by Gill Paul
‘Calm down, Diana.’ He tried to put an arm round her shoulder to lead her to the vacant table at the back of the bar but she shrugged him away.
‘These people have feelings. Sybil Burton reads these stories. Eddie Fisher reads them. It’s horrible to think you don’t see anything wrong in being a source. It makes me wonder about your morality, to be quite frank.’
Ernesto looked her in the eye. ‘Are you sure you should be talking to me about morality? Aren’t you the one who’s having an affair behind your husband’s back?’
Diana flinched and Ernesto immediately tried to backtrack. ‘I’m sorry, cara mia. Forgive me.’
She turned and fled across the street to her pensione and up the stairs to her room, Ernesto following right behind her. She lay face down on the bed and he sat beside her. ‘I’m so sorry. I should not have said that. I can’t bear to hurt you. I love you, Diana.’ He put his arm around her and kissed her cheek. ‘You mean the world to me.’
She remained face down and he began to stroke her back, just as he had done on the first night they slept together, and spoke to her quietly. ‘I told you how important it is to me that I can earn enough money to support my family. This is just one source of income. I only tell my contact things that are trivial and I didn’t think the tigers story could hurt anyone. I was wrong and I’m sorry.’
She didn’t say anything but let him undress her and make love to her. Afterwards she lay awake for a long time. It was their first argument and also the first time Ernesto had said he loved her. She wished it had been in different circumstances but still the words glowed inside.
She was disappointed to hear he spied on set and passed information to a journalist. She knew there must be lots of people doing it because the rewards were there but she found it sleazy. Yet, she admired him for supporting his extended family and if he needed a little bit extra on top of his Cinecittà salary, that was one way of getting it. Besides, who was she to take the moral high ground? Ernesto was right; she was in no position to judge anyone else.
Chapter Thirty
Scott went to pick Helen up for dinner the following Friday but the padrona said she hadn’t come back from work. He drove to the piano bar where he’d met her but she was nowhere to be seen. There was nothing more he could do but keep an eye out for her. He had a feeling she would be a useful source of gossip from Cinecittà once she was no longer under the influence of alcohol or drugs or whatever the heck it was she took.
Next time he saw her was a couple of weeks later and she was sitting in a dingy bar behind the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Antica with an Italian man. Scott went in and ordered a beer but Helen didn’t show any sign of recognising him. She looked terrible, with lank hair, dark shadows under her eyes, and a miserable expression. She was pleading with the man and he was refusing whatever it was she wanted, but Scott wasn’t close enough to hear the details. Suddenly the man stood up, scraping his chair along the ground, and walked out. Helen laid her head on her arms and began to sob. Her shoulderblades were sharp through the fabric of her dress, like the wings of a little bird.
‘Helen, what’s the matter?’ Scott asked, hurrying over to join her. ‘Please don’t cry.’
She looked up, all tears and mascara.
‘Don’t you remember me? Scott. I took you home in a taxi a couple of weeks ago. We were going to have dinner.’
He could see a vague recognition dawning on her.
‘Scott!’ she said. ‘Of course. I don’t suppose you could lend me some money? I really need some.’ Tears began to roll down her cheeks again. ‘I’m in such trouble and I don’t know what to do.’ She opened her handbag and fumbled for a tissue with shaking hands.
Scott pulled out his own cloth hankie, fortunately clean, and handed it over. ‘Tell me the problem and I’ll see how I can help. Do you want a drink first?’
‘Oh God, yes. Prosecco please.’
He ordered the drink and got himself another beer. When he sat down Helen seemed more composed, but her hands were trembling as she lifted the glass.
‘So what’s up?’ he asked.
‘I’ve been such a fool,’ she said, the tears springing to her eyes again. ‘I just wanted to fit in. Everyone else was taking drugs so I did too, but they seem to be able to take it or leave it and I can’t. At first it was OK but when I don’t have any now, I feel really ill and can’t work. I can’t do makeup because my hands are shaking too badly and I can’t eat anything or I get terrible stomach cramps. But I’ve run out of money till payday and Luigi won’t give me any more stuff.’
‘Was that Luigi I saw you with?’
She nodded, and Scott tucked the information away.
‘What kind of drugs have you been taking?’
‘It’s called eroina. You smoke it in a little pipe.’ She opened her bag to show him but he frowned and put out a hand to stop her bringing it out on display.
‘Heroin.’ He pursed his lips. ‘I know a bit about that, and none of it’s good. You need to get off it straight away. I’ll ask around about the best way to do it.’ He had heard about the ‘cold turkey’ heroin addicts experienced during withdrawal and wondered if there was a clinic in Rome where Helen could get help. Maybe Gianni would know.
‘I don’t want anyone at Cinecittà to find out.’ She looked scared. ‘They’d sack me for sure.’
‘It will be our secret,’ Scott assured her.
‘Can you find someone tonight? I need to get to work in the morning and I don’t know how I’ll manage.’ Her fingers clutched his wrist and she peered at him beseechingly.
‘You poor kid,’ Scott frowned. ‘Look at you! You’re too young to have got yourself into such a mess. I have a friend who may be able to help. He’s probably on the Via Veneto but if we can’t find him tonight, you could always phone the set and say you’ve got flu.’
She sighed. ‘I’ve done that so many times already, I don’t think I’d get away with it again.’
‘Tell me a little about you,’ he asked as they finished their drinks, and it all came out – the middle-class English upbringing and the sister who was more glamorous and better at everything. Helen was the human face of an ugly trade, the poor innocent who was lonely and vulnerable in a strange city. She told him she was twenty-one, but she looked as though she could still be in high school.
When she finished her Prosecco, he paid and led her outside to his Vespa.
‘Think you can hang on?’ he asked, and she nodded, but she was shivering in her light wool coat so Scott gallantly offered his leather jacket.
He drove carefully round to Via Veneto and cruised up the hill until he spotted Gianni near the Hotel Imperiale. ‘You wait here,’ he told Helen and hurried over to explain the problem.
Gianni said his brother-in-law worked as a hospital technician and might know someone who could help, so they slipped into a bar while he made a phone call. He was given one number, then another, and finally he got through to a doctor who said yes, he treated such problems. He used vitamin injections to help heroin addicts come down without side effects.
The doctor spoke English so Gianni passed the phone to Scott.
‘Are you saying there’s no cold turkey?’ Scott asked. ‘How does that work?’
‘It’s a special mixture of vitamins that counteracts withdrawal symptoms. I have been using this formula for three years now and it’s worked every time, so long as the patient really wants to get clean.’
‘She does,’ Scott said. ‘She’s desperate. When could you see her?’
‘I live above my surgery so if it is an emergency you could come tonight. In about an hour?’
‘How much is it?’ Scott asked, and winced at the price. Helen could never afford it, but he decided he would pay. She was so sweet and fragile. In other circumstances he might have been attracted to her, but instead he felt protective.
‘We’ll be there,’ he said.
After hanging up, he asked Gianni, ‘Are you sure this guy’s OK?
’
Gianni shrugged. ‘He’s a friend of a colleague of my brother-in-law, and it’s a good address. Why not?’
Helen jumped up and down and clapped her hands when Scott told her. ‘Oh, that’s so great. You’re my hero! Yes please, let’s do it!’
The doctor’s house was in the north of the city near Parco di Villa Glori. Scott was chilled to the bone by the time they arrived because Helen was still wearing his jacket, leaving him to freeze in a skinny-rib pullover. She clung on around his waist, and he could hear her sniffing, either from the cold or because she was crying – he wasn’t sure which.
‘You OK?’ he asked as they got off the bike.
‘I’m scared,’ she whispered. ‘Will you come in with me?’
‘Of course I will. I’m not going to abandon you here. I’ll be beside you the whole time.’
The doctor was grey-haired and rotund, wearing black-rimmed spectacles, he spoke English. It was just as well because Helen spoke hardly any Italian. First, he asked what drugs she was taking. She brought out her little pipe to show him and he examined it then threw it in his wastebasket. He asked how often she was using, and she said that it had increased from once or twice a week to every day because she found she couldn’t work without it. The doctor noted down the withdrawal symptoms she was experiencing, then asked about her general health. She’d had all the usual childhood illnesses but no operations. He took her blood pressure and listened to her heartbeat through his stethoscope, then glanced at Scott and asked if they were using contraception. Scott explained that he was a friend, not a boyfriend. Helen said she didn’t have any boyfriends. Her voice was trembling with nerves, and Scott gave her hand a squeeze.
‘I am going to give you a powerful injection of moolti-vitamins,’ the doctor explained. ‘This will counteract the effects of your withdrawal from eroina. It will last a few days and if you need another shot after that, you can come back to me. Once the drug is completely out of your system, you will be well again.’
‘How quickly does it work?’ Helen asked. She scratched an itch on her leg.
‘You will notice a difference within an hour, if not sooner. Don’t eat anything tonight but drink plenty of water and take it easy. You need to rest.’
‘OK,’ she agreed.
‘Who is paying?’ the doctor asked, and Scott counted out the cash from his wallet, noting the reassuring-looking medical certificates on the wall. The doctor disappeared into a side room and came back with a syringe filled with a golden liquid. Helen gave a little murmur of fear.
‘Don’t watch,’ Scott suggested. ‘Hold my hand and look at me.’
The doctor took her other hand, tapped to find a vein in her elbow, then plunged in the needle. Helen’s grip on Scott’s hand tightened but she didn’t cry out as the liquid disappeared into her vein. The doctor removed the needle, put on a small Elastoplast, then wished her luck and told her to be strong.
Scott led her out of the surgery and they got on the Vespa to drive home.
‘I know you can’t eat but do you want to go somewhere for a drink?’ he asked when they pulled up by her pensione.
‘I think I should probably have an early night,’ she blinked, ‘But thanks, Scott. You’ve been amazing.’
Scott gave her a hug, and under the streetlight he could see that her complexion was healthier already, while her eyes seemed more alert and focused.
‘I’ll come by tomorrow night to check you’re OK,’ he promised, and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead.
She touched the spot as if surprised then gave him a cute smile, like a child.
Chapter Thirty-One
Diana’s contract with Twentieth Century Fox was scheduled to end at Easter, which was less than two months away, and she had no idea what she was going to do after that. She couldn’t contemplate leaving Ernesto but how could she stay in Rome without an income? She didn’t mention it to him, because it seemed too early in the relationship to put him under any pressure, but it preyed on her mind. And what would she say to Trevor? Whichever decision she made, it was going to be horrid.
When she looked at the constantly changing schedules that Candy typed up in the office, Diana realised that shooting would continue for several months beyond April. The big outdoor crowd scenes, such as Cleopatra’s entrance into Rome, the arrival of her barge at Tarsus, the sea battle of Actium and the grand finale in Alexandria, were all being shot after Easter. Maybe Walter reckoned Diana would have told them all they needed to know by then and her services wouldn’t be required any more. She mentioned it to Hilary.
‘Am I right in thinking I won’t be needed for the outdoor scenes? My contract ends in mid-April.’
‘God, is that right? We’ll have to do something about that. I’m absolutely positive Walter and Joe want you here till the bitter end. In fact, I heard them talking about taking you to Egypt in the summer for the battle in the desert.’
‘Really?’ Diana’s heart leapt. That would mean maybe another six months working on the film, and another six months with Ernesto. But what would Trevor say?
Word came back that Walter very much wanted her to stay until the film wrapped, which was currently scheduled to be the end of June, and then to fly out to Egypt with a much-reduced crew in August.
‘Can you do it?’ Hilary asked, with a knowing look. ‘Same terms.’
‘I’d love to!’ Diana beamed. ‘That’s fantastic news.’
She couldn’t face telling Trevor on the phone and having him pour cold water on her excitement so she wrote a letter that night, explaining that everything was running behind schedule, partly because of the Burton–Taylor romance but also because it simply took longer than expected to get the film made. She said she would feel she was letting them down if she walked out before the job was done, and that she was sorry for the inconvenience it would cause him but that she felt she had to stay for as long as they wanted her.
Trevor had never replied to the letter she wrote to him the previous September, and he wasn’t very communicative during their twice-weekly phone calls, so Diana was astonished when she received a letter from him just two days later, via the courier from London. She sat at her desk and opened it to find a devastatingly honest love letter. The blood drained from her face.
I’m an idiot. I’ve been hurt and depressed beyond measure that you were able to leave me for so many months but I realise I haven’t expressed those feelings to you. Maybe you think I am quite content in your absence, but I believed you would understand how miserable I am when you saw me at Christmas. I miss you more than I would ever have thought possible. I find our telephone calls excruciating because I hear your voice sounding cheerful and excited and then you are gone again and I am alone. Do you know, you never say you miss me? I don’t believe you do. The only thing that’s kept me going has been counting the weeks till Easter when we can be together again. I still want all the things we planned before: I love you and want you to be the mother of our children. I want to live with you by my side and for us to grow old together. Please tell me you still want this too.
We’ve been apart too long, Diana, and I feel you slipping further and further away. Let me come out to Rome for the Easter holidays and we can spend time together, touring the sights and remembering why we got married in the first place. Please let us do that with open hearts. I want my wonderful wife back.
Diana couldn’t move. Her hands shook as she stared in anguish at the pages covered in his familiar handwriting.
‘Bad news?’ Hilary asked.
Diana bit her lip. ‘Trevor wants to come out here for Easter,’ she whispered.
‘But I thought you two must have separated? I … forgive me, but I saw you with Ernesto and assumed you must have ended your marriage when you were back at Christmas.’
Diana blushed scarlet. ‘No, I’m afraid I’ve got myself into rather a mess. How can I stop Trevor coming? What reason could I give? I simply don’t know what to do.’ What had she expected? That he
would accept the extra months’ delay without complaint? Him coming to Rome would be a disaster on all counts.
‘You’ll have to tell Ernesto to stand aside. He’ll understand.’ She caught the fear in Diana’s expression. ‘You haven’t fallen for him, have you? It’s all happened at lightning speed. You must take care, my dear.’ She frowned as she patted Diana on the shoulder. ‘Affairs on film sets never last.’
Diana turned her head away. That might be true of actors and actresses but Hilary didn’t know how much she and Ernesto were in love. How could she?
She was working at her desk that day checking through requisition forms and trying to resolve oddities such as why thirty-six dark blue nuns’ wimples had been ordered for the Nubian slaves. The words and figures swam in front of her eyes as she imagined Trevor and Ernesto coming face to face. She felt sure Ernesto would give the game away. Somehow she had to keep them apart. Oh, it was all such a mess. Previously she had considered herself a decent person, but now she would be forced to hurt the two men she loved most in the world.
That evening Diana was invited to a party to celebrate Elizabeth Taylor’s thirtieth birthday. Eddie Fisher had popped in to ask everyone in the production office, smiling from ear to ear and obviously jubilant. He’d won the competition; his rival had been vanquished.
Elizabeth was said to be furious with him for confronting Sybil Burton about the affair but she hadn’t thrown him out and now he was planning to give her the best birthday party ever. It would show the world they were still united, still in love.
Diana would have to wear her lilac dress again because she didn’t have anything else that was suitably dressy. She asked Helen for help with her makeup but Helen claimed to have another engagement.
‘Is it a date?’ Diana smiled, and Helen shook her head.
‘No, nothing like that, just a friend.’ She didn’t volunteer any more information.
‘You’re looking much better. Have you got your appetite back?’
