by Gill Paul
‘How awful it should come to this, that I need people to vouch for my good character.’
She gave him a thick pile of notes that she had written about forthcoming scenes on the film and asked him to pass them to Hilary. ‘And will you pick up a copy of the latest shooting schedule from Candy?’
He agreed that he would. ‘I met an American journalist called Scott Morgan – did Helen ever mention him?’ Diana shook her head. ‘Well, he’s agreed to help. He’s going to contact Ernesto Balboni and try to get the truth out of him.’
Diana hung her head, ashamed that Trevor should have to say that name. ‘That’s good.’
‘How is the food, darling?’ he asked.
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Stews, stodgy pasta, soup, that kind of thing. It’s quite edible, although the crockery has seen better days. I won’t starve. But if we can afford to pay for extra rations, I will share them with my colourful room-mate.’ She described Donatella and imitated her expressive way of talking with arms, head and whole body sometimes involved.
‘Can I bring you anything else? Any treats?’
‘Not really. Maybe some teabags. I think I may be able to get hot water for tea.’
With business complete, they sat holding hands for the comfort of it. Trevor’s heart ached. He couldn’t look her in the eye because he could read in her expression how miserable she was, and he didn’t want to add to her misery by letting her know his own anxieties. It was awkward yet companionable at the same time. When the guard called ‘È ora!’ he squeezed her fingers tightly.
‘Every minute I am not here, apart from when I am sleeping, I will be working for your release. Trust me, Diana. I’m going to get you out.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. She thought, but didn’t say out loud, I don’t deserve you.
When he left the prison, he checked all the bus stops he could find but none seemed to go all the way to Cinecittà so he had to take one bus to Termini station and find another from there. Hilary met him at the studio gates and waved him in past the guard. She took him to the bar, where they ordered iced lemonades because the heat was fierce.
‘How is she doing?’
‘Remarkably well. Perhaps she is trying to be strong for my sake, but she does a good job of it.’
‘I don’t know how she copes. I’d be a nervous wreck.’
‘She’s keeping busy. I think that helps.’
Trevor handed over the reams of notes Diana had made, and Hilary said she would deliver them to Joe Mankiewicz. He also handed over his testimonial requests. Some were to go back to London by courier but needed envelopes, while the rest were for people working on the film.
‘I’ve written a note for Elizabeth Taylor. Diana doesn’t know about it, but I wondered if she might be able to bring any influence to bear.’
Hilary reluctantly took the note from him. ‘She’s very busy. I wouldn’t hold out any hope but I’ll give it to one of her secretaries.’
‘Thank you. Now, is there any sign of Ernesto Balboni?’ He hated the sound of the name, its syllables, everything about it. ‘Diana’s lawyer needs to talk to him urgently.’
‘He’s off sick. No one has heard from him. We’re very cross with him.’
‘Do you have his address?’
‘You’d think I would, but I checked our records and he listed Diana’s pensione as his address. There was another one before that but it’s been crossed out and I can’t read it. I’m so sorry.’
Trevor was quiet for a moment. It really was too bad. How would Scott Morgan track him down without an address? You’d think if the chap had any decency at all he would have volunteered to come forward. It was hard to fathom how Diana could have chosen such a rogue, but those were always the pushy ones, he supposed. There was a chap in the Latin department at university who was a real womaniser and Trevor had watched at a party once as he seduced a colleague with unctuous flattery, but he had never thought Diana would be susceptible to that kind of thing. It made him shudder.
After they finished their drinks, Hilary took him back to the office, where he addressed all his envelopes and picked up a copy of the shooting schedule.
‘Do give Diana our love,’ Hilary said. ‘Tell her we’re all rooting for her.’
After leaving, Trevor consulted the sign on the bus stop opposite Cinecittà and took a bus back into town. He stopped at a trattoria near Diana’s pensione and ate some chewy type of pasta, drank a whole bottle of a dark, heavy wine, then threw it all up in the gutter outside.
Chapter Sixty-One
On Friday evening, Scott noticed Luigi in the piano bar Helen and her friends used to frequent and sidled up to chat.
‘How’s business?’ he asked.
Luigi shrugged. ‘The usual. Did you want something?’
‘Maybe,’ Scott replied. ‘What’s on offer this fine evening?’
‘Everything. I can get anything you want.’
‘Can I buy you a drink?’
Luigi accepted a shot of whisky, requesting Johnny Walker, the most expensive brand they stocked. Scott had a beer. He wanted to work round to asking about Helen but without being too obvious.
‘Your job must make you very popular,’ he said. ‘Does it help when you are sweet-talking the ladies?’
Luigi was heavy-set, and the open buttons at the neck of his shirt displayed a carpet of curly dark chest hair. There was dark stubble on the backs of his hands where he obviously shaved them. The man resembled a gorilla and Scott couldn’t believe he would have much success with women based on his physical merits.
‘Who needs it?’ Luigi bragged. ‘The ladies come to me. They all want something so I get what I want in return.’ There was an ugly glint in his eye and Scott noticed a cloying aftershave scent hung in the air around him.
‘I could do with some of that. I’m not having much luck with the chicks here in Rome.’ Scott found self-deprecation worked to his advantage, especially when dealing with arrogant types. It underpinned their sense of superiority.
‘You want me to introduce you to some?’
Scott couldn’t think of anything he wanted less. ‘I’m pretty picky. Some of the girls in the Cleopatra crowd are cute but they can be full of themselves.’
‘I know some of them, for sure. There are none in tonight though.’ They both gazed round the bar, which was quiet for a Friday evening.
‘Say, didn’t you know that makeup artist girl who drowned? I was reading about it in the paper.’
‘Not really.’ Luigi wouldn’t meet his eye. ‘I saw her around.’
‘I gave her a ride home once and I got the impression she was an addict. She always looked like she was blitzed.’
‘Did she put out for you?’ Luigi asked, with interest.
‘Nah. We kissed a little but she seemed uptight.’ It felt awful to be talking about Helen in this way but he wanted to lure Luigi into confessing. There was a knowing smirk on his face and Scott could tell he was dying to boast. ‘Did you ever get anywhere with her?’
‘Sure I did. She would do anything when she wanted a fix. Well, not quite anything – she was a virgin – but a few times she gave me a hand job or a bocchino.’ He made an obscene gesture, thrusting his thumb in and out between his lips.
Scott felt like smacking him on the nose. His fists clenched, but he managed to control his temper. ‘Gee, I wish I’d known about that. When did you see her last?’
There was a flicker of suspicion, then Luigi relaxed again. ‘Last week. Usual thing: no money, desperate for a fix, so I took her out the back of the café for a quick one. Probably the last sex she ever had.’ He grinned, hideously.
‘What do you reckon happened to her? That story about the researcher doesn’t add up somehow.’
Luigi’s face took on a guarded look. ‘I don’t know, and I don’t care. One less slut in the world doesn’t bother me.’ A muscle twitched in his cheek and Scott felt sure he was hiding something.
‘Don’t you think it’s a bit
weird that she travelled all the way down to the coast? I wondered if she knew another dealer down there and went to buy drugs from him, perhaps if she couldn’t find you.’
Luigi was definitely rattled. ‘How the hell should I know? Listen, do you want something or not? I’m not going to do any business with you standing here yakking.’
‘I’ll have some coke. Meet you in the gents’?’
As Scott handed over the money by the urinals, Luigi revived their little joke: ‘So is this for Elizabeth Taylor?’ He grinned broadly, and Scott saw he had a gold filling in one of his molars.
Scott tapped the side of his nose. ‘That would be telling.’ He accepted the paperfold that was slid into his palm, then said, ‘Thanks, buddy. See you around.’
When he got outside, he turned the corner into a service alleyway and leaned against a wall, utterly sickened by what he had heard. Was Luigi just boasting or had Helen really been forced to offer sexual favours to feed her drug dependence? That pretty, innocent girl touching such revolting flesh … If it were true, that might explain why she was so distraught the last time he saw her: she couldn’t afford any more vitamin injections but felt so bad when she stopped them that the only thing she could think of was going back to that vile man.
She was caught between a rock and a hard place. If only he had been able to rescue her. He should have done more. Now his drugs exposé had another purpose apart from revenge on the Ghianciaminas: he owed it to Helen to get Luigi put behind bars.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Trevor woke on Saturday morning to the sound of an envelope being slipped under the bedroom door. He blinked and called ‘Hello?’ but whoever it was had started back down the stairs again.
He got up and examined it but all it said on the outside was ‘Professor Trevor Bailey’, and the address of the pensione. He sat on the bed to open it, and his eyes widened as he read the ornate signature at the bottom: Elizabeth Taylor. The handwriting was neat, with florid loops and swirls.
Dear Professor Bailey,
I’m very sorry to hear of Diana’s troubles. I’m not sure how I can help but please come to my villa for cocktails at 7 this evening and we’ll talk. My driver will pick you up at 6.45.
Sincerely,
Elizabeth Taylor
‘Oh my gosh!’ he exclaimed out loud. How very kind of her. How extraordinary, in fact. He would have to wear a suit and tie, and he decided to pop in to a local barber’s shop and have a proper shave and hair trim. It felt as though one should be well turned-out when meeting Hollywood royalty.
At the daily visit, Diana was touched when she heard of Elizabeth’s invitation, although embarrassed that Trevor had contacted her in the first place.
‘I hope she doesn’t think badly of me. Please make sure she understands the truth.’
‘Of course I will, darling.’
She didn’t look well, he thought. There were several insect bites on her face, arms and legs, which she kept scratching. Her complexion was grey and there were dark shadows under her eyes. She claimed to be sleeping well but he didn’t believe her.
‘Will you visit tomorrow?’ she asked. ‘I can’t wait to hear about your meeting. You must give me your candid opinion of Elizabeth.’
He agreed that of course he would. It was always hard to leave Diana, but at least this time he had something to fill the long evening.
A uniformed chauffeur arrived to collect him at the appointed time and he was driven up to the Via Appia Antica, the old Roman road that led south out of the city all the way down to Brindisi in the heel of Italy. Trevor mused that it had been named after Appius Claudius Caecus, the man who built the first section of it. He went blind in later life – according to Livy, it was because of a curse that had been placed on him. Livy was a great believer in curses.
There were high walls around the villa and security guards at the gates, who insisted on patting Trevor’s pockets and trouser legs to ensure he wasn’t carrying any weapons. Trevor looked at the formal gardens stretching in all directions and admired the handiwork of the gardeners, who must have had to water the lawns and flowerbeds every day in summer.
At the front door he was met by a butler, who led him through a cool atrium to a sitting room from where he could see a swimming pool in which three young children were screeching and splashing. A Pekingese dog ran up to sniff his trouser leg.
‘May I offer you a drink?’ the butler asked, and Trevor requested a glass of water. He sank into a comfortable armchair and looked around the room. Colourful rugs were arranged on the marble-tiled floors, a glass coffee table held a large bouquet of white roses, and there were shelves of books covering one wall. In a corner, there was a record player and stacks of gramophone records. Floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides meant there was plenty of light, but they were covered in floating net curtains that billowed in the breeze from open windows. The butler brought his water, then left him on his own.
After a while, Trevor got up to examine the books, and found a wide selection: lots of novels, including Gone with the Wind and works by Hemingway, Faulkner and Saul Bellow. There were non-fiction books on Judaism, a biography of Tennessee Williams and some art monographs. Suddenly he heard a movement behind him and turned to see Elizabeth Taylor walking down a staircase, wearing a floaty lime-green gown and looking tanned and very beautiful.
‘I only have a few books here in Rome. I’ve got lots more back home.’ She held out her hand and smiled warmly. ‘Hello, I’m Elizabeth.’
‘Trevor,’ he said, feeling stupidly nervous. It was hard to look at her directly; perhaps it could make you blind, like looking too long at the sun.
‘I have some books of Diana’s here. She lent them to me a while ago. Perhaps you will return them for me?’ She indicated a pile stacked to one side. Trevor picked them up and said that of course he would, if she was sure she had finished with them. Although she was wearing vertiginous high heels, Elizabeth’s head only came up to his chest.
‘I’m ever such a fast reader,’ she said, sitting in a chair opposite his. ‘Now tell me, how is Diana?’
‘She’s bearing up,’ he said: his stock phrase for anyone who asked. In fact, it appeared to be true that she was coping but what choice did she have? ‘We’re doing all we can to get her out.’
The butler brought her a drink on a tray, and she glanced at Trevor’s glass of water. ‘Won’t you have a proper drink? I hate to drink alone.’
‘Alright. Do you have gin?’ he asked.
‘Does the Pope have Bibles?’ she cackled. ‘Yes, of course I have gin. I drink mine with Coke but we also have lemonade or orange juice.’
‘Lemonade, please.’
The butler went to prepare his drink and Elizabeth slipped off her shoes and curled her feet beneath her, drink in hand.
‘Now tell me exactly what has happened to Diana. I’ve only heard the sketchiest outline.’ She listened carefully as Trevor ran through the story. He managed to talk about Ernesto without any emotion creeping into his voice, but he avoided using his name, calling him ‘Diana’s Italian boyfriend’. Elizabeth didn’t express any surprise, which led him to wonder if she already knew about the affair.
‘Are you happy with her lawyer? Would it be useful to get a second opinion from one of my guys? I’ve got loads on the payroll.’
‘Thank you, but we are happy for now.’ He imagined her lawyers would specialise in contracts and finance rather than Italian criminal law.
‘Do you need money? I’d be happy to contribute.’
‘No, gosh …’ Trevor was embarrassed. ‘Nothing like that.’ He explained that the British Consul had suggested he got high-profile people to provide testimonials, so as to help turn around Italian public opinion, and that he had written to her because she was the highest-profile person Diana knew.
Elizabeth sighed. ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard but I’m considered an “erotic vagrant” here in Italy. I’m afraid my support might be counter-productive in the eyes
of devout Catholics. She could get tarred with the same brush.’ She waved her arm dramatically, indicating a paintbrush coating her. ‘But I’ll make sure that Walter, Joe and Spyros provide references. And Irene Sharaff. Who else could I try? Perhaps Fellini would be good. Or Marcello Mastroianni? And I think Audrey Hepburn is in town.’ She paused to slurp her drink and consider her acquaintances in Rome.
Trevor was bemused. ‘Maybe it should just be people who know Diana personally. I’d be most grateful for any pressure you can apply.’
‘Give your lawyer’s address to my secretary, Dick Hanley, and he’ll make sure it happens. I’ll introduce you before you go.’
Trevor took a sip of the drink that had been discreetly placed by his elbow, and almost choked at the strength of it. He coughed delicately into his hand.
‘We only have another month of filming left but I hope Diana is around to advise. Walter and Joe are producing a Hollywood extravaganza but I know your wife has managed to make several very important changes. Richard and I are impressed by her erudition.’ Her voice softened as she said her lover’s name, and she shifted her legs beneath her.
‘I wasn’t aware that Diana knew him personally.’
‘We’ve often talked about her and the advice she’s given. He read one of the books Diana lent me because he wanted more guidance on why Mark Antony cracks up in the end. Have you seen him act?’
Trevor nodded. ‘He’s a brilliant actor.’
She was pleased. ‘He likes to understand the psychological profile of his characters and really get under their skin.’
‘Mark Antony is a difficult one to work out: he was such a tough man throughout his life, but weak in death. Most commentators are hard on him but I have some sympathy.’
‘Don’t you think he was destroyed by love? He fell apart when he realised Cleopatra had turned her back on him?’
