Isabella playing as she’s never met Carlo before. But she can watch.’
‘And learn,’ said Luciana pointedly.
Luciana listened to the revelations about her husband with intense delight, giggling uproariously as her brother, or mother, exposed some tantalising, but embarrassing fact about her husband.
Carlo returned and poured himself yet another large brandy. Luciana began, gleefully, to reveal his ‘secrets’. He was clearly both hurt and embarrassed, and with each new revelation, drank another slug of brandy. It struck Isabella as an odd sort of game, designed purely to humiliate and hurt the victim. She was glad she had been excluded.
When it was Vicenzo’s turn to leave the room, Isabella was selected as team leader – on the basis that, as a new friend, she would have no secrets to reveal.
‘He was afraid of mirrors,’ his mother whispered to her. ‘As a child, he would scream if the light was turned out and he could see any sort of reflection in the mirror in his bedroom. I had to remove it eventually.’
‘He used to cheat at tennis,’ Luciana told Isabella. ‘Calling the balls out when they were definitely in. He thought I didn’t notice, but I notice everything,’ she said with a wink.
Amadeo, who was younger and sweeter than the rest, knelt at Isabella’s side and whispered in her ear. ‘He once said he wanted to be a film star, like you.’ He smiled at her as he stood up.
Carlo, who had been downing brandy for the last hour, sat down heavily next to Isabella when it was his turn to reveal a secret about his brother-in-law. He reeked of alcohol. ‘He’s not all he seems,’ he said darkly, leaning towards her. She looked at him questioningly. He nudged her. ‘You understand?’
She smiled nervously.
When Vicenzo returned, he sat calmly on the sofa and looked around at his family. ‘Come on then, all of you, do your worst.’
As Isabella revealed the secrets, he identified their authors instantly. When it came to Carlo’s comment, he said, merely, ‘Ah, that would be the opinion of the drunk.’
Carlo responded by pouring himself another drink.
‘Let’s change the game,’ said Luciana suddenly. ‘I’m bored with this. What about the tower game?’
‘What’s that?’ asked Isabella.
‘It’s a sort of “what if” game,’ replied Luciana. ‘Say, for example, you were on top of a tower and there was only room for one other person, who would you choose to save?’
The Contessa was first to play, and chose Vicenzo.
‘She never chooses me,’ her husband remarked sotto voce to Isabella. ‘She says it’s a mother’s instinct to save her young.’ He laughed uproariously. Vicenzo nodded gracefully to his parents, acknowledging his mother’s devotion and his father’s forbearance. His sister, meanwhile, visibly sulked. But when it was Luciana’s turn, she also chose Vicenzo, staring pointedly at Carlo. Now seriously drunk, he left the room in fury.
‘Luciana,’ her mother said gently. ‘You could at least have chosen him. You know how hurt he gets.’
‘He’s just like a spoilt child,’ Luciana declared. ‘He’s behaved badly all day – why should I reward him?’
When it was Vicenzo’s turn, both his mother and his sister sat up eagerly. He surveyed the group teasingly, letting his gaze linger on each member of the family, finally settling on Isabella.
She blushed as he called out her name. ‘Oh don’t be ridiculous,’ she blurted out, ‘you should choose your mother or your sister… or your best friend; you’ve only just met me.’ But secretly she was thrilled.
He sat down next to her and kissed her cheek. His mother studied them together, her black eyes flashing.
At the end of the evening, Vicenzo showed Isabella into the hall. ‘Thank you so much for coming,’ he said, kissing her hand.
‘Thank you for asking me.’ She looked up at him, anticipating a kiss on her lips. But instead he kissed her on each cheek – blushing slightly, she noticed.
‘Will you be all right driving home?’ he asked tenderly.
‘Oh yes, I’ll be fine. I only live ten minutes away. I could practically walk it – although maybe not in these shoes,’ she indicated her little satin evening slippers.
He ran his hand down her back as they approached the door. She trembled, and once again thought he was going to kiss her properly, passionately. But Luciana called him from the sitting room.
‘What are you doing?’ she shouted. ‘Do hurry up.’
‘Goodbye then,’ he said. As the door closed behind her, the greyhounds, lying on the stone step, stood up and nuzzled her hand.
Eight
Florence
October 1942
It had been months since Livia had