wouldn’t come,’ she kept saying. ‘I think he’s really left me this time.’
Mimi glanced across at Isabella. ‘She says the same thing during every raid,’ she whispered.
Last to arrive were a middle-aged woman and her young daughter, clutching what looked like a stack of film magazines. The girl sat down, stared at Isabella and then pointed at her photograph on the cover of Star Magazine.
‘Is that you?’ she asked Isabella in amazement, showing her the cover. Her mother nudged her daughter in the ribs. ‘Sssh, don’t be so rude.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Isabella. ‘Yes, that’s me. Would you like me to sign that for you?’
The girl nodded wide-eyed, her mother rummaging in her bag for a pen.
When they came, the bombs were unrelenting. Isabella instinctively gripped Daniele’s arm.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, putting his arm around her, ‘we should be safe enough down here.’
As waves of bomb blasts ricocheted through the air, the elderly couples clung to one another. One lady began to say the catechism: ‘Hail Mary, mother of God…’ Her husband wrapped her in his arms and rocked her like a child.
Suddenly a massive explosion shook the building above, and the air filled with dust. The hysterical young woman leapt to her feet and began to scream: ‘We’re all going to die!’ She ran towards the door and yanked at the handle.
Daniele jumped up, and tried to pull her away. ‘You must stay here. We’ll be all right, I promise you.’
The woman looked at him, wild-eyed. ‘You’re mad. This place is going to come down on all our heads. My husband’s out there somewhere. I have to find him.’
‘Wherever he is,’ said Daniele, guiding her back to her place, ‘you can’t help him now. You must look after yourself.’
She slumped against the wall, wiping away her tears. The girl with the magazines handed one to her. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘read this… it will take your mind off it.’ But the woman stared back at her uncomprehendingly.
By dawn, the bombing was over. They all emerged from the basement, congregating in the communal hallway. Through the tall glazed doors, they could see vast craters in the road.
‘We were lucky last night,’ said Daniele. ‘That was close.’ He ushered his wife and Isabella back upstairs.
‘Mimi, I can’t believe what you have to cope with,’ Isabella said, as they made coffee in the tiny kitchen. ‘In Rome there has been no bombing at all. Apart from some food shortages and a lack of firewood, you would hardly know there is a war going on. I feel I have been living in a dream, while you have been trapped in a nightmare all this time.’
‘You get used to it,’ Mimi replied wearily. ‘But it takes its toll, you know? We’ve lost so many good friends killed by the bombs. The hospital was hit the other day. We just pray it will end soon.’
‘But how?’ asked Isabella gloomily.
‘The government needs to change course. Fighting the Allies is madness.’ Mimi handed her a cup of coffee. ‘You said you knew Mussolini’s son-in-law. He must have influence. Can’t he do something?’
‘I don’t know.’ Isabella blushed, embarrassed at her ignorance. ‘Count Ciano prefers to gossip and show off. We don’t talk about politics much.’
Mimi stared at her, disbelieving. ‘Well, maybe you should,’ she observed coldly.
Back on the train, travelling along the coast towards Nice, Isabella realised that Mimi had been right. She had spent ten years feeling she was entitled to the rewards of her hard work, that the money and position were what she deserved. Her relationships – such as they were – with the Fascist authorities were a necessary evil. But she had been lulled into a sense of false security; she had stopped seeing the world through other people’s eyes and as a result had failed to understand the extent of their suffering. For the first time in her life she felt guilty about her privileged position.
Isabella had been booked to stay at the Excelsior Hotel in Nice. Painted pink, its windows edged with white coping stones, it overlooked the long white sandy beach known as La Croisette. No longer an inviting place of relaxation, it was now lined with barbed wire and anti-aircraft guns. The sea beyond was grey and forbidding, and not the turquoise idyll of her imagination.
At the hotel, a pair of doormen arranged for her luggage to be brought inside. The lobby was filled with people. They gathered noisily around the desk, and sat in groups on the sofas, or drifted