.
As she replaced the receiver, it occurred to her that Vicenzo might have had something to do with it. She was tempted to call him but decided against it; she could ask him about it when they next met. If he had encouraged L’Herbier to cast her, then she was in his debt, if not, then it was just a coincidence. She hoped she could live up to the director’s obvious faith in her, but the tragic story of Mimi would certainly stretch her talent. Perhaps it would also win Vicenzo’s approval.
That afternoon, her mother came into the room carrying a basket of white roses. ‘Look what you’ve got… who are they from?’ Giovanna poked nosily around in the basket. ‘Ooh!’ she said, brandishing the card, ‘they’re from Vicenzo; he must be keen.’
Isabella took the card from her mother. ‘Give me that – it’s private.’ She picked up the basket of flowers. ‘And I’ll take these to my room if you don’t mind.’
Upstairs, she placed the roses on the chest of drawers in the window where she could admire them, and lay down on the bed to read his note.
I hear you are off to work in France. Come and see me before you go. My mother, the Contessa, would like to invite you to dinner tomorrow night to meet the family. Come at eight.
With love,
Vicenzo
Isabella felt the familiar mix of excitement and fear. A few days ago, Vicenzo had driven off without even a goodnight kiss. Now she was to meet his family. Why would he offer her something like that, unless he cared for her?
She could think of nothing else, and she spent the rest of the day working out what to wear, determined not to repeat the sartorial mistake of the tarty red dress. She tried on several outfits before finally deciding on a simple elegant black dress.
The Luccheses’ Roman villa was approached through tall, ornate metal gates. The house itself was painted terracotta and covered with ivy.
As Isabella parked in the drive, a man in a neat dark-blue uniform opened the car door and offered to take her keys. ‘The family are waiting for you inside, signorina,’ he said, guiding her towards the impressive marble porch.
A pair of greyhounds lay on the steps. They stood up as she approached, wagging their tails but, rather than gambolling towards her as she had expected, they remained on the porch. She put her hand out to offer them her scent and they nuzzled her fingers with their soft noses.
Before she had a chance to knock, a butler opened the door. He clicked his fingers discreetly, and the dogs instantly lay back down, sulkily looking up at Isabella. ‘Signorina Bellucci, please come in.’
She was shown into a large salon with high ceilings and long windows down one side. It was furnished in delicate shades of apricot, with high-backed silk sofas on either side of the fireplace, and a pair of gilded Bergère chairs, embroidered with bucolic scenes. The walls were covered with classical paintings, some modernist sketches and even the occasional impressionist work.
Vicenzo came towards her, his hands outstretched. ‘Carissima Bella,’ he said, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her on both cheeks. ‘You look lovely,’ he whispered. With one arm protectively around her shoulders, he guided her towards an elegant, if slightly plump, woman seated on one of the sofas.
‘Mamma, can I introduce you to my friend Isabella Bellucci. Isabella, darling, this is my mother, the Contessa di Lucchese.’
The older woman proffered an elegant hand wreathed in diamonds. She had sparkling black eyes and an eager smile; she was also, Isabella was relieved to see, wearing a black evening gown. ‘Isabella, call me Alessandra, please.’ She smiled and patted the sofa next to her. ‘Come and sit here by me – I’ve heard a lot about you. Vicenzo, get your young friend a drink.’
Sitting opposite Isabella was a younger woman, elegantly dressed in a