her face in his hands, wiping her tears away. ‘Surely you know that.’
‘Just not the way I want.’ Her voice was breaking with emotion as she took his hands in her own and kissed them.
They were interrupted by the sound of coughing. They turned around to find Miranda staring at them.
‘I should go,’ said Isabella quietly.
‘I’ll call you,’ he promised.
She backed away, until just their fingertips were touching. Finally, as they parted, he blew her a kiss and she turned and walked hurriedly out of the garden, down the drive and home.
A large basket of red roses was delivered to Isabella’s house the following morning. She knew who they were from but took comfort from the card in the basket, nevertheless.
Cara Bella, with all my love, Vicenzo.
Two days later, he called her. ‘Come over tonight. I have some friends staying with me – writers, directors, musicians and so on.’
‘Are you sure? Isn’t there someone else you’d rather have?’ she asked sulkily.
‘Don’t be silly,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ll see you at eight.’
The sound of male laughter floated down the drive, as Isabella walked towards Vicenzo’s front door. The maid took her evening coat and showed her into the drawing room.
‘Bella, at last, here you are,’ said Vicenzo cheerfully. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’ Taking her by the arm, he introduced her to everyone. ‘Lino, this is my friend Bella, the actress I was telling you about. Isabella darling, meet Lino. He’s a brilliant man, trust me – a superlative writer as well as a talented philosopher.’
‘He’s too kind,’ said Lino, bowing slightly.
All the guests were ‘intellectual polymaths’, in Vicenzo’s opinion. Although they were mainly connected with the cinema and publishing, the discussion soon turned to politics.
‘Badoglio is an idiot,’ declared a journalist called Salvato. ‘And the King is no better. There’s a vacuum at the top. No one is taking a lead. We need to involve the unions in the north more, and bring the country together. If we’re not careful, the Germans will take control of Rome and then everything will be lost.’
‘Have you had a chance to canvas the other anti-Fascist groups?’ Lino asked Vicenzo.
‘I have an old friend,’ Vicenzo replied, ‘who’s a founding member of the Pd’A – a lawyer in Florence. He’s a good man, a liberal, you know?’
‘Will he help us?’ Lino asked.
‘I believe so, yes,’ Vicenzo said. ‘I have arranged to meet him later this month. He has a wonderful daughter called Livia – very bright. I’ve known her since she was a child. She is a student, and a fiery little thing, and I’m pretty sure that she and her father are both on our side.’
Vicenzo had never mentioned this girl before. Isabella took a cocktail from the tray and leaned forward, listening intently.
Sensing her interest, Vicenzo casually changed the subject. ‘I hear the actress Luisa Ferida has been shouting her hatred of Mussolini from the rooftops.’
‘Really?’ said a young man on the edge of the group.
‘Yes – she and that boyfriend of hers, Osvaldo Valenti. I don’t believe them for a moment; he’s a snake in the grass.’
‘You think they are pretending?’ asked Lino.
‘Of course. The pair of them are Fascist to the core. They’re just trying to work out which way the wind is blowing.’ Vicenzo looked pointedly at Isabella. ‘What do you think? Is Osvaldo a convert to the anti-Fascist cause?’
‘You’re asking me?’ She blushed, embarrassed at being challenged. ‘I don’t really know. Osvaldo is such an egotistical man. I’ve never really liked him. But it’s hard for actors like us. The State has controlled our business for so long, people don’t know who to trust anymore.’
‘Isabella thinks there is an indulgent, paternalistic side to the Fascist authorities,’ said Vicenzo sarcastically. ‘They’ve looked after her so handsomely since she was a child, she can’t believe “Daddy” has abandoned her.’
There was a ripple of laughter. Isabella, wounded by Vicenzo’s comment, sensed his friends’ contempt. He had been so kind and sympathetic when they had last met, encouraging her to expose her fears. Now she was just the butt of his joke. She felt herself flushing with embarrassment and anger. ‘I really ought to be going.’
‘Oh, really?’ Vicenzo looked surprised. ‘Don’t go just yet.’
‘I really think I should. Thank you, though – it’s been most enlightening.’
Vicenzo followed her out into the hall.
‘Why did you say that – about me and the Fascists?’ she asked him, as he helped her on with her coat.
‘Well it’s true, isn’t it? You were friends with Ciano, everyone