cream figure-hugging dress. She looked remarkably like Vicenzo, with the same hooded eyes, angular face and high forehead. ‘I’m Luciana,’ she said, ‘Vicenzo’s sister. And that’s my husband Carlo.’ She waved a hand towards a tall fair-haired man, leaning languorously against the fireplace, smoking a cigarette. He wore pale-cream trousers and a dark-blue silk shirt with a spotted silk cravat tied at the neck. He crossed the deep-pile Turkish carpet, took Isabella’s hand in his, and kissed it.
Vicenzo returned carrying two cocktail glasses filled with crimson liquid. ‘Here you are. I hope you like Negronis?’ He chinked his glass against hers.
She took a sip of the sweet-sour cocktail, and felt its warmth spread through her body. ‘It’s delicious. I’ve never had one before.’
‘Oh,’ said Luciana, with just a hint of scorn. ‘We drink them all the time. I’m surprised you’ve not tried one.’
‘I don’t drink very much,’ Isabella explained shyly.
Luciana glanced amusedly up at her brother, a look that didn’t go unnoticed by Isabella.
‘Ah, and here is my little cousin, Amadeo,’ Vicenzo announced, welcoming a tall young man into the room, who sat down next to Luciana. ‘He’s a dreadful little boy,’ Vicenzo said, ruffling the boy’s hair affectionately, ‘but we have to look after him.’
Amadeo blushed slightly.
‘Oh leave the boy alone,’ said the Contessa, turning to Isabella. ‘I’m afraid my other son, Raffaele, is not with us this evening. He had business out of town, but hopefully you’ll meet him soon.’
An older man – tall and slender, with the same high forehead and elegant profile as Vicenzo and Luciana – entered the room.
Vicenzo leapt to his feet. ‘And here is my father. Papa, can I introduce my friend, Isabella Bellucci. Cara, this is my father Vittorio, Il Conte di Lucchese.’
‘Forgive me,’ said the Count, bowing low to Isabella. He took her hand in his and kissed it. ‘I was just collecting this from my room.’ He held up a silver cigarette case and sat down on a gilded chair, next to his eldest son – the king and his handsome heir, Isabella thought.
The family seemed universally attractive and charming. It was as if they had been blessed at birth not only with wealth, but also beauty and wit.
As the evening wore on, they chatted incessantly, laughing uproariously, and interrupting each other constantly. Vicenzo’s parents and cousin did their best to include Isabella in the conversation, but his sister Luciana treated her with a faint air of disdain, either by ignoring her, or by reminding Vicenzo of special moments that only they could share. The phrase ‘Do you remember, Vicenzo…’ peppered her conversation. Meanwhile, her husband Carlo appeared merely bored. He drank more than he should have, replenishing his glass from a decanter set up on the drinks tray behind the sofa. His wife admonished him from time to time, but her mother constantly intervened. ‘Oh leave him alone, Luciana. If a man can’t drink with his own family, who can he drink with?’
After dinner, which had been served in the grand dining room, the family returned to the drawing room.
Vicenzo’s father stood next to the drinks tray. ‘What does everyone want to drink?’ he asked.
‘Brandy, please, Papa,’ said Luciana. ‘Let’s play the truth game.’
‘Oh darling!’ The Contessa, settling herself back on the sofa, looked exasperated. ‘Must we? I’m not sure our guest is quite ready for the truth game yet.’
‘What’s the truth game?’ asked Isabella.
Vicenzo handed his sister a brandy. ‘It’s a silly game that we’ve played since childhood. It can be fun, but I think Mamma is right. Let’s not play it tonight.’
‘What are you frightened of?’ Luciana asked her brother.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Certainly not you.’ He leant down and kissed her.
Luciana pouted childishly, stroked his cheek and blew him an imaginary kiss.
Luciana sat up eagerly and began to explain the rules. ‘One person is the leader, I’ll do that. Someone else is chosen to leave the room – in this case we’ll make it Carlo.’
Carlo raised his eyes heavenward and refilled his glass.
‘Everyone else has to tell me an embarrassing, but true, fact about him,’ she continued breathlessly. ‘They whisper it to me, of course, so the others can’t hear; then, when he comes back in, I reveal the secrets, and he has to guess who said each one. It’s great fun.’
Isabella thought it sounded rather cruel, and was relieved when the Contessa declared that she would be unable to take part. ‘There’s no point in poor