The Affair

by Gill Paul

  ‘Oh no! How did you find out?’

  ‘One day she told me she was marrying someone else, a man who is much wealthier than me. They even invited me to the wedding but I didn’t go. My heart was broken in pieces.’ He held his hands over the spot.

  ‘Was that recently?’

  ‘Four years ago, but since then … I don’t know. I am a cynic. I think I need to work hard and make lots of money and then I can choose the woman I want and she will say yes.’

  ‘We’re not all motivated by money,’ Diana protested. ‘You’ve just had bad luck.’

  ‘I think I am too soft when I give my heart. I should have realised what was going on with my girlfriend but every time she cancelled a date I forgave her. I never suspected a thing. I don’t think I will ever fall in love like that again.’

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ Diana smiled. ‘We humans always heal eventually.’ But then she thought of Cleopatra, the queen who gambled everything she possessed, and Mark Antony, the man who lost the sea battle of Actium and eventually his life because of his liaison with her. There had been no healing there.

  They talked of affairs on the set and Diana asked, ‘Did you hear some of the extras have complained to Hilary about men groping them?’

  Ernesto twinkled. ‘What do they expect when they are wearing next to nothing? We Italian men are very red-blooded.’

  ‘I’m insulted!’ Diana exclaimed in mock protest. ‘I’ve been in Rome for two months and I haven’t so much as had my bottom pinched. Maybe I am too old for those lotharios. They prefer the lithe young actresses.’ She meant it as a joke, but it reflected her feeling that she was less attractive, less hip than the other girls on the film.

  Later that evening, as they walked up to their rooms, Ernesto grabbed her bottom in both hands and squeezed hard. She jumped in surprise and turned to rebuke him, but he gave her a broad wink. ‘Does that make you feel better?’ he asked.

  Over the next few days the colour flooded her cheeks every time she thought of it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Diana arrived at the production office on her first day back from Ischia, she could hear an altercation inside. She opened the door to see the actor Richard Burton shouting at Candy. She recognised him straight away as she and Trevor had seen him in the film Look Back in Anger but he was much shorter than she’d imagined and his skin was as cratered as a piece of pumice stone. The eyes were piercing and the voice was magnificent but on the whole she didn’t think him very attractive.

  ‘Can I help?’ she asked Candy, wondering if she needed moral support.

  ‘No, it’s OK. Hilary’s on her way.’ She looked like a cornered animal.

  Richard Burton glanced at Diana briefly then returned to the attack. ‘If it were the first time or even the second, I’d think it was just one of those bouts of inefficiency that every film set is prone to, but a fourth cock-up is rather too much, don’t you think? Was your silly blonde head too preoccupied with the Italian lads in carpentry?’

  ‘I was just doing what I was told, Mr Burton.’

  Diana decided she didn’t like him. No matter what Candy had done, it was arrogant of him to speak to her in that way.

  Hilary burst in, bringing an instant air of calm, and Diana stepped outside the office to let them resolve the dispute in peace. A woman with a pretty, young-looking face and backcombed silver-grey hair was standing smoking by the window.

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s anywhere to get a cup of tea round here, is there?’ she asked in a strong Welsh accent. ‘I’m fed up with this Italian coffee. It’s like swallowing bloody tar. I’m not sure how long I’ll be stuck here while my other half does his nut in there.’

  Diana realised this must be Sybil Burton. ‘We keep a stock of tea in the office,’ she said. ‘Typhoo suit you?’

  ‘Bless you, love. Milk and two, please.’

  As Diana made the tea she wondered at the physical differences between the Burtons. Sybil’s prematurely greyed hair made her look older than him, although her skin was smooth and wrinkle-free while his face looked decidedly lived-in. What must it be like to live with a man who had a temper like that? Diana also knew that he was notorious for having affairs. Was Sybil a doormat?

  ‘You’ve saved my life,’ she said gratefully when Diana took the tea out. ‘It’s so early we didn’t have time for any breakfast. Rich was told he had to be in makeup at nine but when we turned up there wasn’t a soul here. I think we even wakened the guard at the gate.’

  ‘I wonder how that happened?’ Diana was puzzled.

  ‘Seems they don’t need him today after all. No harm done, though. We might go and look around the Colosseum and the Forum. Have you been yet?’

  ‘I haven’t had time,’ Diana admitted. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘Course I’ve seen the one they’ve got here. It’s more than twice the size of the real thing, I heard. That’s bloody Hollywood for you.’ Frowning slightly, she glanced through the window of the production office. ‘They like everything larger than life.’ She dropped her cigarette and ground it under a stiletto heel. ‘So what’s your role on the film?’

  Diana explained and Sybil’s eyes widened. ‘You must meet Rich. He’s been doing a lot of background reading and I’m sure he’d love to have a chat with you. Maybe not today, though.’ She glanced inside again. ‘What’s your name, love?’ Diana told her. ‘I’ll mention you. Don’t worry. He’s not as fierce as he looks!’ She grinned in a way that seemed genuinely friendly and Diana warmed to her.

  After they left, Diana entered the office to find Candy dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief while Hilary comforted her. ‘It was a simple misunderstanding. He’s got no right to be so rude to you.’ She raised her eyebrows at Diana. ‘Don’t upset yourself now.’

  Half an hour later as they walked to the script meeting together, Hilary confided in Diana that the mistaken call had been entirely Candy’s fault and that she really wasn’t on top of the job. This was just one in a string of mishaps. Diana remembered that it was Candy who’d been supposed to arrange the car to pick her up from the airport – the car that never materialised.

  ‘Will she be sacked?’

  ‘No, but I’ll ask everyone in the office to try and watch her back from now on. Anyway, how was Ischia?’

  ‘Wonderful!’ Diana enthused. ‘They’re doing a great job down there. I’ll type up my notes later.’

  ‘And Ernesto behaved himself?’

  ‘Of course! He was the perfect gentleman.’ She caught a knowing look in Hilary’s eyes. ‘Honestly!’

  She had lunch with Helen, who had been missing her, and relayed all the details of her encounter with the Burtons.

  ‘Did you know about their daughter?’ Helen asked. ‘They don’t know what’s wrong with her yet but she’s three years old and she can’t speak or walk; she just rocks back and forwards. I read an article about it.’

  ‘That’s awful! Poor Sybil. I wonder how she copes?’

  ‘They’ve got an older girl who’s fine, but it must be a worry.’

  Diana considered Sybil with fresh respect. She must be a resilient woman to cope with that and put up with her husband’s philandering as well.

  Helen seemed depressed so she asked what was wrong.

  ‘I really want a boyfriend and nothing ever works out. I was chatting to Antonio from the set department all yesterday evening but when I asked him if we could go out some time he said no, that I wasn’t his type.’ She sniffed. ‘It was so hurtful. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’

  Diana put a hand on her shoulder. ‘He sounds like a cruel piece of work. It’s as well you found out sooner rather than later that he’s not the one for you.’ She considered suggesting that Helen let the man make the move next time – men liked to be the hunters, all the magazines said so – but decided not to be so personal. What did she know anyway?

  ‘My sister Claire’s got a lovely boyfriend. Did I tell you that she works for Vogue
magazine in London? She’s glamorous and clever and her boyfriend is a stockbroker so they’ll probably be rich and have a big house and lots of children. My mum and dad are really proud of her.’

  ‘I’ll bet they’re even prouder of you,’ Diana told her, ‘and I bet Claire’s jealous. You’re working on the movie of the century with some of the world’s most famous stars. After this, you’ll be able to hand-pick the jobs you want anywhere in the world. You’ll never look back.’

  ‘You seem very cheerful,’ Helen said, looking at her curiously. ‘At least one of us is.’

  ‘I think we’re lucky to be here and we should make the most of it. Why don’t you and I go out tonight, Helen? I’ll treat you to dinner somewhere nice.’

  ‘OK,’ Helen agreed, with a brave attempt at a smile. ‘I’d like that.’

  After they finished eating, she asked the waitress for a glass of milk. ‘Want to see something cute?’ she asked.

  Diana followed her out of the bar and over towards the far wall of the studio where, under a large bush, there was a heaving mass of grey and white furry bodies. A cat lay full length, her eyes closed to slits, as half a dozen wriggling, mewling kittens scrambled over her and fought to attach themselves to her nipples.

  ‘They’re only a week old.’ Helen poured the milk into an old saucer lying by the wall and slid it towards the mother, who immediately began to lap at it with a delicate pink tongue. She bent to pick up a kitten and it was dwarfed by her hands.

  ‘They’re lovely,’ Diana said.

  ‘Aren’t they? I pop out here to watch them playing whenever I can find a moment.’

  She was mesmerised by them, like a child, and Diana was glad she had found something to lift her low mood. It occurred to her that feral cats might well have fleas but she didn’t want to spoil Helen’s fun. With her face lit up and her blue eyes sparkling, she had a fresh, natural beauty to rival that of any movie star – even Liz Taylor herself.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Scott took Gianni out for lunch at Chechino’s, an old-fashioned restaurant that had been recommended by the foreign press hacks. ‘Order the coda alla vaccinara,’ they urged him, and there it was on the menu. He asked Gianni what it was and for once he was stumped for the English word, but began to wave his arm behind his lower back, repeating ‘La coda, la coda’. Eventually Scott worked out that it was oxtail and gave it a wide berth. He ordered a bottle of Chianti, though, and when they finished it he got another.

  Gianni’s language skills were superior to Scott’s and so they conversed almost solely in English. The man was in his mid-twenties and had a wife and two children – one of two years old and the other a baby, he said, rocking his arms to demonstrate.

  ‘Doesn’t your wife mind you going out every night?’ Scott asked.

  Gianni rubbed his fingers and thumb together. ‘We need the money.’

  Talk turned to the Cleopatra film being made at Cinecittà and Gianni told him that two months into shooting it was already the most expensive film ever made. Elizabeth Taylor’s million-dollar fee was one cause, but tales of excess spending kept filtering out of Cinecittà. Almost the entire cast and crew were on full pay for the duration even though only a fraction of them were being used at any given time, so most were sitting around with nothing to do. They’d spent quarter of a million dollars on a special kind of mineral water for the bar, but there was a sign there telling them not to be wasteful with plastic cups – as if that would make all the difference.

  ‘Have you been inside?’ Scott asked.

  ‘Yes, there is a side entrance. I got thrown out but not before I’d had a look around. Unfortunately the security guard took the film from my camera.’ He rolled his eyes. It was a hazard of his trade.

  ‘Any stories about the stars making unreasonable demands?’ That’s the kind of thing that would make a printable story.

  ‘Of course!’ Gianni told him. ‘I hear they flew in some chilli for Signora Taylor from her favourite restaurant in Hollywood.’

  ‘Which restaurant was it?’

  Gianni screwed up his eyes trying to remember. ‘They have Oscar parties there sometimes and it is famous for its chilli.’

  ‘Chasen’s?’ Scott guessed.

  ‘That’s the one. So they spend with one hand, but with the other they try to save money. Just yesterday Rex Harrison was told he no longer had a personal driver but had to share one with other actors. I hear he was so angry that he said he was going to … fare sciopero. How do you say? To stop work. Everyone clapped and cheered and he got his driver back.’

  ‘That’s great, Gianni. Cool. I’ll do a story on that. Could you get me a picture of Rex Harrison in his car, with his chauffeur?’

  ‘No problem,’ he shrugged. Scott noticed that he had polished off some pasta and a meat dish and was mopping up the sauce with a piece of bread, as if he were still hungry.

  ‘Want anything else?’ Scott asked. ‘Dessert? Company’s paying.’

  Gianni began to peruse the menu, reading the main course section. He looked as though he wanted to ask something but was embarrassed. ‘Could I have another secondo?’ he asked, blushing.

  ‘Of course you can.’

  Gianni ordered another helping of the hefty meat dish he’d had for his main course, while Scott drained his glass of wine. The dish arrived and Gianni dipped his fork into it but didn’t start eating. After a while Scott got up to go to the gents’ and when he came back the meat dish had disappeared.

  ‘All finished?’ he asked, surprised. ‘Should I get the check?’

  ‘Molte grazie,’ Gianni said, looking somehow bashful.

  Scott paid and still couldn’t put his finger on what the man might be embarrassed about until they walked out of the restaurant and each headed towards their own scooter. It was the careful way Gianni placed his camera bag in a back compartment of the scooter that gave the game away. Scott guessed he had asked them to put that meat dish in a carton and he was taking it home for his family. They must be really hard up. He resolved to get him as much work as he could in future, to try and help out.

  The day after Midwest Daily ran the Rex Harrison story Scott took a call from someone very grumpy at the Twentieth Century Fox press office.

  ‘Who the hell are you? Some college kid straight out of diapers? Did nobody tell you that we’re happy to help the press so long as you don’t fuck with us? Well, now you’ve fucked with us and I’m going to make sure you don’t get any press releases from the film set, no interviews, no invitations to special screenings, no nothing. Not on this or any other Twentieth Century Fox movie ever. You happy now, college kid?’

  The phone was slammed down and Scott stared at it, grinning. He guessed it was the sign of a successful story if it got them so riled. Gianni’s photo of a glowering Rex Harrison had complemented it perfectly.

  Meanwhile, there was another photograph Scott wanted. He considered asking Gianni to take it but decided that he couldn’t put him at risk. This was his hometown and he had family here, so Scott would have to get this one himself. He bought one of the new Kodak Colorsnap cameras that had just been launched and a couple of rolls of film, then he drove to Piazza Navona and parked round the corner. His heart was pounding and he wrapped his scarf around his face, as if against the cold.

  Just across the square from the building where the Ghianciaminas lived there was a stairwell connecting some offices. Scott had never seen anyone there when he drove past. The entrance was through a gated courtyard but the gate was slightly ajar. He walked in unchallenged and made his way upstairs to the spot where there was an open-air walkway. He crouched on his heels and got the camera ready, then he lit a Camel. If he heard anyone coming, he would quickly stand up and walk down the steps as if leaving after an appointment.

  He sat on his heels and waited and watched the entrance to the Ghianciaminas’ home. At the usual time, Gina emerged with her basket and his heart did a little flip to see her, even at that distance. She walked up the r
oad towards the market. If only Rosalia, the nurse, had her innocent freshness. There was something about Rosalia that felt burdensome. She needed so much from him: kisses, compliments, reassurance – no matter how much he gave, she needed more. He should have broken up with her long before because he knew she wasn’t for him, but he was being a coward about the tears and recrimin­ations he knew would follow. Instead, he was making the gaps between their dates slightly longer, which only had the effect of making her more anxious when they were together.

  The door of the Ghianciaminas’ home opened again and a group of men emerged and walked down the street. Their backs were to him so he couldn’t see if Gina’s brother was among them. This was useless. They continued to the far corner of the square and then suddenly one of them turned back, as if he had forgotten something. As he got closer, Scott saw that it was his attacker. He ducked his head below the parapet, pointed his camera in the general direction and pressed the shutter. He wound on the film then pressed again, then a third time. His heart was beating so hard he felt it would leap out of his chest as he listened for footsteps on the stairs below.

  After several minutes of silence he raised his head again. All the men had gone and the street was empty. He hurried down the steps, jumped onto his bike and drove all the way across town, past the Colosseum, past the meat market, as far as he could go before the buildings began to thin out and he could see countryside beyond. Only then did he stop and finish off his film with some shots of a goat tethered by the roadside. He put the film into the cardboard envelope that had come with it, then looped round past an industrial estate in Ostiense until he found a tiny pharmacy with a Kodak sign above the door. He handed over his film, took a receipt and agreed to pick up the prints the following week.

  Chapter Nineteen