by Gill Paul
Chapter Seventy-Three
Diana returned to Rinascente department store to buy a new dress for their cocktails with Elizabeth and Richard. She was keen to make a good impression. It was ridiculous, of course, because she couldn’t begin to compete with Elizabeth when it came to looks, but it wasn’t about competition. She wanted to appear chic, to display another aspect of her personality, so that they didn’t pigeonhole her as a dowdy academic.
She browsed the rails for two hours and tried on several outfits but couldn’t make up her mind, and it made her miss Helen terribly. Helen was instinctively stylish, one of her many talents.
A shop assistant took pity on Diana as she stood dithering between four different dresses – leopard print, polka-dot, jewelled chiffon, harlequin diamonds – none of which were quite right.
‘Is it for a party?’ the woman asked.
‘For cocktails with friends.’
The woman disappeared and came back with a simple forest-green shot-silk dress, in the new A-line style, which stopped just above the knee. She held it up in front of Diana and instantly it was obvious that it was the right thing: simple and understated. She could wear her pearls with it. How ridiculous that it had taken her so long.
The following Saturday, she dressed an hour before they were due to be picked up and began to apply her makeup, trying to draw fine black lines round the rims of her eyelashes as Helen had done. She smudged them with her finger, then unthinkingly wiped her fingers on her lap – and looked down to see a smear of pancake foundation on the fabric, which she had to sponge off, leaving a round damp patch. What a ditz I am! she thought.
‘Why are you nervous?’ Trevor asked, as she stood flapping the hem of her dress by the window, trying to make the evening sun dry it and praying there wouldn’t be a watermark. ‘They’re only people.’
‘I know. Of course I know that.’ She giggled. ‘But I notice you’re wearing your best jacket, and you’ve even put on a tie, despite the heat. I’ve never seen Richard in a tie.’
‘Haven’t you? In that case I’ll take it off.’ He loosened the tie and slipped it off then unfastened his top button. ‘You look lovely, by the way. That dress brings out the green of your eyes.’
‘Thank you, darling.’
They were both ready at least half an hour early and sat self-consciously by the window drinking cups of tea until it was time to hail a taxi.
When they climbed out at the Villa Papa, security staff asked apologetically if they could look inside Diana’s handbag and they patted down Trevor’s jacket and trouser pockets before the butler led them through to the sunny lounge, the one Trevor had been in before. Everything looked much the same, except that the roses on the coffee table were deep red now, and a child’s pull-along train was abandoned in the middle of the rug.
They sat down self-consciously on a sofa, then seconds later Richard Burton swept into the room and they both rose to shake his hand.
‘Diana, Trevor, how good to meet you,’ he said, his penetrating blue eyes moving from one to the other. ‘How are you, Diana? I hope there are no ill effects from your incarceration?’
‘I’m fine. Thank you. I was very well treated. Everything was perfectly civilised. If you ever have to go to jail, I can recommend Regina Coeli.’ She was gabbling. There was something about him that made her nervous. Perhaps it was the magnificent voice, or the fact that the only other time she’d seen him up close he had been shouting at Candy.
‘I don’t think being imprisoned for something you didn’t do counts as civilised treatment. It seems outrageous that in one visit to Torre Astura, Trevor was able to uncover evidence the police had completely overlooked. But if you are sure no lasting harm has been done, I suppose that’s the main thing.’ The butler stood, waiting for his orders. ‘Do you both like champagne?’
They nodded in unison, although as far as Diana knew Trevor had never tried it.
‘A bottle of Bollinger, please,’ he asked the butler. ‘Let’s celebrate! Elizabeth will join us but not for at least another hour by my reckoning because she hasn’t yet started to do her hair and it takes an unconscionably long time to arrange.’
‘According to Martin Luther, “The hair is the richest ornament of women”,’ Trevor quoted.
Richard responded: ‘“Attired to please herself: no gems of any kind/She wore, nor aught of borrowed gloss in Nature’s stead;/And then, her long, loose hair flung around her head/Fell carelessly behind.”’
Diana was mesmerised. People paid top dollar to hear this man in the theatre and she could see why because he transformed himself in a way that was magical to watch and listen to. His words took you out of your immediate surroundings so that you felt you could see the woman with careless long hair.
‘Terence, Heauton Timorumenos,’ Trevor recognised. ‘Is it Bacchis praising Antiphila? How did you come across such a little-known piece?’
‘My drama teacher was very thorough. He recommended Terence for the simplicity and elegance of the language, but I have yet to persuade any director to revive his work.’
‘No, it would hardly stand the test of time. And of course, there is the controversy over whether he wrote the plays himself. Cicero and Quintillian thought not.’
The champagne cork was popped and Diana was handed a glass.
‘To your freedom,’ Richard toasted, smiling. ‘May you never be imprisoned again …’
‘I’ll certainly drink to that,’ she agreed, and they all clinked glasses before taking a sip. It was divine. Diana decided she even preferred it to the Dom Pérignon she’d drunk at Elizabeth’s thirtieth birthday party many moons ago. Before prison. Her life seemed divided into before prison and after prison. It was too early to tell whether the experience had changed her but she felt different, in a way that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Perhaps it was the knowledge that she had been at rock bottom and survived. If she could cope with being falsely imprisoned for murder without falling apart, she could cope with anything. It was a good thing to know about yourself.
Richard and Trevor were talking about W.H. Auden, with whom they both had a slight acquaintance, and quoting poetry at each other, back and forwards like a tennis match. She smiled. They would never admit it but each was trying to impress. It was entertaining to watch.
Suddenly they heard a movement on the stairs and all turned to see Elizabeth descending. She was wearing white trousers, so tight they looked as though they had been painted onto her legs, and a shocking pink kaftan in floaty chiffon. Diana immediately felt overdressed in her smart green frock and pearls. Tony went to greet her and realised Richard wasn’t getting up and sat down again.
‘Am I late? I see you started without me.’ She picked up a spare glass the butler had left on the tray and filled it from the bottle, which was in a wine cooler.
‘Your lateness is part of your charm, my love. One always knows one can depend on it.’
Diana turned to look at Richard and was stunned by the alteration in his expression. He was gazing at Elizabeth like a little boy: vulnerable, awe-struck, unable to believe his own luck that he had snared such a knock-out woman. As she sashayed past him to greet Diana and Trevor, he couldn’t help reaching out to touch the fabric of her trousers, as if to reassure himself she were real. His eyes never left her as she shook hands with Trevor and gave Diana a hug, then kicked off her high-heeled gold sandals and curled her legs beneath her in an armchair.
‘We were discussing Auden,’ Richard told her. ‘Do you remember? “I’ll love you, dear, I’ll love you/Till China and Africa meet,/And the river jumps over the mountain/And the salmon sing in the street.”’
‘Isn’t that beautiful?’ she drawled. ‘You know him, don’t you? You must introduce me some time. He sounds like quite a fellow.’ The way she said ‘fell-ow’ sounded very English and Diana realised she was picking up Richard’s classical Shakespearean diction and becoming less American.
‘He’s a very shy man. He’d be struck du
mb if he met you. But that wouldn’t matter because you can talk forever.’ He dragged his gaze away from her to address Diana and Trevor. ‘There are no awkward silences at any gathering Elizabeth attends, because there are never any silences, full stop.’
‘And yet,’ she trilled, ‘you’re the one doing all the talking tonight, baby.’
Diana could see they were utterly enthralled by each other. They hung on every word the other spoke, sparking off one another’s thoughts, constantly watching the tiniest movements of a hand, or the recrossing of a leg, or the scratching of a minor itch. There was a current of electricity running between them that made them seem alert to the other’s every breath and heartbeat.
They’re trying to learn all they can about each other, Diana thought. They’re hopelessly addicted. She knew about sexual addiction, because she’d had that with Ernesto; and she knew about love, because when she watched Trevor wincing with his back pain, it made her heart ache. But Elizabeth and Richard seemed to have it all: the emotional and the physical, plus a meeting of the minds. They were well and truly hooked.
And then she thought about Sybil and the children, and realised just how tortured Richard’s position must be. Trevor was right; no matter which decision he made, he would lose.
They were talking about Mark Antony now, and Diana knew she should join in the conversation but she enjoyed being a spectator as her husband explained what was known of the debauched, difficult character and Elizabeth and Richard discussed scenes and lines of dialogue from Joe’s script. A couple of times Richard referred a question to Elizabeth and she positively glowed with pride.
She’s not used to being taken seriously for her intellect, Diana guessed. She’s beguiled by his brain, and flattered that he treats her as an equal. She remembered Elizabeth saying that Richard called her ‘Ocean’ and could see that for someone accustomed to being praised for her surface beauty, it would be irresistible to be referred to by implication as ‘deep’.
They talked about meeting the King of Spain and his new wife at dinner the previous evening. ‘She’s a timid little thing. I don’t think there’s any doubt he bagged a virgin,’ Richard quipped.
‘I’ve got a joke for you,’ Elizabeth responded. ‘A man asks a young woman he’s just slept with “Am I the first man who ever made love to you?” She says “Yes, dear, you might be. Your face looks familiar.”’
Richard laughed loudest of all, and Elizabeth beamed with pleasure. Diana began to worry that she was being too quiet. She’d hardly spoken since Elizabeth joined them, but she could tell those two liked an audience. It fuelled their exchanges, ratcheting them up a gear. They wanted people to see how happy they were, and that was easier in public because in private they would be inevitably drawn to no-go areas – such as his wife and children. In company, they could be a proper couple in love rather than a pair of guilty adulterers.
Two bottles of champagne were drained and Diana was beginning to feel tipsy although she knew she hadn’t drunk as much as half a bottle herself. Trevor was looking flushed but happy. She realised it was the first time she’d seen him properly happy since she told him that Walter Wanger wanted her to come and work in Rome.
‘Shall we go for dinner?’ Richard suggested. ‘Fettuccine at Alfredo’s? I’ll get Dick Hanley to reserve a table.’
‘We’d better warn Diana and Trevor what it’s like out there.’ Elizabeth caught Richard’s eye for a second then turned to them. ‘Since the beginning of what Richard and I call Le Scandale, the press attention has been somewhat terrifying. When the car pulls up, you need to get out quickly and walk straight for the entrance with your head down. Don’t look at the photographers and, whatever you do, don’t respond to anything they say. They can be vile and it’s best not to listen.’
‘Oh yes, Le Scandale could have turned us into hermits if we’d let it.’ Richard stood up. ‘But when in Rome, we do as the Romans do and eat at Alfredo’s.’
Trevor chuckled. ‘You know that quotation dates back to a letter by St Augustine saying that Romans fast on Saturdays and you should do the same when you’re there? But it’s a Saturday today and I’m starving, so fettuccine it is.’
Richard put his arm around Elizabeth’s shoulder. ‘I think this man might possibly know everything. We should keep him around. It could be handy for settling arguments.’
‘Don’t say that, darling. We never argue.’ This was obviously a private joke, as she raised her eyebrows dramatically and he laughed.
Trevor sat in the front seat of Elizabeth’s car, alongside the same driver who had given him a silk handkerchief after his previous visit, while Diana slipped into the back seat with the two stars. Her leg was pressed against Richard’s but far from being embarrassed the champagne had relaxed her so she enjoyed the moment. She’d totally revised her opinion of Richard now she had seen his emotional side and heard him reciting poetry. She felt special, honoured to be in their presence and witnessing the great love affair close up.
The car pulled up outside Alfredo’s and Diana climbed out, realising belatedly that she was on the road side rather than the pavement side and would have to push her way through a horde of photographers to get to the restaurant entrance. The noise level was extraordinary, like a steam train whistling right by your ear, and the assault of the flashbulbs disorientated her. For a second she couldn’t decide which direction to walk in and stood, dazzled, as if snow-blind.
‘Come on.’ Richard’s voice was right next to her and he grasped her elbow, pulling her behind him as he elbowed his way through the crowd. She couldn’t see anything for the flashbulbs, but she did hear someone shout, ‘Is she your new tart, Richard?’ and realised with a shock they were talking about her.
They pushed inside the restaurant door and instantly the noise level dropped. Elizabeth and Trevor were already there, waiting for them, and she noticed that Trevor looked a bit dazed. How could Elizabeth and Richard put up with that cacophony every time they went out? It seemed to Diana a high price to pay for fame.
‘Thank you for rescuing me,’ she said to Richard.
He grinned. ‘Welcome to our lives. That’s your baptism of fire.’
The eponymous Alfredo himself came to lead them to a quiet table near the back. Diana kept her eyes forwards but all the same she was conscious of every single head turning as they crossed the room.
‘I think we all want fettucine,’ Richard ordered, looking round the three of them.
‘Oh, definitely,’ Elizabeth agreed. ‘Do you know the story? It’s so romantic. Alfredo’s wife lost her appetite while she was pregnant with their first child. She couldn’t face food, and he was worried about her, so he went into the kitchen to create a dish he knew she wouldn’t be able to resist. And the result was fettuccine alfredo, which is now served all over the world. I think that’s charming. Will you invent a dish for me one day, Richard?’
‘If a miracle ever happens and you lose your capacious appetite then I’ll give it some consideration.’
They sat on a banquette pressed close together. Elizabeth took out a cigarette and Richard leapt to light it. He filled her glass, spread the napkin on her lap, was attentive to her every need, and she glowed with the attention.
Some red wine was brought and Diana accepted a glass. She knew she was getting properly drunk but for once decided not to stop herself. It made her more talkative and she began to tell them some gossip from the set: her suspicion that Joe Mankiewicz and his assistant, Rosemary Matthews, were becoming more than just work colleagues.
‘He’s a dark horse, old Joe,’ Richard commented. ‘Good for him.’
I’m turning into Helen, Diana thought with a twinge of guilt. But then the whole of Cinecittà was rife with gossip and neither was married so there was no harm done.
The conversation became increasingly silly as they proposed toasts to their forthcoming trip to Ischia, to the asp that bit Cleopatra’s breast, and to poor silly Antony. Richard kept reaching for the pepper mill or
the wine just so that he could accidentally-on-purpose brush his hand past Elizabeth’s magnificent breasts, and she smiled indulgently. In retaliation for a cheeky retort she turned and kissed his cheek, leaving a perfect lipstick outline of her mouth, then hooted with laughter. It was obvious they truly enjoyed being with each other.
Trevor offered to pay half the bill but Richard wouldn’t hear of it. They then had to run the gauntlet of the photographers on the way back out to the car. This time the nearside car door was open and Diana scurried with her head down and leapt in, but she turned to see Richard with his arm around Elizabeth, both of them standing with heads held high as twenty or thirty flashbulbs fired at once, illuminating them with an eerie halo. It was a glorious yet unnerving sight.
The driver dropped Diana and Trevor at Diana’s pensione and they all kissed goodnight – Richard even kissed Trevor on the lips, which seemed uproariously funny at the time – then they clambered upstairs and fell into bed.
Diana slept for an hour or two but opened her eyes at four a.m., suddenly wide awake. She reran all the wonderful memories of the evening, particularly the life-affirming happiness that Elizabeth and Richard felt in each other’s presence, and knew that she had never experienced that. Her relationship with Trevor had been about comfort and support, intellectual stimulation and practicality. They cared deeply about each other, but there had never been that fiery passion. They’d never truly had that exhilaration at the sheer fact of being together. And now that Helen’s death had underlined the fragility of existence, Diana wondered whether that was enough. She could get knocked down by a car, or be in a plane crash or fall off a boat at any moment.
Was life too short to stick with the loving companionship they had rather than pursuing the ‘great love’ Elizabeth and Richard shared? She certainly didn’t want to hurt Trevor any more. She just wasn’t sure that going back to the life they’d had before was an option.
