by Gill Paul
Helen shook her shoulders. ‘You know me. I’m just cross that everyone else has a boyfriend except me. Liz and Richard have a spouse and a lover each!’ She laughed, unconvincingly. ‘I suppose I won’t be so bothered when I find someone myself.’
‘Any new candidates?’ Diana asked, then lost concentration as Helen launched into a long list of men she liked on the set and what this one had said to her, and why she preferred another. It all seemed so childish. But even still, Diana was surprised that Helen hadn’t found a boyfriend yet. She was extremely pretty, with great fashion sense; she was a fantastic dancer and went out every night; and there was a naïve honesty about her that was endearing. Possibly she was too honest and gave too much away about herself. Maybe that’s what put men off. That, and the fact that she drank too much.
Diana resolved to tell Ernesto that she wanted to spend an evening with Helen some time soon. She felt protective towards her. Maybe she would be able to help her in some small way.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Scott took Gianni for a beer in a piano bar near the Via Veneto. They both ordered Peronis and stood looking round the buzzing room. Every table was crowded with fashionably dressed men and women, most of them foreigners and, according to Gianni, lots of them from the Cleopatra film set. In the corner, a pianist was playing but Scott could barely hear a note over the chatter in the room. The doors to the terrace were closed because it was a cold, rainy night, but he could see the lights of the city blurred by raindrops on the glass.
‘Does Elizabeth Taylor ever come here?’ Scott asked, and Gianni shook his head.
‘It’s too public. She will only go to private parties, or to restaurants that will give her a quiet table away from the public view. And you can be sure she won’t go anywhere with Mr Burton because every photojournalist in Rome is on their tail. The first picture of them together will be worth millions. I’ll do my best, boss,’ he grinned, ‘but don’t hold your breath.’
‘Shame.’
He asked Gianni about his sources on the set and whether any of them might be able to get photographs but was told that it was impossible now. Security had been tightened and everyone knew they would be sacked if they were caught with a camera at Cinecittà.
Scott kept an eye on the people from the film set. One group of girls appeared to be drinking heavily, as carafe after carafe of wine was ordered and slurped back. If he could get talking to them perhaps he could pump them for information, but approaching the table as a whole wouldn’t work. He’d have to try and catch one on her own. A blonde girl seemed particularly the worse for wear. She was resting her head on her hands with half-closed eyes when her elbow slipped off the table, making her jerk awake. Scott kept an eye on her and managed to intercept her on the way back from the ladies’ room.
‘Excuse me,’ he grinned. ‘I was just saying to my friend here how attractive you are and he bet that you wouldn’t let me buy you a drink. Will you help me win the bet?’
She hesitated, and Scott cursed his broken nose. He’d never had trouble picking up girls before but his face looked less trustworthy now.
‘You want to buy me a drink?’ she slurred, slow on the uptake.
‘Sure! What can I get you?’
‘A Prosecco would be lovely.’
Scott immediately called the bartender and ordered the drink. ‘Will you stay and talk to me or do you need to get back to your friends?’
‘I could stay for a little bit,’ she said. ‘They’re not really friends. I just go out with them.’
‘You all work on Cleopatra, don’t you? That must be fun.’
She was pretty but she could barely stand up. She kept wobbling in her shoes, which had high heels like pins, and he worried that her skinny ankles would snap. Her blue eyes were unfocused and her speech thick and slow.
‘It’s OK, I suppose.’
‘It must be pretty glamorous seeing the stars up close. Which ones do you like the best?’
Helen considered this. ‘I used to like Elizabeth Taylor, because she’s kind. She gave me her autograph on the very first day we were filming. Once I scratched her eyelid when I was sticking on one of the spangle things in her makeup and she was so nice about it. She told everyone it was her own fault for moving.’
‘That was nice. It’s not the impression you get from the newspapers, is it?’
‘No, they’re all mean about her.’ The drink arrived and the girl picked it up greedily and took a slurp then the glass slipped through her fingers. It splashed the front of her dress as it fell then shattered into pieces on the wooden floor.
‘Oops!’ She looked down in dismay.
The barman passed them a pile of napkins and Scott began to mop at her front, while someone appeared with a dustpan and brush to sweep up the fragments.
‘You seem tired, sweetheart,’ he said tactfully. ‘Why don’t you let me take you home so you can get out of your wet dress?’
The girl looked wistfully at the glass. She obviously wanted another drink but Scott realised he’d get nothing useful out of her if she drank any more.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘I’ll just tell my friends.’
Gianni raised his glass to clink against Scott’s, impressed at his successful technique. ‘See you tomorrow, boss. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’
Outside the hotel, Scott decided to hail a taxi. Although the rain had stopped he was worried the girl might fall off if he took her on his Vespa and, besides, sitting in the back of a cab would give them more chance to talk. She gave an address close by and as soon as they drove off, Scott began to pump her with questions.
‘What do you think of Richard Burton? You said Elizabeth Taylor was nice. Is he nice too?’
‘He doesn’t talk to me,’ she slurred. ‘No one talks to me except Diana.’
‘Have you seen him with Elizabeth Taylor? Or do they keep their affair a secret?’
‘It’s disgusting,’ she said. ‘I think it’s wrong. Too many people, all getting hurt.’
Her head rolled onto Scott’s shoulder. He sighed. She wasn’t going to be much use to him tonight. He tried another tack. ‘Could I take you for dinner some time?’ he asked. ‘Maybe later in the week? You’re very pretty.’
‘You don’t even know my name,’ she said. ‘It’s Helen.’
‘I’m Scott. So how about it, Helen? Can I buy you dinner?’
The taxi pulled up in front of the address she had given and he went round to open the door and help her out but motioned for the driver to wait.
‘How about I pick you up on Friday at seven?’
‘Do you mean like a date?’ Helen asked, wide-eyed.
‘Sure.’ Scott grimaced. Was this going to be another situation that would become difficult to extricate himself from?
‘But what will I do tonight?’ she asked, frowning.
‘You should probably go to bed and get some rest. It’s past eleven.’
‘No, it’s not that.’ She whispered conspiratorially: ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got anything, have you?’
‘What kind of thing?’ She was rubbing her nose as if it were itchy, then she began to scratch her bare arm.
‘Oh … you know. To get high.’
He was shocked because she looked so young, but appearances could be deceptive. ‘Sorry, I don’t.’
She sighed and turned into the courtyard of her pensione.
‘See you Friday,’ he called after her but wasn’t sure if she’d heard because she didn’t turn round.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Diana arrived at the script meeting on the 17th of February to find an atmosphere of alarm in the room. Joe was on the phone, the film’s publicists were on separate phones trailing long extension leads and Walter was nowhere to be seen. Diana sat down and waited as they all spoke urgently in separate conversations.
‘Where is she now? Where’s he?’
‘Has anyone said anything?’
‘I’ve just spoken to the hospital.
She’s still there.’
‘Who’s in hospital?’ Diana whispered to the continuity girl sitting next to her.
‘Elizabeth. She took an overdose last night.’
‘She did what?’ Diana got goosebumps.
‘Richard broke up with her and first she tried to walk through a glass door and then she took some pills.’ The girl was enjoying her role as news-breaker. ‘It’s because Eddie Fisher went to see Sybil and told her in no uncertain terms that the rumours were true, and that his wife was being tupped by her husband. Sybil told Richard he had to drop Elizabeth – and lo and behold he did.’
‘But she seriously tried to kill herself over an affair that’s only lasted a few weeks? Are you sure?’ Diana was incredulous.
‘Well, she’s in hospital.’
Diana was alarmed by the news. She was falling more deeply in love with Ernesto every day that passed but if they broke up she would never consider killing herself. It seemed obsessive, insecure behaviour. How could the most famous woman in the world be insecure? Was it just that Elizabeth was used to getting whatever she wanted and couldn’t bear to be thwarted? Or was it a ploy to make Richard feel guilty and win him back?
‘OK, people,’ Joe announced, raising his hand for silence. ‘Obviously we’re not filming today. We’ll probably need a few days off but I want you all on set. Walter is with Elizabeth and he says Eddie just arrived. The story is food poisoning and we must stamp out any rumours that say different. Got it?’ There was a murmur of assent. ‘That’s all for now.’
Diana wandered out of the office, feeling shell-shocked. Up till now, bystanders at Cinecittà had treated the Burton–Taylor affair as an entertainment, a movie within a movie. Now it became apparent that real people’s feelings were involved and that genuine damage was being done. Far from it being an observer sport, Diana realised how close she was to causing the same kind of hurt and damage herself. She couldn’t picture any of the protagonists in her own love triangle taking an overdose but people could surprise you. It was a warning and she knew she should heed it.
A few days later, Elizabeth was back at work and the drama seemed set to blow over, apart from the fact that the owners of the restaurant where she had eaten on the night of the overdose were suing for damages, claiming she could not possibly have been poisoned by their food. Diana assumed some appeasement money would change hands. The last thing anyone needed was a lawsuit about the events of that evening.
Richard was in Paris doing some work on another film, so all was peaceful for a while. His press agent made a vague, woolly statement not quite denying the rumours of the affair, but saying that Richard would never do anything to hurt Elizabeth Taylor, either personally or professionally.
‘Of course he doesn’t deny it,’ Ernesto said cynically. ‘It is the best thing that ever happened to his career. Sleeping with a household name means you become a household name yourself, and can increase your fees to match your new status. Stardom rubs off.’
Diana’s distaste for Richard increased. Could he possibly have planned it this way from the start? She hoped that when he got back to Cinecittà they were both professional enough to carry on working together as before.
A few days later Richard arrived back on set with a leggy blonde beauty several inches taller than him. Everyone gawped as they walked arm in arm from his trailer to the sound stage.
‘Her name’s Pat Tunder,’ Candy told Diana. ‘She’s a dancer in the Copacabana club in New York. He had an affair with her when he was doing Camelot on Broadway.’
All eyes turned to Elizabeth to see how she would react to this new arrival and the gossips didn’t have long to wait. That afternoon, a fierce argument between Elizabeth and Richard spilled out onto the avenue outside the sound stages while Diana was having an espresso with Helen.
‘You sonofabitch!’ Elizabeth shrieked. ‘I know more about movie acting than you ever will with your poncy theatrical ways. Don’t dare tell me how to play a scene again or I’ll have you sacked from this movie.’
Richard looked round at the watching crowd with amusement. ‘Your bosom is a better actress than you are. At least it’s not wooden and shrill like your dialogue. Go ahead: try and have me sacked. The lawyers need the work.’
‘Fuck you, you arrogant, malevolent Welsh dwarf.’ She strode off in the direction of her dressing room, head held high, in full Cleopatra makeup and wearing a purply-blue décolleté gown that swept along the muddy ground. Richard charged past Diana and Helen into the bar and they heard him ordering a double whisky. The leggy blonde tottered over to join him, looking unsure of herself.
‘How horrible that passion can turn to hatred in the snap of your fingers,’ Diana said to Helen under her breath. She couldn’t imagine how such a thing could be possible, but she assumed the Burton–Taylor affair must have been all about sex. They hadn’t had time to get to know each other the way she was doing with Ernesto. They couldn’t enjoy the luxury of long, relaxed dinners in restaurants, talking about their lives, their hopes and fears, and the things they loved. They weren’t able to sleep curled up in each other’s arms and waken in the morning to see the other’s sleeping face. Diana loved looking at Ernesto while he slept: she could examine his earlobe, the curve of his Adam’s apple, the tiny flecks of grey in his hair that he plucked out furiously when he spotted them. She liked listening to his breathing and feeling the warmth emanating from his golden skin. Their relationship was still very sexual – that side just got better and better – but there was a genuine meeting of the minds as well. The more she got to know him, the deeper she fell in love.
Helen was staring down into her glass, her thoughts miles away.
‘Are you OK?’ Diana asked, with a flicker of concern. ‘I’m going to have a pastry. Shall I get you one?’
‘No, I ate earlier. Thanks anyway.’
‘Are you free to go out one night this week? We haven’t had a pizza in ages.’
‘I’m trying not to eat out because I’m flat broke. Actually …’ She hesitated, and screwed up her face. ‘I don’t suppose you could lend me some money till payday, could you? I’m really strapped this month.’
‘Of course I will. How much do you need?’ Diana opened her purse and had a look. ‘I’ve got forty thousand lire with me. Would that help?’
Helen was terribly embarrassed. ‘Are you sure that won’t leave you short? I couldn’t … I’ll pay you back as soon as …’
‘It’s not a problem. And don’t be silly, there’s no rush to pay it back.’
As she walked to the production office, she worried about Helen. Her salary was decent and she should have been able to live on it, but she obviously wasn’t very good at budgeting. Hopefully she would start being more careful.
Hilary was in the office, smoking a cigarette and having a cup of tea. ‘Did you hear about the fight outside the sound stage today?’ Diana asked. ‘Elizabeth and Richard were going at it hammer and tongs.’
Hilary snorted. ‘That’s nothing compared to what they’re like on set. She’s wild with jealousy about the New York dolly bird. She’s either screaming at him or frostily ignoring him, one or the other. He just seems amused by it all.’
‘How does Joe manage to direct them? I’d hate to be in his position.’
Hilary grinned. ‘He says that when you are in a cage with tigers, you must never let them know you are afraid of them.’
Diana laughed. It seemed very apposite. That evening as she lay in bed with Ernesto in the languorous after-glow of sex, she repeated Joe’s comment. He laughed heartily, and she was pleased because she loved to make him laugh.
He rolled over to kiss her once more. ‘I think I’ll just pop out for a cigarette. Won’t be a moment.’
She liked the fact that he didn’t smoke in her room but went to sit on the front step. She had never asked him to; he did it as a matter of common courtesy. Of course, she was used to people smoking around her at work and in restaurants but it was nice to keep the sme
ll out of the room where she slept at night.
After a few moments, she decided to go out and keep him company. She pulled on a dress and cardigan, slipped on a pair of shoes and tiptoed down the stairs so as not to waken the padrona, who went to bed early. When she opened the front door she couldn’t see Ernesto on the step, so she looked up and down the street. There was a bar diagonally opposite and through the window she saw Ernesto making a phone call, his back half turned. Who could he be phoning at that time of night? His mother perhaps?
Diana wandered over and as she walked into the bar, she heard him repeating the cage of tigers story in Italian. She stopped, puzzled. Ernesto hadn’t seen her yet. Why would he tell anyone that story? Next, he said that Burton and Tunder were going to be at Harry’s Bar later and that Paolo should try to catch them there.
‘Who’s Paolo?’ she asked when he hung up the receiver, and he jumped and turned round, guilt etched all over his face.
‘Diana!’
‘Who’s Paolo?’ she asked again.
‘Sit down and have a drink. I will explain.’ He motioned towards a table at the back of the bar. ‘Would you like a Bellini?’
‘No, I want to know who Paolo is. Why not tell me now, to put my mind at rest?’
Ernesto shrugged. ‘He’s a photographer. Sometimes I give him a tip-off when I know where people are going to be, and if he gets a photograph I get a little money. That’s all.’
She frowned. ‘But who were you speaking to?’
‘A journalist. Someone I work with from time to time.’
Diana was livid. ‘You just told a journalist a story that Hilary told me in strictest confidence? If it’s printed in the newspapers, she’ll think it was me who blabbed to the press. I can’t believe you would do that.’
Ernesto was defensive. ‘You didn’t tell me it was a confidence.’
‘I assumed I didn’t have to. Does everything I ever tell you go straight to the Italian media? Don’t you care how bad that will make me look?’
