The Affair (43 page)

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?’

‘I think he was destroyed by his own debauchery, which meant that when the chips were down his own men didn’t trust him. The reports mostly come from Cicero, who said “We ought not to think of him as a human being but as a most outrageous beast.”’ He smiled. ‘When Cicero took against you, he didn’t moderate his criticisms.’

Elizabeth seemed entranced. ‘But this is perfect. I must pass this on to Richard.’

‘I assume he’ll have read Plutarch’s
Life of Antony
. It’s kinder to the man than Cicero’s diatribes, but still critical. There are many good modern biographies but I always like to go back to primary sources where possible.’

‘Are you an Egyptologist, like Diana?’

‘I’m a classicist. I’ve written a book on Plutarch, so our interests are different but complementary.’

‘How fascinating!’ Elizabeth breathed. ‘I bet you have wonderful conversations at the dinner table.’ She glanced at a clock on a side table. ‘Talking of which, I’d better get ready for dinner soon. Richard gets so grumpy when I’m late.’ She uncurled herself from the chair, moving languorously, her thoughts already with her lover. ‘It’s been fascinating meeting you. I’ll send Dick Hanley down and you can give him the address of Diana’s lawyer. And good luck, Trevor. Tell Diana that Richard and I are behind her all the way.’

She stood close to him as they shook hands and he could smell her scent. It was probably very expensive but somehow it reminded him of a type of laundry detergent Diana used to buy: ‘Ajax: Stronger than Dirt’, the advertisement said.

She wafted up the stairs, turning to wave from the top. Dick Hanley appeared a few minutes later and noted down Signor Esposito’s office address before guiding Trevor out to the car that had brought him.

As they pulled out of the gates of Villa Papa, Trevor began to cry. He didn’t know why. Perhaps he was touched by Elizabeth’s kindness. It was such an extraordinary situation.

The chauffeur opened the glove compartment, pulled out a white silk handkerchief and passed it back to him without a word, as if he was used to grown men crying in the back seat of his car.

At visiting hour the next day Diana forced a smile when Trevor described Elizabeth Taylor offering to get a testimonial from Audrey Hepburn.

‘Maybe she could get John Wayne or Marilyn Monroe?’ he suggested. ‘She made it sound as though the famous belong to some exclusive club in which they can ask each other for favours, even if they’ve never met.’ He’d planned this speech on the way there, hoping to cheer Diana up.

‘Something like the Masons, you mean?’ She cocked her head on one side. ‘Perhaps it’s true.’

‘Hilary sends her love,’ Trevor told her. ‘And the letters of support will soon start pouring in. I wrote to everyone I could think of.’

‘I’m sure that will make a huge difference,’ Diana said. ‘Thank you.’ But in her heart of hearts she didn’t believe it would influence the prosecuting authorities, who were convinced she was a murderer. Why would they release her just because her friends said she was a decent person? Most murderers probably have friends who believe they are innocent.

‘I rang that journalist, Scott Morgan, this morning and he is asking around town, trying to find Mr Balboni’s home address. He thinks he’ll get hold of it soon.’

Diana looked down at her hands. She felt awful every time Trevor was forced to mention his name. Ernesto was such a proficient liar she couldn’t imagine the journalist would be able to winkle much information from him, but she supposed he might as well try.

Trevor carried on: ‘I went to Termini station on my way here to try and work out whether Helen might have taken the train to Torre Astura. She was seen leaving Cinecittà at around four in the afternoon, so the earliest she could have caught a train would be four-thirty or five. According to the timetable, there are trains from Rome to Anzio on weekdays at five-fifteen p.m., then another at seven-fifteen, and the last one is at nine-fifteen. The journey takes an hour and a half, with several stops along the way.’

‘She never had any money,’ Diana told him. ‘She would probably have bought the cheapest possible ticket, in a third-class carriage.’

‘I watched an Anzio train leaving this morning and the cheaper carriages were packed full of farm workers with bicycles, crates of chickens and boxes of fruit. It occurred to me Helen must have stood out if she was wearing that red dress you described. It was an evening dress, wasn’t it?’ Diana nodded. ‘She must have gone home and changed after work. Maybe she caught the nine-fifteen, which got in at ten-forty-five. I wonder if the police are trying to find witnesses who saw her on the journey?’

‘It doesn’t seem to me as if the police are doing anything at all. They’ve got their culprit and a couple of so-called witnesses and are simply waiting for the trial.’

‘I hope that’s not the case,’ Trevor frowned. ‘But that’s why I thought you and I should try and piece together Helen’s final journey to see if we can come up with anything ourselves.’

Suddenly Diana had a flash of inspiration. ‘Hang on a minute. Where is her handbag? She would never have gone anywhere without her bag. It was white patent with a gold chain-link shoulder strap. I wonder what happened to it?’

They looked at each other, filled with hope for a second. ‘Perhaps Luigi stole it. If only they could find it at his apartment … But he’s not that stupid.’

‘Either that or it was thrown into the water with her and has drifted off somewhere on the current. Which doesn’t help us much.’

They sat in silence for a few minutes, mulling this over, then both started to speak at once. ‘You first,’ Trevor said.

‘I was going to say that there might be something inside that would give us a clue about her state of mind. Did she buy a return train ticket? Did she have things for an overnight stay? … What were you going to say?’

‘I’m not sure she caught the train. I think Luigi might have driven her down. Maybe she owed him money and he was bringing her to you so you could lend her some. You were her last hope.’

‘Of course I’d have given her money!’

‘But something went wrong when they arrived. Perhaps Helen threatened to expose him and he killed her before they reached you.’

‘I’m afraid that’s what must have happened. But how can we ever prove it?’

Trevor sighed. ‘It worries me that the police aren’t even looking for evidence of a third person. Maybe it’s there, staring them in the face.’ At that moment, he made up his mind. ‘I think I’ll go to Torre Astura myself and have a look around.’

‘Are you sure, Trevor? It might be dangerous. I don’t want you getting in any trouble.’

He carried on as if she hadn’t spoken, thinking out loud. ‘I’ll ask Hilary to arrange permission for me to look around the set and talk to the workers. Someone must have seen something. I’ll go tomorrow.’

Diana closed her eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. At least something was happening.

‘It means I won’t be able to visit you tomorrow,’ he explained, ‘but with any luck I’ll be back the following day with good news.’

‘Thank you for doing this.’ She forced another smile. ‘I knew I could count on you.’