by Gill Paul
She sat in the back of a police car and was driven out in the direction of Cinecittà for about twenty minutes, until they pulled up outside a large building with a sign saying Questura Polizia di Stato over the door. They led her straight into a small room with a table and three chairs. The only window was high up in one wall. Her stomach rumbled and she wished she had grabbed some breakfast before she left.
‘Could I have a glass of water, please?’ she asked in Italian.
‘Sit down, Mrs Bailey,’ an officer told her. ‘We are going to go through the entire story from the beginning. Someone will bring your water in due course. Can you answer in Italian or would you like us to find a translator?’
She could tell he didn’t want the bother of finding a translator, so agreed to speak Italian.
They wanted to see her passport, her residence permit and the permit to work that had been obtained for her by Twentieth Century Fox. They asked about her job in England and that of her husband, how she had got the post at Cinecittà and when she first met Helen. Many of the questions seemed inconsequential but Diana answered them with painstaking honesty. A young officer was writing everything down and sometimes she paused to give him time to catch up.
They were stony-faced when she talked about her affair with Ernesto. They had already reacted with disbelief that she would leave her husband to take a job in another country so she couldn’t expect them to understand the terrible mistake she had made getting involved with a married man. They’d written her off as a scarlet woman. At last the glass of water arrived. It was warm and tasted stale but she gulped it down gratefully.
Next she had the difficult task of explaining her argument with Helen. She lowered her head and chose her words with great care, trying to make them understand exactly what had happened. She mentioned going back to try to find her at five o’clock then seeing her in a café with a friend of hers called Luigi.
‘Who is this Luigi?’ the officer asked instantly.
‘I don’t know,’ Diana told them honestly. ‘Helen never talked about him. We often saw him in clubs or bars but she didn’t seem close to him. I’m not sure why she was with him last Wednesday.’
‘What does he look like?’
Diana described him as best she could. Dark, curlyish hair. Swarthy.
‘Do you know where we could find him?’
‘He usually hangs around the Via Veneto in the evening, but I don’t know where he lives or works. Sorry.’
‘Do you know a young American man with short fair hair? According to a neighbour he visited Helen at her apartment on Wednesday evening.’
Diana ran through a mental list of the American men Helen might have known at Cinecittà but couldn’t imagine who the visitor might have been.
‘She was very distressed during his visit. The neighbour heard her crying. Next morning she went to the film studios but didn’t do any work. She said she felt ill and lay down in a spare dressing room, and then in the afternoon she decided to come and find you. Do you have any idea why?’
Diana repeated that she could only presume Helen wanted to make up their argument, but when she reached Torre Astura she couldn’t find her.
It was stuffy in the interview room and she felt weak with hunger. Suddenly the officer stood and left the room without explanation. She addressed the younger man, the one taking notes. ‘Do you think I could have some more water, please?’ She had to repeat it twice before he understood what she was asking, and she worried that if he had trouble understanding her Italian it didn’t bode well for the accuracy of the notes he was taking.
‘Soon,’ he said, without indicating when that would be.
The first officer reappeared. ‘We want to find both of the men she met the night before she died. Perhaps you will be so good as to come out with us tonight and help us to identify this Luigi?’
Diana agreed. ‘Yes, we can certainly have a look.’
The police dropped her off at home around lunchtime and she hurried straight into the trattoria for some food. She was starving, and ordered more than she could eat. ‘Eyes bigger than your stomach,’ she remembered her dad teasing her and that made the tears come.
At ten that evening the same police officer picked her up and drove her to Via Veneto, accompanied by another officer she hadn’t met. She felt self-conscious walking into bars and nightclubs with two uniformed policemen by her side. People turned and stared. In one bar, there was a group she recognised from Cinecittà and they whispered behind their hands as they watched her gazing around the room.
She took the police to four different places without success but as they came out of the last one, suddenly she saw Luigi walking up the hill towards them.
‘That’s him,’ she pointed. ‘That’s Luigi.’
He saw her pointing and his eyes darted quickly from her to the policemen as if trying to decide whether to flee. They drew alongside him and the first officer asked if he would mind answering some questions about Helen.
‘No, of course I wouldn’t mind,’ he said straight away. ‘I was very sad to hear about what happened to her. A mutual friend told me earlier.’
‘Can you come with us?’ they asked, and he agreed.
‘Thank you. That’s all we need from you for now, Mrs Bailey,’ she was told. ‘Call us if you have any inspiration about who the American man might be.’
She agreed that she would, and watched as the officers walked towards the police car with Luigi between them. Suddenly he turned and gave Diana a look of such venom that she froze. His lip was raised in a sneer and hatred blazed in his eyes. He looked as though he wanted to kill her, and might well have tried had the officers not been present.
Diana leant against a wall feeling deeply shaken. At that moment she became convinced that Luigi had been involved in Helen’s death. Maybe Helen had been running away from him when she came to Torre Astura but he caught up with her and killed her before she could reach Diana. How on earth had Helen known someone like that? At that moment he certainly looked capable of murder.
The police car drew off with Luigi in the back. With a wave of panic, Diana remembered that he knew where she lived. The very first evening she went out with Helen, Luigi had been in the taxi when it picked her up. Would he remember? She was on the second floor and usually left her shutters open at night but she decided to close them before going to sleep that evening. She would bolt her door from the inside as well. Suddenly she didn’t feel safe any more.
Chapter Forty-Nine
As soon as he got back to Rome, Scott called and arranged to have a beer with Gianni to catch up on any news he had missed.
‘What’s the story with Liz and Dick?’ he asked. ‘Is it on or off?’
‘Sybil is in town,’ Gianni told him. ‘So it’s off. I have some pictures of her dining with Richard last night. Elizabeth stayed at home with her parents, who are visiting from America. I expect she is not pleased about this.’
‘No, I’m sure she’s not.’
‘The big news is that Twentieth Century Fox may be about to fire their president, Spyros Skouras, because the Cleopatra budget has overrun so badly. It looks as though it’s going to end up costing thirty million dollars instead of the original budget of two million. If he survives the vote at the board meeting next week it will be a miracle. He’s been in town for talks with Walter Wanger but flew out again today.’
Scott grinned. ‘I think I’ll give my friends in the press department a call about that.’
‘And a crew member drowned at one of their locations near Anzio but they haven’t been identified yet.’
‘Do you think there’s a story in it?’
‘Who can tell?’
It was a Saturday night, but Scott popped in to the office to make a couple of phone calls. First he rang his editor and, as they chatted, he wondered what he would say if he knew Scott had just been in Geneva with Bradley Wyndham. He didn’t mention it, of course. He’d have to invent some fictitious reason for the trip if
he wanted to get the cost reimbursed as expenses.
‘I’ve sent over some pictures from the wedding of King Juan Carlos of Spain and Princess Sophia of Greece,’ the editor told him. ‘They should be on your desk by now. I’m told it’s a who’s who of European royalty and our women’s page wants to run a feature on the fashions but no one can identify the damn people. Could you find out and ring back in a couple of hours?’
So much for his Saturday night, Scott mused. He wouldn’t have minded if it had been a decent story instead of a women’s piece.
‘Next week, I want you to profile the new Italian president, Antonio Segni. You can have fifteen hundred words and a byline. What does it mean to be Christian Socialist? How is he different from his predecessor? Where does he stand on the Soviet Union? Is he kind to children and animals? You know the kind of thing, Scott. Give it your best.’
Scott exhaled loudly. That was the kind of story that took a lot of time and research. His editor would expect more than a rehash of items from the cuttings file but he knew he didn’t have a cat in hell’s chance of getting an interview with Segni. Why had he ever written that hatchet job about the Communist Party? The repercussions followed him around like a bad smell.
‘Oh, and if you can get your piece on the Cleopatra budget to us tomorrow, we’ll print it in the paper the day before their board meeting. Try to tie in something about the profligacy of the movie’s stars, won’t you?’
Scott agreed that he would.
When he came off the phone, he opened the envelope full of wedding photographs and glanced through them. He didn’t recognise a soul but he’d take them up to the Eden bar and get the press hacks there to help him.
Before he left the office, he dialled the Cleopatra press office.
‘Hey, it’s Scott Morgan here. I heard Spyros Skouras is up for the chop and wondered if he’s going to take Walter Wanger down with him. Any comments I can use in my piece?’
‘We only discuss events here in Rome,’ came the response. ‘I can’t tell you anything about the business in Hollywood.’
‘OK, can you tell me whether Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton are going to get together again any time soon?’
‘I’ve left my crystal ball at home. Can’t help you with that one.’
‘Any chance of an interview with Miss Taylor?’
‘Not gonna happen.’
Amidst their banter, Scott clean forgot to ask about the person who drowned at the Anzio set.
Chapter Fifty
When Diana reached the production office at Cinecittà on Monday morning, a middle-aged couple were sitting talking to Hilary. And then she looked at the woman and realised who they were, because her face was an older, more tired version of Helen’s. She had carefully set bleached blonde hair and huge bags under her eyes.
‘These are Helen’s parents, Mr and Mrs Sharpe,’ Hilary introduced them, and Diana felt humbled as she shook hands and muttered words of condolence.
‘Helen told us what great friends you were,’ the mother said. ‘I know it must be hard for you, but I wondered if we could ask you a few questions? We’re trying to piece it together and we don’t have a clue …’ She broke off, close to tears.
‘The police don’t seem to have much idea what happened,’ Helen’s father said. ‘And that makes it harder.’
Diana took them to a waiting room outside the admin office, fortunately quiet at that time of the morning, and answered all their questions about the morning at Torre Astura when she’d tried frantically to revive Helen. They listened intently, not wanting to miss a single word.
Helen’s father asked what Diana knew about the police investigation, and was surprised when she told them that an Italian man called Luigi had been taken in for questioning.
‘The police didn’t mention him. They said they are looking for a fair-haired American man who visited her the evening before … They’re bringing the neighbour who saw him to Cinecittà today to see if she can identify the man in question. They seem to be convinced that foul play was involved.’
Diana wondered why the police hadn’t mentioned Luigi. Perhaps they were still trying to gather evidence. Helen’s father asked if Diana had known him and she said no, not really. They had never been introduced.
When they had finished asking questions about Helen’s death, Diana took them for a tour of the studio, stopping first at the makeup rooms. She showed them Helen’s set of brushes, all neat and clean in a plastic wallet, and the autograph book with Elizabeth Taylor’s signature. Helen’s mother picked it up and staggered slightly, overcome by emotion. Her husband put an arm round her to support her.
Diana told them that Helen had been a walking encyclopedia of information on the stars. She told them she had helped to restyle her wardrobe, dragging her into the 1960s, and that she used to do her hair and makeup for special occasions. ‘She was very happy here,’ Diana said, not entirely truthfully. ‘She was doing a job she loved, surrounded by glamorous film stars, in a wonderful city.’
‘I suppose that’s some consolation,’ her father said, in a tone that implied it was no consolation at all.
‘She was always the sensitive one of my two,’ her mother remarked. ‘Julia – that’s my elder daughter – got all the confidence, while Helen worried too much what people thought of her. She could never see how special she was. Even as a toddler, she was a lovely singer and dancer, but she’d be too shy to perform in front of anyone except family no matter how much we encouraged her.’
‘Yes, I saw her dancing. She was tremendous,’ Diana told them. She remembered Helen singing snatches of pop songs as well.
Suddenly she could hear the sweet pure voice in her head and a wave of grief swept over her. This was so hard. She knew she had to be strong for Helen’s parents, but their presence made her feel even more guilty that she hadn’t been a good enough friend to their daughter.
‘We did everything we could to boost her confidence but she got it into her head that her sister was the one we were proud of. It wasn’t true, you know.’ Her mother sniffed hard. ‘Do you have children yet, Diana?’
Diana shook her head.
‘Let me tell you, if anything you love the sensitive ones just a little bit more, because they need you more. You can’t help it.’ She took out a handkerchief and blew her nose, then apologised: ‘Excuse me.’
Afterwards, Diana was haunted by the way they seemed dazed by what had happened. They were still in the early stages of grief and shock; they were only starting to come to terms with the fact that this tragedy would overshadow the rest of their lives.
As she walked back towards the production office, she didn’t notice Ernesto sitting outside the bar until she was right alongside and couldn’t ignore him.
‘I heard about Helen,’ he said. ‘How are you?’
‘A bit shaky,’ she replied, stopping by his table. ‘It’s all so strange. I can’t begin to make head or tail of it. I suppose you heard I’d had an argument with her?’
He nodded, and had the good grace to look embarrassed. ‘Did you tell the police about that?’
‘Yes, I expect they will want to talk to you.’
He shrugged. ‘There’s nothing I can tell them. I hardly knew her.’
Is that so? Diana thought cynically. You tried to seduce her without any attempt to get to know her? She let it pass, though. ‘They’re looking for a man she saw the night before she died: a fair-haired American. Can you think who that might be?’
Ernesto considered this, then shook his head.
‘And they are questioning an Italian man called Luigi. I saw her with him in a café near the studio and the police wanted to talk to him, so we went out and found him on the Via Veneto on Saturday night. I identified him …’ Her voice trailed off, as she noticed Ernesto was staring at her in alarm. ‘What is it?’
‘You’re so naïve, Diana. Do you really not know who Luigi is?’
‘No. Helen never introduced us.’
Ernesto blew air through his teeth. ‘He’s a drug dealer. He used to supply Helen. He’s not going to be pleased with you for tying him into this.’
Diana jerked backwards. ‘Drugs! Helen didn’t take drugs. She sometimes drank too much but …’
‘She took drugs, believe me. She was a very good customer of Luigi’s. Did you never notice her mood swings? Sometimes she was the life and soul of the party and other times she could barely move.’ Ernesto looked directly into her eyes. ‘She was very troubled.’
‘But why didn’t she tell me?’
‘I expect she was ashamed. She looked up to you.’
Diana was reeling. She tried to think of reasons to refute Ernesto’s story, but she didn’t know enough about drugs. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
He looked away. ‘I don’t get involved in things that are none of my business.’
What rot! she thought. He sells news about the stars of the film to journalists. Who does he think he’s fooling?
Ernesto stood up and spoke quietly but insistently. ‘I am going to give you some good advice, Diana. Tell the police it was dark in the café and you might have been mistaken in thinking you saw Luigi with Helen. You don’t want to have him as your enemy.’
‘But he might have killed Helen. I can’t tell a lie.’
Ernesto patted her shoulder and she drew back from his touch. ‘You should think about it very carefully. Even if Luigi was responsible, he will never be convicted. His kind of people never are. You’d be putting yourself in danger for no good reason.’
He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek but she twisted away so he shrugged and said, ‘Goodbye, Diana. Take care of yourself.’ He walked off towards the front gate.
Diana was very disturbed by their talk. What a bad friend she had been if Helen couldn’t even confide in her about a drugs problem. She’d been so caught up in her own affair that she had paid no attention to all the warning signs that were staring her in the face. She felt ashamed for letting Helen down, ashamed of her own self-absorption – and a deep contempt for Ernesto, who had seduced a vulnerable young girl. What a complete and utter bastard he had turned out to be!
