The Affair (48 page)

During the afternoon of her first day of freedom, Signor Esposito called round with some papers for Diana to sign, and he brought with him a large bundle of letters he had received in support of her, from colleagues in England and in Rome. She was staggered to read the wonderful things they said: ‘a genuinely good person’, ‘utterly trustworthy’, ‘generous to a fault’, ‘I would trust her with my children’.

She was amazed to see that John De Cuir, the set designer, had written a letter, as they hadn’t entirely seen eye to eye over the sets. There was even one from Rex Harrison, despite the fact that the most she’d ever said to him was ‘Good morning’. She wondered if someone had told him that she rescued Rachel Roberts from an Italian lothario at the Christmas party? They were married now and back in England, as he’d finished shooting all his scenes.

Perhaps the biggest surprise of all was a letter from Sybil Burton, saying that she was convinced of Diana’s innocence. How touching that she would write in support of someone she’d only spoken to once in person. Perhaps it would have been influential to receive support from the ‘wronged woman’.

Throughout that first day of freedom, Trevor urged Diana to pack her belongings and fly home with him, saying it might be dangerous for her to remain in Rome. Diana listened to his arguments but responded that she didn’t think Luigi would pursue her personally. He’d had his revenge and must be aware that the finger would point directly at him if she came to any harm. She promised she wouldn’t go out on her own in the city and she’d use studio drivers when she had to travel anywhere outside the film set. She desperately wanted to stay. It would feel like a huge failure to leave the film now, with the climactic scenes still to be shot over the next few weeks.

‘Alright,’ Trevor finally conceded, over a bottle of Valpolicella at the local
trattoria
that evening. ‘But if you stay, I will stay as well. I’ll take leave of absence from work. Term has almost finished and perhaps they will agree to send out the students’ exam papers for marking. There’s no reason why I can’t deal with them here.’

Diana felt a surge of gratitude. ‘You’d do that? It would be wonderful to have you here.’

‘I’ll call in the morning and see what I can negotiate.’

Diana had already phoned Hilary to say she would be back at Cinecittà the following day, so a studio car was waiting for her at eight.

‘Good to have you back, Signora Bailey,’ her driver grinned, and she introduced him to her husband, who was accompanying her.

She felt tentative coming through the gates of the studio in case anyone might blame her for Helen’s death. It was reassuring to have Trevor by her side. The guard greeted her and a few people waved across the lawn but when she reached the production office, Hilary and Candy were effusive in their welcome.

‘How are you? Was it simply frightful?’ Hilary asked, hugging her. ‘The whole idea of being in a Roman jail gives me the screaming abdabs.’

‘It wasn’t so bad.’ She turned to hug Candy.

‘You’ve lost weight,’ Candy said. ‘You look very “Audrey Hepburn”. Being skinny is all the rage, according to
Vogue
.’

Hilary rolled her eyes at her. ‘There are easier ways to slim, Candy. Try and show some tact for once in your life.’

Diana sat at her desk and pulled up a chair for Trevor. She showed him how to use the phone and they carried on talking while he waited for the international operator to connect him to his head of department at the university in London.

‘Ernesto’s gone, you know,’ Hilary told her. ‘His contract’s been terminated.’

Diana nodded. That was welcome news. She’d been dreading bumping into him.

‘And they held Helen’s funeral yesterday, back in Leamington Spa. They wanted just a small affair for family and a few friends, but the studio sent a wreath and a card from all of us.’

‘I wish I could have been there.’ Diana decided she would write to Helen’s parents, offering apologies for her own inadvertent part in the tragedy, and explaining some aspects of the story they might not have been told by the police. It was the very least she could do. They deserved the truth.

‘And the only other news from the set is that we’re on yet another economy drive. They’re trying to get Elizabeth’s scenes finished as soon as they can so they can stop paying her overtime. And no more deliveries from Chasen’s!’ Hilary waggled her finger sternly, mocking the ludicrousness of these pronouncements. ‘The film’s budget has topped thirty million dollars but they won’t stump up a dollar for a bowl of chilli.’

Diana smiled. ‘Is Elizabeth upset about that?’

‘Not at all. I think she knew she was pushing her luck. She’s far more concerned about what will happen to her precious affair once filming finishes, because Sybil will be expecting Richard back in the family home.’

‘Gosh, yes. That’s going to be traumatic for both of them.’

‘
If
he goes. It remains to be seen. Now, are you coming to the script meeting this morning? Here’s a copy of the current shooting schedule.’ She passed over the typed sheet. ‘It’s changing hourly, though. I think they’re planning to shoot the death scene with the asp today. I saw the asp trainer earlier.’

‘You’re using a real snake?’ Diana shuddered inadvertently. She wasn’t keen on snakes.

‘Yes, we’ll get some footage of it but obviously we won’t let a real one anywhere near the stars. We can’t risk any more disasters on this film.’

Walter, Joe and everyone else at the script meeting came over to shake Diana’s hand and welcome her back to the set, but thereafter it was down to business. Walter announced that he’d been ordered to get all Elizabeth’s remaining scenes shot by the 9th of June so she could be taken off the payroll on that date, and that all photography was to be completed by the 30th of June, at which point everyone’s expenses would be stopped – rents, studio cars, free meals, the lot. The gravy train was finally pulling into the terminus. As soon as the asp scenes had been shot, two hundred and thirty-five crew plus actors would decamp to Torre Astura, and then to Ischia.

There was a lot of grumbling, and expressions of incredulity. No one thought it remotely possible that they’d be finished with Elizabeth by the 9th because she was needed for a couple of the Ischia scenes. They could use a stand-in for pick-up shots of her back view but no one else could pass for her from the front.

‘Diana, I don’t think we need take you to Torre Astura.’ Walter patted her arm. ‘It would be more useful if you could head down to Ischia and do your final checks there before we all arrive.’

Diana was relieved. She would have found it difficult to go back to Torre Astura with all her dreadful memories of the place, and appreciated Walter’s thoughtfulness in sparing her that.

On the way back from the script meeting, as she passed Elizabeth Taylor’s dressing-room suite, she decided to knock on the door to thank her for her support. An assistant answered and she could see Elizabeth sitting inside, wearing a white bathrobe and no makeup, her hair pushed back behind a thick baby-pink stretch hairband. If anything, she was even more beautiful without makeup.

‘Diana!’ she called and leapt to her feet to rush over and embrace her. ‘I wasn’t sure if you would come to work. It’s great to see you. Come in and tell me all about it. How was life behind bars?’

Diana laughed. ‘I only had eight days of it so I’m hardly the expert, but it wasn’t so bad. I even made a friend.’ She told Elizabeth about Donatella, the thief, and finished by saying that she was going to get the studio car to take her to Donatella’s sister’s house that evening to drop off some money for the children. ‘A promise is a promise, after all.’

‘She sounds like a card. How funny that she hit you for money! I must tell Richard.’

‘How is Richard?’ Diana asked carefully. Like everyone else, she was curious about their relationship, but didn’t want Elizabeth to think she was prying.

Elizabeth reached for her cigarettes and lit one, holding it delicately between finger and thumb, and pursing her lips to exhale. She was an elegant smoker. ‘We’re both under pressure from all sides. Christ, did you hear that a Congresswoman is trying to pass a motion banning me from returning to America?’

‘How can she do that? You’re an American citizen!’

‘Yes, but I was born in London. This woman’ – she frowned – ‘Iris Blitch is the name. She claims I am morally degenerate and dragging the morality of all Americans into the gutter. Richard quipped in that case they should expel the whole of Hollywood and half of Congress as well.’ She searched a shelf behind her and found a half-full glass, from which she took a swig.

‘She can’t really have you banned from America, can she?’

‘Of course not. I have an American passport. The lawyers say it’s totally unenforceable even if she does pass a motion. Jeez, if the Pope can’t have me thrown out of Italy, she’s hardly going to manage it in the US. I should send her a card, don’t you think? Something sweet. Perhaps I’ll ask her to pray for me.’ She guffawed, making a most unladylike snorting sound.

Diana laughed. ‘She’d love that. I bet she’d hold prayer meetings for you.’

‘I could use all the prayers I can get, believe me. Now where’s that delightful husband of yours?’ Elizabeth twinkled. ‘Have you packed him off home to London again?’

‘No, he’s going to stay with me for the rest of the filming. It will be good for us to spend some time together.’

‘The two of you must come over for cocktails. How about tomorrow? No, wait a moment, not tomorrow – we’re having dinner with the King of Spain … Saturday. Can you both come on Saturday? At seven? Richard has been dying to meet you.’

Diana blushed.
Richard Burton dying to meet her? Surely not.
‘Saturday should be fine. I know Trevor would love to meet Richard. He’s often said to me he considers him the finest actor of his generation.’

‘Does he really?’ She was girlishly pleased. ‘I liked Trevor a lot. I sure can see why you married him.’ She gave a lascivious wink. ‘I never could resist a man with a big brain.’

Diana chuckled. It seemed odd that Elizabeth would hit it off with her husband when they couldn’t have been more dissimilar: the adulterous diva, who’d been famous since the age of twelve for her populist movies, and the serious-minded classicist who wouldn’t even consider buying a television set because he considered it low culture. The door opened and Elizabeth’s makeup artist came in, carrying a huge case that rattled as she walked.

‘You’ll have to excuse me,’ Elizabeth said, stubbing out her cigarette, ‘I must get ready to deliver my final words of the film to a rubber snake.’

Diana chuckled to herself as she continued on down the drive towards the production office, where her big-brained husband was waiting.

Scott read and reread his article dozens of time, substituting more potent adjectives, until at last he could do no more. It was still much longer than his editor normally printed but he thought that perhaps they might serialise it across two or three issues. It was written in scenes and dialogue, like the new journalism he so much admired, and he’d tried to capture the poignant details that established character: Helen’s sinuous style of dancing, with skinny hips keeping perfect time and backcombed blonde hair swaying from side to side; the black stubble on the backs of Luigi’s hands where he shaved them, and his shiny black shoes; the harsh barking of the Alsatians at Don Ghianciamina’s villa, which reminded him of the chanting he’d heard in a recording of Hitler’s Nuremberg Rally.

Instead of calling and dictating it to a copy-taker, he sent it by special courier addressed to the editor. The paper’s copy-takers were notoriously sloppy and he didn’t want to risk a single error creeping in. After the package had gone, he sat back to wait, jumping every time the phone rang. This could be his big break in journalism; the piece that would get him noticed. He’d discuss his personal security with his editor once they agreed on a publication date. Maybe the paper would pay for him to have a bodyguard. Taylor and Burton had bodyguards – why shouldn’t he? In the meantime, he kept to public places and parked his bike as close to the front door as he could manage. When he went to bars, he kept his eyes peeled for Luigi, but there was no sign of him.

One night, just over a week after Diana’s release from prison, Scott was sitting in a piano bar off the Via Veneto when he saw an Italian man emerge from the ladies’ toilet, folding some bills into his wallet. Shortly afterwards, one of the American girls from the
Cleopatra
set emerged, wiping her nostrils with a finger. It was blindingly obvious to Scott that drugs had just changed hands but it surprised him that another dealer had the nerve to move into an area that had been exclusively Luigi’s.

The man stood by the bar just a few feet from him, stirring sugar into an espresso.

Scott sidled up. ‘Hi, how are you doing?’ he said in English.

‘OK.’

‘I don’t suppose you know where Luigi is?’

‘How do you know Luigi?’

Scott lowered his voice. ‘He used to bring packages for me.’