was to audition for Vicenzo. She had avoided the hotel ever since, as it brought back memories that she preferred to bury – the embarrassing effects of the drug she took, her sense of failure at not getting the part. It was also, of course, the place where she had first met the man she loved.
At the entrance to the ballroom, she handed her invitation to a soldier on the door, who announced her as ‘Fräulein Isabella Bellucci’. She was startled to hear herself referred to as ‘fräulein’ rather than ‘signorina’. It was dramatic evidence that Rome had been completely taken over by a foreign power.
As Isabella’s name was called, the other guests turned to stare at her – intrigued, she supposed, by her past fame. Mingling with the high-powered German officers were a sprinkling of other Cinecittà actors – like her, she presumed, doing their best to keep on the right side of the new regime. She spotted Doris Durante, striking in a scarlet gown, hanging on the arm of her lover, Alessandro Pavolini. When she saw Isabella, she plunged through the crowd to meet her.
‘Isabella,’ she said, kissing the air on either side of her face. ‘How lovely to see you. It’s been far too long. I didn’t realise you were part of this crowd.’
Isabella, who had never liked Doris, was uncertain how to respond. She didn’t consider herself ‘part of this crowd’ and was unclear why she had been invited at all. Before she could respond, she found Karl Wolff suddenly at her side.
He bowed and kissed her hand. ‘Isabella, how delightful you look.’
Suddenly her invitation made sense.
‘How nice to see you again,’ she replied uncertainly.
Doris smiled knowingly and drifted back to her group who gathered excitedly around her to hear the latest gossip.
Wolff began to chat animatedly, but out of the corner of her eye, Isabella noticed Doris’s friends staring at her. Clearly they were fascinated to see the woman who had caught the eye of the Supreme Commander of SS Forces in Italy.
Isabella was seated next to Wolff at dinner. Their table included a number of other leading German and Fascist figures, including Pavolini. The talk was all of the imminent release of Mussolini.
‘He’ll be set up in the north,’ Pavolini said, ‘on Lake Garda. The situation in Rome is a little too unpredictable, but we’ll soon have it under control. Our distinguished friend here,’ he continued, turning towards Karl Wolff, ‘will be escorting him on his journey, isn’t that right?’
‘I have that honour,’ Wolff nodded. ‘I hear you’ve been promoted?’
Pavolini preened slightly. ‘Yes, I am now Secretary of the Fascist Republic.’ Doris kissed his cheek, then turned to Isabella.
‘Have you heard the news about Count Ciano?’ she asked pointedly. ‘I know you’re a friend of his.’
‘Not a friend exactly,’ replied Isabella, ‘and no, I haven’t heard anything recently.’
‘He’s been arrested. All that bitchy talk of his about Il Duce has come back to bite him. Mussolini is out for his blood.’
Isabella was genuinely shocked. She had never like Ciano much, and being forced to be part of his little court at the golf club hadn’t been easy, but she didn’t wish ill on the man. ‘But he’s Mussolini’s son-in-law. Can’t his wife help him? Surely, Il Duce couldn’t harm the husband of his own daughter?’ she asked earnestly.
‘Oh, of course she’s begging her father for mercy, but Il Duce doesn’t take disloyalty lightly,’ Doris said with relish.
‘What disloyalty? I know Ciano could be a bit cruel and mocking sometimes – he had a wicked tongue – but he always had Il Duce’s, and the country’s, best interests at heart,’ insisted Isabella.
‘You really are the most silly girl,’ said Doris. ‘Ciano was one of the ringleaders of the coup against Mussolini! The King asked his ministers to vote – kick Mussolini out or keep him in position. The majority, including Ciano, voted out. Now the King’s run away, Mussolini is back and Ciano can’t survive. His execution is certain – at least, that’s what Alessandro says.’
Isabella sat back in her chair, bewildered; her world was imploding.
‘And have you heard about Cinecittà studios?’ Doris went on.
Isabella looked at her blankly.
‘The technicians have stolen all the equipment and costumes – isn’t that disgraceful?’
‘Well, they have no work anymore,’ said Isabella. ‘Perhaps they needed the money.’
‘What an extraordinary attitude!’ declared Doris. ‘There’s a plan for the studios to be turned into a camp for the displaced, isn’t there Alessandro?’ She gazed at him, picking a piece of thread