Only Mrs Cornelius says she has no wish to go there again. ‘They got a buckbone where their backbone ought to be.’ She doesn’t want to waste time with them any more. The British have always been jealous of American wealth. They were jealous of them in the War because they fought with ordnance rather than men. Both nations in their way have dedicated themselves to avoiding experience. They have the superior attitude of a people who have never had to beg for their bread. They think this reflects a natural superiority. Well, the Germans thought the same thing until 1945.
And perhaps they had better cause.
I contacted my journalist friends in case they had heard from Maddy, but they seemed honest in their ignorance. Nobody knew where she was. Judging from the stories she was filing, said Billy Grisham, she was almost certainly covering exclusives out of town. She seemed suddenly to have carte blanche with the Italian authorities.
The telephone began to assume unusual importance in my life. I waited for Maddy to phone. I waited for my Chief to phone. I even waited for Margherita Sarfatti to phone.
None of them phoned. But suddenly one Monday, completely out of the blue, my secretary took a call from someone on Signora Mussolini’s staff. Rachele suggested we meet the next day for lunch. I would be expected at the Villa Torlonia at the usual time. I had almost forgotten my Duce’s request for me to teach his boys to fly.
Was that the reason for my invitation? So uncertain had I become that I immediately wondered about Mrs Mussolini’s motives. Was she inviting me to give me a dressing down? Or to relay a secret message from Il Duce who wished me to perform some discreet task for him? A thousand possibilities passed through my mind. However, I was not, as I had begun to fear, persona non grata at the Italian court!
Then at about eleven o’clock that same day, I received another telephone call, this time from Margherita Sarfatti in Milan on a long-distance line. She had tried to contact me earlier but could not get through. Apologising for her earlier poor temper, she spoke of my patience, my kindness, my intelligence. She knew I would forgive her.
As a gentleman, there was little I could say.
She suggested we meet for lunch the next day. I told her I already had an important appointment. I might, I said cautiously, be able to meet her that evening.
She accepted.
Now there were further intricacies to contemplate! In casual conversation with some of my fellow Fascists I tried to find out if something unusual was happening. They were unaware of any such atmosphere. They advised me to relax, as they relaxed, and enjoy the pleasures of office. They tried to get me to meet attractive women of their acquaintance, but I would have none of it. I was still aware of Rachele Mussolini’s bright judgemental eye.
I had dinner that evening with Major Nye at the Excelsior. He was complaining about the French. ‘They’re behaving like peasants as usual. As if a few miles of land is worth making so much fuss over. The French have never been able to beat the Germans on their own. It’s damned unseemly how they insist on their spoils. That sort of attitude puts the whole of British diplomacy in question.’ Britain was a good friend to Italy. Nye himself saw the German point of view. The reparations question was one which should have been solved and then forgotten about. The Germans wanted a chance to get back on an even keel. ‘Unless they do so soon, there’ll be civil war there. The Soviet Union will get involved, and no doubt the rest of us. They have to find some kind of stability.’ His main hope rested on the moderate Nazis. He was clearly on good terms with Göring, who passed our table in high spirits. He was surrounded by a group of high-ranking Fascists, most of whom were also out of uniform. They seemed to be congratulating him.
‘He’s just seen the Pope,’ Nye told me. ‘Apparently it went very well. Odd, really, since Hermann’s a Protestant. Still, that’s politics and the Germans have a big Catholic vote to worry about. Thankfully that hasn’t been a British problem for some centuries.’ He ordered his pudding.
He had heard of Mussolini’s meetings with Göring via their mutual friend Margherita Sarfatti. ‘You know her, don’t you?’
I told him that I knew a lot of people in the Italian art world. I had lived here as a student ten years ago. It was in my interest to remain discreet on such matters. He understood.
‘Well, she’s still a strong influence on the old boy.’ He had heard that the weather in London was wonderful. He told me something about the cricketing club he favoured. I continue to be puzzled by how the English managed to invent most of the sports enjoyed around the world when their weather makes them largely unplayable at home.
‘You should visit England soon,’ Major Nye insisted as we parted. ‘I assure you we know how to put the best resources in the hands of the best men. Especially in science and engineering.’
He gave me the nearest thing I had ever had to an invitation. I would have been wise to pursue the matter.
Unusually for me, I took the step of drugging myself to sleep that night. I felt that I had to be especially alert the next day when I met La Sarfatti.
Altogether I had endured a troubled few weeks, since the night of that party. The arrival of so many foreigners and old friends in Rome had unsettled me. It might have been better, perhaps, had we never met.
TWENTY-ONE
My main concern was that, in her mindless jealousy, Margherita Sarfatti had given Mussolini a distorted version of events, implicating me with Fiorello da Bazzanno, the communists and even the Nazis. I saw no reason why she should attack me, since she had initiated our relationship in full knowledge that Maddy was my mistress. Fiorello was as much her friend as mine and had last been seen in her company. On the other hand Italo Balbo and several members of the Grand Council had mentioned in passing how Sarfatti could be as vengeful an enemy as she was a generous friend. Although Mussolini now knew my worth, it was she who had first helped me to my present position and might in turn topple me from it. Perhaps Maddy had poisoned her mind?
Could I really be in danger? I had done nothing wrong or disloyal to my Chief. Certainly I did not fear for my life, as I had under the savage El Glaoui. Even the prisoners sent by Mussolini to Lipari or Ponzione were self-declared enemies of the state and had received set sentences. If Sarfatti accused me of rape, things would merely be more awkward. Mussolini had an old-fashioned view of such things. He would see it as a sign of my virility. Rape is not easily proven, especially by a woman of her reputation. My main concern was for my work. I could not bear to see success snatched away from me so soon. I was helpless. Because of my Chief’s mysterious absence, I was without allies. If he was against me now, I was friendless. Had Sarfatti arranged to see me simply to relish her triumph?
says Dante, taking us through Purgatory. Sarfatti was both beauty and the beast. I began to realise the character of the woman Fiorello had painted as a she-leopard in his Divine Comedy sequence. I wondered how he would have depicted Mrs Mussolini.