As she hauled herself up in bed, she noticed her dress lying abandoned on the floor. She had no memory of either taking it off, nor of getting home. Someone had presumably driven her, but she couldn’t remember who it was. Stefano perhaps?
Isabella’s mouth was dry. Reaching out to her bedside table, she fumbled for a glass of water and took a sip. Slowly the details of the evening filtered back to her. She remembered sitting next to Wolff at dinner, but what had they talked about? He had suggested they visit Florence together… something she would have to extricate herself from, she thought.
Climbing out of bed, she walked unsteadily to the bathroom. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she suddenly remembered the conversation about Livia. ‘Oh what have I done,’ she muttered to herself. Overcome by nausea, she wretched and vomited violently into the basin. She wiped her mouth and splashed her face with water. Stumbling back to bed, she pulled the covers over her head and tried desperately to reassure herself she had done nothing wrong. After all, there must be hundreds of girls in Florence called Livia. It would be impossible to trace her from just her Christian name.
Isabella finally dozed off, only waking when her mother opened the curtains. Light streamed into the room.
‘What are you still doing in bed? It’s nearly lunchtime. Don’t you have any work to do?’
‘No, Mamma,’ Isabella said, rolling over and covering her eyes with her hands. ‘I’ve told you, there are no films being made.’
‘Well, there are plenty of jobs to do in the house. You should get up, Isabella. Oh, and you just missed a phone call. Your friend Vicenzo rang.’ Her mother smiled. ‘If I were you, I’d get up and ring him back.’
‘What did he want?’ Isabella asked, propping herself up on her elbow.
Her mother winked. ‘He’s invited you to lunch tomorrow.’
Isabella was overwhelmed with relief. If Vicenzo had rung her, obviously nothing terrible had happened to Livia. And more importantly, if Vicenzo had invited her to lunch, perhaps he did still love her after all.
Giovanna was reading the newspaper in the kitchen when Isabella came down for breakfast the following day.
‘Look at this,’ cried her mother, throwing the newspaper across the table. ‘That man’s a disgrace.’
Isabella saw the headline on the front page.
King deserts capital
Reading the article, it appeared that the King and Queen had fled Rome and gone into hiding, along with the Prime Minister, Marshal Badoglio.
‘The old rogue has run away and deserted his people,’ said Giovanna, going over to the stove and stirring a pot of soup.
‘There’s another headline, Mamma.’ Isabella went on. ‘“Italian forces have been defending the capital against German troops.”’ She looked at her mother fearfully. ‘They say in the article, there was fighting in Rome last night. “The situation is perilous”, it says. I didn’t hear anything last night, did you?’
Giovanna shook her head. ‘So, it seems the Germans will be in charge soon enough. Lucky for us that you have so many useful German friends.’
‘Do you think so?’ Isabella said anxiously.
‘Of course, they know you’re a loyal Fascist.’
‘Am I?’ asked Isabella. ‘Is that what you think?’
‘Yes,’ said her mother. ‘And very sensible too. You’re on the right side.’
As Isabella skirted Villa Borghese, on her way to have lunch with Vicenzo, German troops were setting up a military encampment in the park. Clearly her mother was right – the Germans had taken over.
Walking up the drive of Vicenzo’s villa, she felt nervous and excited. The dogs were lying on the porch steps as usual and rose to greet her.
Vicenzo answered the door wearing a dark shirt, open at the neck. He looked tanned but tired, she thought. He kissed her on both cheeks.
‘I’ve missed you,’ she said.
‘I’ve missed you too,’ he replied automatically. He took her coat and led her through to the sitting room. It felt like old times and gradually she began to relax. She convinced herself that nothing bad could have happened to Livia. She almost began to believe that the whole experience had been a terrible dream.
‘Have you heard the news?’ she asked.
‘Of course,’ he replied gloomily, handing her a cocktail. He slumped on the sofa opposite her.
‘There are German troops in the park. What are they doing there?’
‘They’re not just in Rome, they’re massing all over Italy.’ He appeared angry, his tone sarcastic. ‘Rome is an “open city”, apparently – that’s a joke. Basically, we’ve been overrun.’
‘But the Germans have no quarrel with