much more influential you could get.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Isabella anxiously.
‘And what about that German officer you met?’ Giovanna suggested.
‘Wolff?’ Isabella said with surprise. ‘I hardly know him.’
‘But he asked you out, didn’t he? You must learn to use your femininity and your charms, Isabella. You have great beauty. You’re a star. Stop behaving like a downtrodden woman. Grab what you want with both hands. Stop being such a victim.’
Isabella, chastened, sat up at the table, wiping her eyes.
‘All it would take,’ her mother went on, ‘would be a word from you that this girl is not all she seems… that she may be involved with some anti-Fascist organisation—’
‘I couldn’t do that!’ Isabella was appalled. ‘For one thing, I don’t know if it’s true.’
‘You don’t know that it’s a lie either,’ replied her mother. ‘Just think about it.’
Isabella was due at the Acquasanta Golf Club that evening. As she dressed for dinner, she thought about her mother’s advice and began to convince herself that Livia could indeed be a dangerous influence. The more she thought about what her mother had said, the more likely an explanation it seemed. If this girl was an anti-Fascist, she could be manipulating Vicenzo and putting him in serious danger.
Driving towards the club, she turned on the car radio. The announcer suddenly interrupted the music and introduced the Prime Minister, Marshal Badoglio: The Italian government, recognising the impossibility of continuing the unequal struggle against an overwhelming enemy force, in order to avoid further and graver disasters for the nation, has sought an armistice from General Eisenhower, Commander-in-Chief of the Allied forces. The request was granted. Consequently, all acts of hostility against the Anglo-American forces by Italian forces must cease everywhere. However, our armed services will react to attacks from any other source.’
Isabella pulled over at the side of the road, trying to make sense of the announcement. What did it mean? Did ‘any other source’ mean Italy was now at war with Germany?
‘Darling, there you are,’ said Stefano, when Isabella arrived at the golf club. ‘Have you heard the latest news?’
‘Yes, I heard the announcement on my car radio. What does it mean? Are we no longer at war with the Anglo-Americans?’ She lowered her voice, aware that the room was peppered with the black uniforms of senior Nazi officers. ‘Are the Germans now our enemy?’
‘Lord knows,’ said Stefano, winking. ‘But it strikes me that we need to start looking both ways now… make friends wherever we can, darling.’
Isabella scanned the room, looking for people she knew. On the opposite side of the drawing room, leaning against the fireplace, was Karl Wolff, the SS commander she had met in the summer. It seemed as if fate had brought them together.
He crossed the room towards her. ‘Isabella, how wonderful to see you again.’ He clicked his heels, and raised her hand to his lips. ‘I trust you are you quite recovered?’
‘Oh yes, that was a long time ago – I’m much better, thank you.’
‘Let me get you a drink – and you will join us at dinner, I hope?’
He ordered her a cocktail from the bar, and insisted on sitting next to her at dinner. As the wine flowed, she began to relax. He was the model of good manners and erudition. They discussed art, opera and films.
‘I saw you in La Bohème,’ he told her, ‘I thought you were wonderful. You have a great talent.’ He gazed at her. ‘You appear so young and innocent, but I suspect beating beneath that tender breast is the heart of a lion.’
She blushed, genuinely pleased. It was good to feel valued and made to feel special. Inevitably, the conversation turned to the latest political news.
‘I have to confess, I don’t really understand what’s happening,’ Isabella said. ‘I heard the Prime Minister on the radio as I drove over, and am quite confused.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about it,’ Wolff reassured her, refilling her glass. ‘I think you’ll find that announcement was rather premature.’
‘I see.’ Isabella tried to sound unconcerned. ‘So we are not at war with our German friends, then?’ She looked at him and smiled, trying to keep the conversation light-hearted.
‘It’s complicated, I agree,’ he replied gently, ‘but a beautiful woman like you shouldn’t have to worry about such things. You’ll be all right.’
‘The problem is,’ she persisted, ‘we all feel we’re in limbo, caught between one world and another. It’s very confusing.’
‘It must be.’ He sounded genuinely sympathetic.
‘One doesn’t really know who one’s friends are anymore,’ Isabella went