by Gill Paul
As it happened, Walter Wanger was in the production office when Trevor arrived, and he turned on his effusive, old-school charm.
‘I’m delighted to meet you at last, sir. Diana’s told us all about you. In fact, she keeps promising to lend me a copy of your biography of Plutarch, which I believe is the definitive account. What a great honour that you have come to visit our humble set.’
Diana had seen Walter directing his charm towards everyone from visiting royalty to Italian government officials to recalcitrant journalists, and it seldom failed to win them over. Trevor was no exception, and he positively glowed as Walter insisted on giving him a personal tour of the outdoor sets. She trailed along beside them, saying little, worried about how thin and pale Trevor looked. He stooped as he walked, but kept up an animated conversation with Walter about movies set in ancient Rome, about which both were equally scathing.
‘Spartacus was a beautifully made picture,’ Walter agreed, ‘but the plot is a little incredible. Kubrick is a friend of mine, but he should have checked with a few more experts.’
Diana smiled when she remembered his effusiveness at the Spartacus party the previous October. He was saying what he thought Trevor wanted to hear.
In the car back to Pensione Splendid, she and Trevor chatted about progress on Cleopatra and the point they had reached in the story. She rolled her eyes as she told him about Cleopatra’s triumphal entry into Rome and the calls of ‘Viva Leez’.
He laughed. ‘What was it you said Irene Sharaff called it? Hollywood on the Tiber?’
Diana was amazed that he remembered. He must have been listening after all during those awkward, one-sided phone calls.
As she showed him into her room, she felt anxious in case the padrona appeared and made some comment about her having yet another male caller. Or what if Ernesto had left some sign that would give the game away? But there was nothing out of the ordinary. Trevor just nodded and walked over to look out the window while Diana unpacked his case and hung up the shirts he had brought.
‘So this is your famous view! Very nice.’
They went to the trattoria downstairs for dinner and Trevor ate heartily, still in good humour. He had obviously made a decision to be congenial and ask about her life out there. If only he had done that at Christmas, things could have been entirely different.
‘I’ve been keeping up with the Burton–Taylor melodrama,’ he told her. ‘Did you know that The Times now reports on it regularly? What’s the world coming to?’
Diana was amazed. The Times didn’t usually report tittle-tattle, and even if it did, she wouldn’t have expected Trevor to bother with it. ‘You heard about the Vatican condemnation then?’
‘Outrageous! Why doesn’t the Pope condemn genuinely evil people like Khrushchev or Ho Chi Minh? It trivialises his church that it should be concerned about an actor and actress doing what actors and actresses have done for time immemorial. There are even reports of thespian affairs in Pliny.’
‘Elizabeth is putting a brave face on it but she’s distressed.’ Diana found herself telling Trevor about the conversation they’d had, and finished by saying, ‘She has a lot to lose.’
‘Perhaps,’ Trevor said, ‘but not as much as Richard Burton.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘For a start, if his wife divorces him he will lose his children. It must be very hard for divorced men only to see their children at times dictated by a court – if they are decent men, that is.’
Diana was startled by the use of the word ‘divorce’, a subject that was much on her mind of late.
Trevor continued: ‘But I also believe he will be taken less seriously as an actor if he hitches his wagon to the lure of global stardom in the form of Miss Taylor. Already The Times speculates that this affair was calculated to push up his fees for movie acting, and that if he wants a career starring in the latest Hollywood hit films it was a good move. But his friends in English theatre are openly siding with Sybil and claiming they will have nothing to do with him if he leaves her. Even his family in Wales are saying that. So in making a decision he has to balance his credibility as an actor, his friends, family and children against the undeniable attributes of Miss Taylor.’
‘Gosh, I never thought of it like that.’ Diana had formed an opinion of Richard Burton as an arrogant womaniser and hadn’t stopped to consider his point of view.
‘For Elizabeth Taylor to win her prize, she will have to rip him slowly and painfully away from his Welsh roots and everything he believes in. Somehow I can’t see her sitting in the Miners’ Arms in Pontrhydyfen drinking ale and singing “Myfanwy” on a Saturday night.’
Diana laughed at the absurdity of the notion. ‘They probably don’t serve ale in Hollywood.’
‘Probably don’t even have pubs. And they certainly don’t have decent theatre.’
Later, they climbed the stairs to her room companionably arm in arm but Diana made it very clear that sex was not on the cards. She went to the bathroom to change into her nightdress, and when she got into bed she wrapped the covers tightly around her and wriggled as close to the wall as possible, leaving him plenty of space to settle in.
‘Goodnight,’ he whispered, his voice catching in his throat. He didn’t attempt to put his arm round her, as he always did at home.
She whispered, ‘Sleep well.’ In fact, neither slept for a long while, and both could tell that was the case from the other’s breathing, but neither dared to say another word for fear of opening Pandora’s box. Once they started discussing their marital problems, who knew where it would end?
Next morning, when Diana awoke, Trevor was lying beside her perusing a Baedeker Guide to Rome, tracing a route on a map with his finger. She’d always liked his hands, which were large and strong, but with long, elegant fingers.
‘It advises that we should hire a guide to show us round the Colosseum and the Forum. What do you think?’
Diana laughed. ‘I think the guide would have to pay you. You’d know far more than he did!’
‘I can’t believe you haven’t been yet. How could you spend six months in Rome without having a look?’
She considered this. There were many Sundays when she could have walked around on her own, and she assumed Ernesto would have taken her if she had asked, but in the back of her mind she had always wanted to go with Trevor. He was such a brilliant historian that he would make connections no travel guide would dream of.
Even by the end of her street, he noticed something she had walked past every day without spotting. An old stone waterspout protruded from the edge of a building, and around it, what at first sight appeared to be a series of criss-crosses was revealed on closer examination to be Roman graffiti. Trevor crouched and transcribed it carefully onto the inside cover of his Baedeker, then showed it to Diana.
‘Lovers, like bees, lead honeyed lives,’ she translated, then blushed to the roots of her hair.
‘Very poetic,’ Trevor commented. ‘Other documented Roman graffiti tells of children who have died, or lists the going rate for prostitutes in the area, but I think there was a romantic fellow in this neighbourhood. Or perhaps it was a woman. Who knows?’
They caught a bus across town to the Colosseum but found it overcrowded with Easter holidaymakers and decided to return just before closing time when the hordes might have thinned out. Instead they wandered up to the Palatine and examined the remains of the houses where the political elite planned their machinations, and visited each other via a series of tunnels and passages. They walked downhill to the magnificent remains of the Republic’s temples, statues and official buildings, then finally headed back to the gladiatorial arena, and all day long they never stopped talking. There was so much to think about.
This is why I married him, Diana realised. This is what we have in common. She cared deeply about Trevor, she wanted only the best for him, but she wasn’t in love with him and wasn’t attracted to him. Ernesto had taken that place in her heart. Yet at the same t
ime, she couldn’t bear to tell Trevor that their marriage was over. Sometimes she caught him giving her a look of such utter sadness that it almost broke her heart, but neither raised any difficult topics. It was so wonderful to rediscover their closeness that they didn’t want to jeopardise it.
The week passed quickly as they toured the Vatican museums, the architecturally famous churches, the art galleries and villas of the city. They ate when they were hungry and stopped for coffee or a beer when their feet were aching. One evening they had dinner with Helen, as arranged, but the conversation was stilted as Helen and Trevor could find little in common. She chattered nervously about the makeup they were using on the film and Diana could see that, although he was doing his best to be polite, Trevor had glazed over.
‘She seems troubled,’ he said afterwards. ‘She hardly ate a bite yet she drank the best part of a bottle of wine. Is she a close friend of yours?’
‘I like her,’ Diana said. ‘She’s a true natural. But you’re right, she drinks too much. It’s probably because it’s cheaper here than it is back home. I do worry about her.’
‘Some people have less willpower around alcohol than others. Jack Robertson at work always gets sozzled at the Christmas party and has to be hauled into a taxi. He’s a bright chap the rest of the time, but put him near the gin and he’s soon out of control.’
It was on the tip of Diana’s tongue to say that she found herself drinking more in Rome than she would at home, then she bit it back because Trevor might have asked awkward questions about who she went drinking with.
She had arranged to take the whole week off but on Wednesday a studio driver brought a message from Hilary asking if she could drop in for an hour to advise on the dancing in the great procession, which was currently in rehearsal and due to be filmed in just over a week. Trevor said he would sit reading in her room until her return.
As they drove out to Cinecittà, Diana’s heart began pounding. Would Ernesto be on set? She was dying to see him. It seemed so long since she had been in his arms, and she missed the smell of him, the way he made her feel so womanly and alive. He had probably taken the week off to be with his family, though. She shouldn’t get her hopes up.
When she arrived, she went straight to Joe’s office and they walked out together to watch the dancers’ rehearsals. The choreography, designed by Fred Astaire’s choreographer Hermes Pan, was gymnastic, with back bends, high leaps and rapid pirouettes. It was a celebratory dance, performed for show, and the designers had done their best to create a spectacle.
‘You wouldn’t have men dancing with women, though,’ Diana pointed out. ‘If they were in pairs, it would be men with men or women with women.’
‘Good point,’ Joe said. ‘Let’s make sure we get that right.’
They watched for about half an hour, fine-tuning details of the display and discussing them with the choreographer, then there was a dress rehearsal. The drumbeat started and girls in multi-coloured costumes that were little more than bikinis danced through the Temple of Venus. Then came the snake-charmers with imitation cobras wrapped around their bodies, writhing and twisting to the beat. Red and yellow smoke plumes wafted into the air and arrows were fired with streamers attached. There were pole vaulters, rectangles of gold tinsel raining from above, silver and gold plumed creatures, and hundreds of doves released into the sky. It was an extraordinary sight and would be one of the highlights of the film, a part where you could actually see the phenomenal budget being spent.
As Diana was walking towards the production office afterwards she felt a tap on her back and whirled around.
‘You’re here!’ Ernesto beamed, and pulled her into a close hug. ‘Has he gone? Did you tell him?’
She let her body sink into his, not caring who might be watching, filled with the familiar intoxication of lust. ‘No, not yet. I had to come in today to check the dancers.’
Ernesto immediately pulled away. ‘You haven’t told him?’
‘I thought I would wait until his last night. It’s not long now and I don’t want to spoil his trip. He can’t change his flight back so we’d be stuck together anyway.’ She caught his arm: ‘Please don’t be cross, Ernesto. I’ll see you in a few days because he leaves on Saturday.’
His voice rose in anger. ‘You have no idea what it is like for me. I want to burst into your room and kill him just for being near you and you say I should be patient? You ask too much of me, Diana. I don’t know any man who would put up with this.’
He was genuinely upset and Diana didn’t know what she could say to comfort him. ‘I love you. I want to be with you, but I am not the kind of person who can be cruel …’
‘Yet you are happy to be cruel to me. Well, I’m not sure if I will still be waiting for you in a few days.’
Diana was shocked. ‘Are you threatening me?’
‘I’m just saying that you are pushing me away and I don’t like it.’ He was scowling, sulky, like a child who wasn’t getting his own way.
She touched his cheek. ‘I’m sorry, but you know the situation. Three days is not much to ask. Let’s meet for dinner on Saturday evening at that place behind the Pantheon.’ It was a favourite of theirs: dark and intimate with good home-cooked food.
‘I might,’ he said petulantly. ‘And I might not.’
He turned and walked off but Diana didn’t doubt for a moment that he would meet her. His pride was dented but he would get over that once he had her to himself again. She hurried back to town to meet Trevor and continue their sightseeing for the remaining few days.
On the last night, she knew she had to say something to make her position clear. She had rehearsed many speeches in her head, trying to find the right form of words, but in the end it was Trevor who opened the conversation, and he started with an apology.
‘I was wrong to try and stop you coming to Rome. In the brief time I’ve been here, I’ve seen how much it means to you, and also how much you are appreciated by your colleagues at Cinecittà. Will you forgive me for being an ass?’
Diana blushed. ‘Of course I will.’
‘I know it has caused us to become estranged, but I ask one thing of you: please don’t make any hasty decisions that you might live to regret. Your thoughts are all focused in Rome just now, but soon these people will go back to their own homes and you will need to think about where you want to be and what you want to do next.’
‘But I thought …’ She couldn’t find the right words. ‘It doesn’t seem fair.’
His eyes were sad but he continued calmly. ‘Needless to say, I hope you decide to come back to our home and I will welcome you with all my heart … but I know we have a lot of problems. Will you at least promise me that you won’t make any hard and fast decisions till the end of the filming?’
Diana hesitated. She had promised Ernesto that she would ask for a divorce before Trevor left, but what he said was reasonable. So far her experience of Rome had been like a holiday. She had no idea what it would be like to try to make a life there. She remembered their conversation about how Richard Burton would have to be ripped away from his roots if he were to make a life with Elizabeth Taylor in Hollywood and knew that she had a lot to lose as well. Would she be able to forge a career in Rome? Would their friends take Trevor’s side and cut her off? It wasn’t a decision she should make in haste.
‘I promise,’ she said slowly. ‘Of course I promise.’
Maybe she was simply being a coward, too scared to let go of her security. Maybe she couldn’t bear to hurt Trevor. But she could see no reason to rush headlong towards the divorce courts until she could envisage an alternative future, and so far Ernesto hadn’t specified how he saw that working.
She felt immense relief to be given permission to delay the decision, though she dreaded telling Ernesto the next day. He wanted to hear that her marriage was over, not that it was merely on hold. He was going to be very cross.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Scott was curious to find out who ow
ned the coastal villa Helen had described to him, and his secretary told him that the register of property owners, known as the Catasto, would be held in the local council offices of the area – in this case, Anzio. He would be able to request information on the current owners, and perhaps former ones too.
As soon as he had a free morning, Scott rode out to Anzio, taking his camera and the binoculars he’d been given for Christmas. Perhaps he would find a use for them after all. He sat for long hours in a queue at the council offices before being allowed to submit his request for information on the Villa Armonioso. He was told the answer would be ready that afternoon, around five. Immediately afterwards, he headed out of town, past the port and onto the coast road. In fact, the road was some way inland from the sea, separated from it by sand dunes and the occasional building. He stopped to ask directions at an isolated roadside bar and the bartender said there was a turn-off for Villa Armonioso another half a mile further on.
It was exactly as Helen had described. He drove part way down the track past the turn-off but stopped when he saw barbed wire and security guards up ahead. The grounds of the villa were full of palm trees and lush undergrowth, but he could just see the glint of a swimming pool and, beyond the house, the blue of the ocean. When he glanced further along the coast, he could make out an old tower on a headland. This had to be the place where Luigi had brought Helen.
Scott looped back to the main road and hunted for a spot to hide his Vespa. Eventually he found an abandoned shed and slipped it inside, then scrambled over the sand dunes on foot until he reached the shore, about a hundred yards away from the villa. He found a place to sit, just behind a clump of green bushes with tiny yellow flowers on top, and took out his binoculars. Two guards were patrolling the barbed wire fence, and they had a couple of Alsatians on leashes, which was alarming. He’d claim to be a birdwatcher if they spotted the glint of his binoculars and came over, but he would be hard pressed if they asked him which birds he was looking for.
