‘I’m so pleased you’re coming,’ said Livia, as they crossed the piazza. ‘But before we leave Florence, I must go and see Cosimo. Maybe he could come too?’
‘Really?’ Elena was slightly disappointed. The prospect of spending a month or more with her best friend had seemed so enticing. She was less sure about the wisdom of being stuck between the two lovebirds.
Elena led the way to Cosimo’s parents’ apartment, which was on the ground floor of an elegant nineteenth-century block. Livia found it strange to be going there for the first time under such curious circumstances. Even stranger that she had never met his parents. They rang the bell, and waited on the marble steps outside.
Cosimo’s mother opened the door. Tall and dark, like her son, she smiled broadly when she saw Elena.
‘This is Livia,’ said Elena. ‘She and Cosimo are… friends.’
‘Ah! I’m so pleased to meet you at last. Cosimo’s told me all about you. Come in, won’t you?’
Livia blushed, as she and Elena shuffled into the dark hall. ‘I wondered if Cosimo was here,’ Livia began nervously. ‘I have to go to the country today, you see, with my mother. Elena is coming with me. But I couldn’t go without saying goodbye to your son.’
‘I’m afraid he’s out,’ his mother replied. ‘But I’ll tell him you called round.’
Noting the look of disappointment on Livia’s face, she added: ‘I’m sorry he’s not here, but you’ll see him soon. After all, you’ll be back in the autumn, won’t you?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Livia replied. ‘Well, goodbye then.’
Reluctantly, she left the apartment. As they walked down the street, she peered hopefully around, looking for Cosimo, but he was nowhere to be seen.
When the two girls finally arrived at Livia’s apartment, they found Luisa waiting impatiently in the hall. ‘Livia, where have you been?’ she asked, looking pointedly at Elena.
‘Mamma,’ said Livia, ‘you know Elena.’
‘Yes of course. But—’
‘She’s coming with us,’ Livia interjected firmly. ‘It will be fun to have a friend. Please say she can come.’
‘Of course she can,’ said Giacomo, emerging from his study. ‘Come on, let’s get the bags in the car. We have a long drive ahead.’
Thirteen
Rome
August 1943
Through the long hot summer months of July and August, Rome was declared an ‘open city’, favouring neither the Germans nor the Allies. With no work to occupy her, Isabella increasingly spent her afternoons at the Acquasanta Golf Club. A game of cards, or tennis with Stefano, provided some stability in her otherwise empty life. Everyone was anxious. People who had for years socialised with the Fascists now found themselves uncertain which way to face. Count Ciano hadn’t been seen for months; it was rumoured that he was secretly negotiating a peaceful solution with the Allies. Meanwhile, senior German officers were increasingly found mixing with the Italian elite.
Isabella had been invited to a dinner party at the home of the socialite, Princess Virginia Agnelli. It was not uncommon for beautiful actresses to be invited to such gatherings, merely to add glamour. Isabella often declined these invitations, but the Princess was a good friend and always made her feel welcome. As Isabella was removing her fox-fur wrap in the entrance hall of the palazzo, the Princess came over to greet her.
‘Isabella, how wonderful to see you. I wanted a quick word. I’ve got a rather special guest this evening, and I want you to pay him some special attention. His name is Karl Wolff, and he’s the Supreme Commander of the SS in Italy – a very important man. I’m hoping to arrange a meeting between him and the Pope.’
Isabella looked surprised.
‘The Vatican is desperate to avoid a full-out war,’ the Princess explained. ‘Wolff is minded to help, to broker some kind of peace between Germany and Italy. I’ve placed you next to him at dinner. Look after Wolff for me – you’ll like him, he’s a very cultured man.’
As her guests began to gather together in the dining room, the Princess introduced them. ‘General, I’d like you to meet a good friend of mine, the actress Isabella Bellucci.’
Wolff bowed low and kissed Isabella’s hand. ‘How delightful,’ he said.
He was tall and not unattractive, she thought, with a high wide forehead, fair hair and grey eyes. But his mouth was a little too thin, and his eyes, overshadowed by heavy brows, were perhaps a little too close together. He guided her to her chair, and sat down heavily beside her.
‘I visited the gallery at Villa Borghese yesterday,’ he told her,