The Affair (49 page)

The man looked at him sharply. ‘What kind of packages?’

‘Cocaine,’ Scott whispered, hoping he wasn’t making a huge mistake. Could this be an undercover police officer? A friend of Luigi’s out to entrap him?

‘Maybe I can help,’ the man said, and Scott breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Would Luigi mind if I buy from you? This is usually his patch.’

‘Luigi has gone.’

Scott stared. ‘Gone where? Does he work in another area now?’

‘No, gone. Disappeared. You won’t see him again.’ The tone was matter-of-fact, and that’s what made it so chilling.

Scott gave a low whistle. ‘What the fuck happened? Did he do something to upset the big boys?’

‘Who knows, my friend?’ His gaze was level and steely, and Scott got the impression that the man knew exactly what had happened. Perhaps he had even killed Luigi himself and been rewarded with permission to take over the lucrative Via Veneto area. ‘So, do you want to buy?’

Scott felt obliged to purchase a small packet of cocaine so they reconvened in the gents’, where the exchange took place.

‘I wonder if it was anything to do with that English girl who drowned near Anzio?’ Scott speculated, watching the face of the new dealer carefully. ‘I heard that Luigi tried to implicate a friend of hers who’d made him mad. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten involved.’

The dealer’s expression was chilling, his face mask-like but the eyes glittering with suspicion. ‘Who are you?’

‘Nobody. A customer. That’s all.’ Scott backed off. ‘It’s good to meet you. Hey, what should I call you?’

‘Call me Luigi. It’s a lucky name, don’t you think? And watch your step, my friend.’

Scott was shaking when he got outside onto the street. He jumped straight on his bike and rode off at top speed, suddenly nervous that the new dealer might follow him. The reaction when he’d asked about Luigi incriminating Diana had been instant. There was no doubt the dealer knew all about it because he hadn’t asked, ‘What do you mean?’ He knew.

The Ghianciaminas can’t have been best pleased at Luigi involving their housekeeper in his petty revenge against Diana. It drew attention to them. Someone had decided Luigi should be eliminated.
Jesus!
Scott regretted letting slip to the dealer that he knew about it. What had he been thinking of?

He zigzagged round the streets until he was sure there was no one following and then he stopped at the office to put the pack of cocaine into the cubbyhole. He considered snorting some because his nerves were shot, but thought better of it. He needed to keep his wits about him at all times now. He couldn’t be sure who might be looking for him.

Diana returned to Rinascente department store to buy a new dress for their cocktails with Elizabeth and Richard. She was keen to make a good impression. It was ridiculous, of course, because she couldn’t begin to compete with Elizabeth when it came to looks, but it wasn’t about competition. She wanted to appear chic, to display another aspect of her personality, so that they didn’t pigeonhole her as a dowdy academic.

She browsed the rails for two hours and tried on several outfits but couldn’t make up her mind, and it made her miss Helen terribly. Helen was instinctively stylish, one of her many talents.

A shop assistant took pity on Diana as she stood dithering between four different dresses – leopard print, polka-dot, jewelled chiffon, harlequin diamonds – none of which were quite right.

‘Is it for a party?’ the woman asked.

‘For cocktails with friends.’

The woman disappeared and came back with a simple forest-green shot-silk dress, in the new A-line style, which stopped just above the knee. She held it up in front of Diana and instantly it was obvious that it was the right thing: simple and understated. She could wear her pearls with it. How ridiculous that it had taken her so long.

The following Saturday, she dressed an hour before they were due to be picked up and began to apply her makeup, trying to draw fine black lines round the rims of her eyelashes as Helen had done. She smudged them with her finger, then unthinkingly wiped her fingers on her lap – and looked down to see a smear of pancake foundation on the fabric, which she had to sponge off, leaving a round damp patch. What a ditz I am! she thought.

‘Why are you nervous?’ Trevor asked, as she stood flapping the hem of her dress by the window, trying to make the evening sun dry it and praying there wouldn’t be a watermark. ‘They’re only people.’

‘I know. Of course I know that.’ She giggled. ‘But I notice you’re wearing your best jacket, and you’ve even put on a tie, despite the heat. I’ve never seen Richard in a tie.’

‘Haven’t you? In that case I’ll take it off.’ He loosened the tie and slipped it off then unfastened his top button. ‘You look lovely, by the way. That dress brings out the green of your eyes.’

‘Thank you, darling.’

They were both ready at least half an hour early and sat self-consciously by the window drinking cups of tea until it was time to hail a taxi.

When they climbed out at the Villa Papa, security staff asked apologetically if they could look inside Diana’s handbag and they patted down Trevor’s jacket and trouser pockets before the butler led them through to the sunny lounge, the one Trevor had been in before. Everything looked much the same, except that the roses on the coffee table were deep red now, and a child’s pull-along train was abandoned in the middle of the rug.

They sat down self-consciously on a sofa, then seconds later Richard Burton swept into the room and they both rose to shake his hand.

‘Diana, Trevor, how good to meet you,’ he said, his penetrating blue eyes moving from one to the other. ‘How are you, Diana? I hope there are no ill effects from your incarceration?’

‘I’m fine. Thank you. I was very well treated. Everything was perfectly civilised. If you ever have to go to jail, I can recommend Regina Coeli.’ She was gabbling. There was something about him that made her nervous. Perhaps it was the magnificent voice, or the fact that the only other time she’d seen him up close he had been shouting at Candy.

‘I don’t think being imprisoned for something you didn’t do counts as civilised treatment. It seems outrageous that in one visit to Torre Astura, Trevor was able to uncover evidence the police had completely overlooked. But if you are sure no lasting harm has been done, I suppose that’s the main thing.’ The butler stood, waiting for his orders. ‘Do you both like champagne?’

They nodded in unison, although as far as Diana knew Trevor had never tried it.

‘A bottle of Bollinger, please,’ he asked the butler. ‘Let’s celebrate! Elizabeth will join us but not for at least another hour by my reckoning because she hasn’t yet started to do her hair and it takes an unconscionably long time to arrange.’

‘According to Martin Luther, “The hair is the richest ornament of women”,’ Trevor quoted.

Richard responded: ‘“Attired to please herself: no gems of any kind/She wore, nor aught of borrowed gloss in Nature’s stead;/And then, her long, loose hair flung around her head/Fell carelessly behind.”’

Diana was mesmerised. People paid top dollar to hear this man in the theatre and she could see why because he transformed himself in a way that was magical to watch and listen to. His words took you out of your immediate surroundings so that you felt you could see the woman with careless long hair.

‘Terence,
Heauton Timorumenos
,’ Trevor recognised. ‘Is it Bacchis praising Antiphila? How did you come across such a little-known piece?’

‘My drama teacher was very thorough. He recommended Terence for the simplicity and elegance of the language, but I have yet to persuade any director to revive his work.’

‘No, it would hardly stand the test of time. And of course, there is the controversy over whether he wrote the plays himself. Cicero and Quintillian thought not.’

The champagne cork was popped and Diana was handed a glass.

‘To your freedom,’ Richard toasted, smiling. ‘May you never be imprisoned again …’

‘I’ll certainly drink to that,’ she agreed, and they all clinked glasses before taking a sip. It was divine. Diana decided she even preferred it to the Dom Pérignon she’d drunk at Elizabeth’s thirtieth birthday party many moons ago. Before prison. Her life seemed divided into before prison and after prison. It was too early to tell whether the experience had changed her but she felt different, in a way that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Perhaps it was the knowledge that she had been at rock bottom and survived. If she could cope with being falsely imprisoned for murder without falling apart, she could cope with anything. It was a good thing to know about yourself.

Richard and Trevor were talking about W.H. Auden, with whom they both had a slight acquaintance, and quoting poetry at each other, back and forwards like a tennis match. She smiled. They would never admit it but each was trying to impress. It was entertaining to watch.

Suddenly they heard a movement on the stairs and all turned to see Elizabeth descending. She was wearing white trousers, so tight they looked as though they had been painted onto her legs, and a shocking pink kaftan in floaty chiffon. Diana immediately felt overdressed in her smart green frock and pearls. Tony went to greet her and realised Richard wasn’t getting up and sat down again.

‘Am I late? I see you started without me.’ She picked up a spare glass the butler had left on the tray and filled it from the bottle, which was in a wine cooler.

‘Your lateness is part of your charm, my love. One always knows one can depend on it.’

Diana turned to look at Richard and was stunned by the alteration in his expression. He was gazing at Elizabeth like a little boy: vulnerable, awe-struck, unable to believe his own luck that he had snared such a knock-out woman. As she sashayed past him to greet Diana and Trevor, he couldn’t help reaching out to touch the fabric of her trousers, as if to reassure himself she were real. His eyes never left her as she shook hands with Trevor and gave Diana a hug, then kicked off her high-heeled gold sandals and curled her legs beneath her in an armchair.

‘We were discussing Auden,’ Richard told her. ‘Do you remember? “I’ll love you, dear, I’ll love you/Till China and Africa meet,/And the river jumps over the mountain/And the salmon sing in the street.”’

‘Isn’t that beautiful?’ she drawled. ‘You know him, don’t you? You must introduce me some time. He sounds like quite a fellow.’ The way she said ‘fell-ow’ sounded very English and Diana realised she was picking up Richard’s classical Shakespearean diction and becoming less American.

‘He’s a very shy man. He’d be struck dumb if he met you. But that wouldn’t matter because you can talk forever.’ He dragged his gaze away from her to address Diana and Trevor. ‘There are no awkward silences at any gathering Elizabeth attends, because there are never any silences, full stop.’

‘And yet,’ she trilled, ‘you’re the one doing all the talking tonight, baby.’

Diana could see they were utterly enthralled by each other. They hung on every word the other spoke, sparking off one another’s thoughts, constantly watching the tiniest movements of a hand, or the recrossing of a leg, or the scratching of a minor itch. There was a current of electricity running between them that made them seem alert to the other’s every breath and heartbeat.

They’re trying to learn all they can about each other
, Diana thought.
They’re hopelessly addicted
. She knew about sexual addiction, because she’d had that with Ernesto; and she knew about love, because when she watched Trevor wincing with his back pain, it made her heart ache. But Elizabeth and Richard seemed to have it all: the emotional and the physical, plus a meeting of the minds. They were well and truly hooked.

And then she thought about Sybil and the children, and realised just how tortured Richard’s position must be. Trevor was right; no matter which decision he made, he would lose.

They were talking about Mark Antony now, and Diana knew she should join in the conversation but she enjoyed being a spectator as her husband explained what was known of the debauched, difficult character and Elizabeth and Richard discussed scenes and lines of dialogue from Joe’s script. A couple of times Richard referred a question to Elizabeth and she positively glowed with pride.

She’s not used to being taken seriously for her intellect
, Diana guessed.
She’s beguiled by his brain, and flattered that he treats her as an equal.
She remembered Elizabeth saying that Richard called her ‘Ocean’ and could see that for someone accustomed to being praised for her surface beauty, it would be irresistible to be referred to by implication as ‘deep’.

They talked about meeting the King of Spain and his new wife at dinner the previous evening. ‘She’s a timid little thing. I don’t think there’s any doubt he bagged a virgin,’ Richard quipped.

‘I’ve got a joke for you,’ Elizabeth responded. ‘A man asks a young woman he’s just slept with “Am I the first man who ever made love to you?” She says “Yes, dear, you might be. Your face looks familiar.”’

Richard laughed loudest of all, and Elizabeth beamed with pleasure. Diana began to worry that she was being too quiet. She’d hardly spoken since Elizabeth joined them, but she could tell those two liked an audience. It fuelled their exchanges, ratcheting them up a gear. They wanted people to see how happy they were, and that was easier in public because in private they would be inevitably drawn to no-go areas – such as his wife and children. In company, they could be a proper couple in love rather than a pair of guilty adulterers.