all going to be all right,’ she blurted out through sobs. ‘That the war would come to an end eventually and things would go on as before.’
‘Don’t be so foolish, Isabella. Have you been living in a dream? It’s all over, the whole thing. If we have any sense, we must side with the Anglo-Americans now. They’re not our enemies anymore, they’re our liberators.’
That evening, desperate for reassurance, Isabella drove to the Acquasanta Golf Club, hoping to see friends. In spite of the bombing and the rioting in the city centre, at least here she was confident there would be no anarchy. The members had a quality of steadfastness that she always found comforting.
Stefano, the tennis pro, was there, propping up the bar as usual. For once she wasn’t irritated by his presence, but fell into his arms.
‘Darling,’ he drawled. ‘How lovely to see you. It’s been months.’
‘I know. I’ve been away in the south of France, filming. I only got back about a month ago.’
‘So you’ve missed all the gossip,’ he said. ‘Have you heard the latest?’
‘Well, only what we’ve all heard on the news. And Elsa just told me that the studios have closed down. To be honest, I’m in rather a state of shock.’
‘Let me buy you a big drink.’ Stefano clicked his fingers at the barman. ‘Vermouth?’
She nodded vaguely. ‘Is Ciano here?’ she asked, looking around. ‘I thought he might give me some advice.’
‘Ciano? Oh no, darling. You really are out of touch. He lost his post as Foreign Minister back in February and was made Ambassador to the Vatican – a real demotion. That was the last we saw of him.’
‘You mean he’s disappeared? I thought he’d be with Mussolini.’
‘Hardly.’ Stefano laughed. ‘I’m pretty sure he was part of the group who kicked the old boy out.’
‘Really? But Mussolini was his father-in-law.’
‘I know, and he was fond of the old man, but he was never really on board with the whole foreign policy, was he? Constantly damning with faint praise.’
Rootless and afraid, Isabella reached out to the only person she felt could provide her with some kind of security. The following day, she walked across the park to Vicenzo’s house on Via Salaria. The door was opened by the maid, just as Vicenzo came into the hall. Isabella pushed past her and fell weeping into his arms.
‘Isabella, little Bella,’ he whispered into her hair. ‘What on earth is the matter?’
She sobbed, unable to speak.
‘Don’t cry. You’re safe now. Come inside and let’s talk.’
He guided her onto the terrace, where he settled her on a comfortable cane sofa and poured her a drink. ‘Now,’ he murmured, sitting next to her and taking her hand, ‘tell me what’s upset you so.’
‘The studios are closed, my film has been stopped and I don’t know who I can trust anymore.’
‘You can trust me,’ said Vicenzo. ‘As for the studios, in the present political situation, it’s hardly surprising is it?’
‘I suppose so,’ she sniffed miserably.
‘Now, you must give me all your news. How was France?’
‘It was not as I expected,’ she said. ‘The place felt so sad.’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘When I arrived, it was full of Jewish refugees escaping from the Germans in northern France. I was really shocked – I had no idea people were being persecuted like that.’
He took her hand. ‘Terrible things are being done in our name,’ he said. ‘It has to stop.’
‘The people there – the waiters in the cafés and shop assistants – they were so rude to me, simply because I was Italian.’
‘Can you blame them?’
She looked up at him, bewildered.
‘Darling,’ he said gently, ‘we have invaded their country; what else should they do – welcome us with open arms?’
‘I suppose not. I’m so confused and frightened. I had thought our world was safe, that it would go on forever. But that was naïve, wasn’t it?’
‘Perhaps, a little.’ He refilled her glass. ‘You believed what you wanted to believe. It’s understandable – you knew nothing else. You’ve been cocooned in that world since you were a child.’
‘I’m sorry for the Jewish people in France, of course, and for my Jewish friends in Genoa; they’re being persecuted too, and he’s a doctor – a good man. But if I’m honest, I’m frightened for myself. What will happen to me? What will happen to you?’
‘Well, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ve always been an outsider. I loathe Cinecittà, as you know, and everything it stands for. But I’m lucky. I have