It is not Bellucci's spiritual side that strikes you first as she sashays through the lobby of the Draycott Hotel in South Kensington, a short walk from her Chelsea flat, and orders a green tea. The other guests can't tear their eyes away. She oozes sex appeal. That porcelain skin and impossibly curvaceous figure don't exactly prepare you for an actress of depth and integrity. Her choices of role, she insists, are based on instinct and personal growth, not column inches. "I don't care how large the part or how big the budget, as long as I feel something for the work. If you do something purely for fame, you're selling your soul, and who is going to give it back to you? Nobody."