The Affair (30 page)

‘Cut!’ came the order over the loudspeaker, almost straight away. Joe spoke to someone beside him who leapt down from the raised platform and came running over towards the crowd.

Diana followed him with her eyes. What had gone wrong? Standing on tiptoe, she saw the problem: a stout man with a cool-box strapped to his chest. In the vicinity, several extras were hastily gobbling ice creams. They were allowed to have refreshments between takes but shouldn’t be seen on film, of course.

‘That’s the spirit,’ Ernesto chuckled. ‘We Romans never miss a business opportunity!’

‘Incredible!’ She shook her head as she watched the offender being led off to the side. It didn’t matter so long as he didn’t try to sell ice cream while the cameras were rolling.

‘Italians invented ice cream, you know,’ Ernesto claimed.

‘No, they didn’t. There are records of something similar in China in 3000 BC, and it’s likely the idea was brought to Italy by Marco Polo.’ She stopped, realising how pedantic she sounded, but Ernesto just laughed and rubbed her shoulders.

‘My little brainbox,’ he whispered adoringly.

Finally, filming started again, and the crowd roared and cooed and aahed, as they were instructed, craning their necks to watch the imaginary procession that had already been filmed. It felt like a real celebration, a proud moment for all involved, something they could tell their children in future. Diana and Ernesto cheered along with the rest of the crowd, and hugged and kissed each other openly. She felt so happy. Life at Cinecittà was exciting, she had a wonderful lover and the sun was shining.

There were several retakes but no one complained, despite the intense heat. They wanted the moment to last as long as possible. There was even a disappointed groan when Joe called out in Italian to thank them for their involvement and ask them to take their costumes back to wardrobe.

The women’s changing area was heaving with people so Diana grabbed her summer dress from the corner where she’d left it and made her way towards the production office to change and wash off her makeup. She waved at several people along the way and stopped in the bar to pick up an iced lemonade. Just as she passed the main gates of the studio, a young Italian woman stepped into her path, screeching in anger and gesticulating wildly. At first Diana got the impression she had lost her child, but the woman was pointing and screaming ‘
Sei tu!
’ which didn’t make sense. How could it be Diana’s fault?

‘
Hai rubato mio marito. Hai rubato il padre dei miei quattro figli
.’

Her words were hysterical and hard to distinguish. Diana looked around for someone to help her make sense of what the woman was saying, but there were no Italian speakers in sight. Frustrated, the woman opened her bag, fumbled around and pulled out a photograph, which she handed to Diana. It showed Ernesto with a baby in his arms and three small children grouped round him. A little girl was sitting on his knee. Could this be his sister’s kids? Diana tried to remember which one he’d said had children.

‘Are you his sister?’ she asked in Italian.

‘No, I’m his wife. These are his children. And you are a whore.’

Diana felt as though she was going to faint. ‘
Ma lui non è sposato
’ – ‘But he’s not married.’

The woman held out her hand to show a wedding ring. ‘Ten years we are married,’ she insisted. ‘Ten years. But since January this year my children have hardly seen their papa because he is staying with his English whore.’ She spat on the ground in disgust.

Diana looked at the photo again, trying to think of some reason why the woman would say all this if it weren’t true. She couldn’t come up with one. But Ernesto had been planning to introduce her to his mother. How could he have done that if he were married? The answer came to her: he would never have gone through with it. He was all talk. What about the girlfriend who broke his heart? Had she even existed? Was anything he’d ever told her true?

His wife was sobbing now.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Diana told her. ‘I had no idea he was married.’

Still the woman was crying and Diana didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t her place to offer comfort to this stranger. ‘I will stop seeing him straight away. I’m sorry.’ She handed back the photograph.

‘
Puttana inglese!
’ the woman cried. ‘
Sgualdrina!
’

She placed the photograph back in her bag and walked slowly out the gates of the studio, still crying. Diana watched as she made her way across the road to the bus stop, feeling so shocked that for several minutes she couldn’t move.

Once at the stop, the woman turned to glare back through the gates, and it was only then that Diana found the strength to continue towards the production office.

Diana changed quickly, removed her wig and called for a studio driver to take her back to her
pensione
. She was still wearing her heavy pancake makeup and eyeliner and the driver tried to joke with her about it but she was lost in her own thoughts.

I’m such a fool. Why didn’t I guess? How could he?

It didn’t occur to her to question the woman’s story. Her distress had been genuine and that photograph was proof. She must have grabbed the opportunity to sneak onto the set when so many strangers were there for the procession scene. It was the only way she could catch her husband red-handed with his mistress –
her!
How could she have been so wrong about Ernesto? Was she such a bad judge of character? More to the point, what was she going to say when he arrived at her
pensione
later?

She had a bath to wash off the grime of the day and lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling as the fierce heat of the sun subsided. Her cheeks and arms were tight with sunburn. A faint breeze blew her curtain inwards. She decided she couldn’t face a long, drawn-out argument with Ernesto. She would simply tell him it was over and ask him to pack his things and leave. She didn’t want to hear dozens of excuses. What was it errant men always said in the movies? ‘My wife doesn’t understand me.’ Well, maybe she didn’t, but he’d had children with her and that changed everything as far as Diana was concerned.

Ernesto didn’t attempt to deny that he was married and a father, but he had a million excuses for his behaviour. ‘I couldn’t help falling in love with you, Diana. During that trip to Ischia, I knew you were the person I should spend my life with. I got married too young and we have nothing in common. My wife is uneducated, simple, but you – you are a genius.’

‘You lied to me, and you’ve gone on lying and lying.’

Ernesto looked pained. ‘I had no choice. I hated lying to you but if I’d told you I was married you wouldn’t have been with me. I wanted you to love me. I need you,
cara mia.’

Diana clutched her head in her hands, wanting to scream. ‘You could never have married me. Divorce isn’t legal in Italy, yet you tried to make me divorce my husband. Why would you do that?’

‘I didn’t want to share you. The thought that this man slept in our bed makes me crazy. Diana, we can still be together. I will leave my wife and we will get an apartment. I want to wake up beside you every morning for the rest of my life.’ He reached out to touch her cheek and she flinched.

‘Absolutely not. I can’t believe you’ve turned out to be such a louse. I want you to collect your things and get out, and I don’t want you anywhere near me from now on.’

‘Don’t decide so quickly. Take a few days to think it over. Please don’t break my heart.’

He sounded very upset, but she noticed there was no remorse for what he had done. For Diana it was a black and white decision. ‘There’s nothing to think about, Ernesto. Go back to your wife and children. Tell her I’m sorry. And stay away from me.’

He began to fold his shirts and trousers and Diana watched, willing him to hurry. It was unbelievable that just a few hours earlier they had been kissing on the film set, delighted in each other’s company, perfectly happy in the moment. How naïve she had been.

‘Can I have one last kiss?’ Ernesto asked, his brown eyes sad, and her traitorous body yearned to press against his and feel his lips one last time, but she was too angry.

‘Just get out!’ she ordered, and with a reproachful backwards glance, he did.

Diana poured herself a glass of water then sat on her balcony watching as the light faded and the evening traffic hit the streets. She felt old, cynical and exhausted.

What’s the big deal? I’ve simply had an affair.
All over Cinecittà, men and women were having affairs. That’s what happened on film sets. Most of them went back to the lives they’d had before and forgot all about it. That’s probably what would happen with Elizabeth and Richard, if word on the set was to be believed. But to her, it
was
a big deal – a huge deal. She felt dirty and used. She was horrified at the suffering she had inadvertently caused to Ernesto’s wife. And she felt sheer rage with him for the damage he had done, both to her and to Trevor. She didn’t cry – couldn’t cry – but she sat on her balcony long after darkness fell, watching the lights of the city and listening to the drone of Vespas speeding their drivers to bars and nightspots. Her love affair was over and life went on.

Next morning, when she reached the production office, she asked Hilary if she might have a private word and explained to her what had transpired the previous evening. Hilary immediately threw her arms round her.

‘Hell’s teeth, you poor old stick! I worried that he might be married but you seemed so sure … I’m so sorry. The truth is that you can’t trust any Italian men and that’s been the case since Cleopatra’s day.’ She pulled back, patting Diana on the shoulder.

‘I’m OK. I just feel such a fool. Do you think anyone knew, apart from you?’

‘Goodness, don’t concern yourself about that. If anyone knows, they’ll blame him, not you.’ She frowned. ‘However, it does present one problem because I suppose you won’t want him to accompany you to Torre Astura. I’ve just had word we’re allowed on the set tomorrow and I was going to ask you two to check it out.’

Diana was alarmed. ‘Can’t I go on my own? Ernesto didn’t do anything in Ischia except drive me around. My Italian is fluent enough. If you send me with a driver and tell me who to talk to, I’ll be fine by myself.’

‘Yes, that’s the best plan. I’ll tell Walter what we’re doing.’

‘You won’t tell him why, will you?’

Hilary patted her hand. ‘No one will hear about it from me. Not one word.’

‘I’ll go down first thing tomorrow morning. It will do me good to get away.’

‘Take an overnight bag and stay a couple of days. The sea air might help to clear your head.’

‘I think I will. Thanks.’

They walked together to the script meeting, then back to the office. All the time Diana felt nervous that Ernesto would appear; she didn’t feel strong enough for a confrontation. But fortunately there was no sign of him. At lunchtime she made her way to the makeup department to look for Helen and found her organising lipsticks in a gold-coloured box.

‘You hungry?’ she asked.

‘No, but I’ll keep you company.’ She looked tired and pale.

‘You must be worn out after yesterday. How many people did you make up?’

‘We weren’t allowed to make up the extras. Union rules or something. But I hear it was crazy over there. We’ve run out of Max Factor pancake foundation, and they’ve sent off for more. There’s not much I can do till that arrives.’

Diana bought a sandwich of mortadella sausage and got them two Cokes, then sat down with Helen at their usual table. ‘So what’s been happening to you?’ she asked. ‘Seems like ages since we caught up.’

‘Well …’ Helen gave a sly smile. ‘I know I’m always saying this and it never comes to anything, but there’s someone I’m keen on. A man.’

‘Oh yes? Anyone I know?’

‘Actually …’ There was a pause before she announced with a wide smile, ‘It’s Ernesto, that guy who works as a fixer. Don’t you think he’s lovely?’

Diana stared at her, utterly aghast. Had Helen really never got wind of their affair? How peculiar that she should pick this very day to announce him as her new crush. ‘I’ve got bad news for you,’ she said. ‘He’s married with four children.’

Helen gave a dismissive gesture. ‘Everyone’s married here. It doesn’t make any difference, does it? I could still have a fling with him. We’re only here once. You keep saying it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience and we should make the most of it …’ Her words tailed off as she noticed the expression of horror on Diana’s face.

‘I can’t believe you would do that to his wife! It’s immoral.’ She felt sick to her stomach and pushed the sandwich across the table. ‘You’re the one who was so disapproving about Elizabeth and Richard.’

Helen tried to justify herself. ‘He came on to me, you know. It’s not as if I chased him or anything. You know how hard it’s been for me to find a boyfriend even though everyone else has one and I just thought it was my turn to have a bit of fun.’

Diana spoke slowly. ‘
When
did he come on to you, Helen?’

She thought back. ‘The first time was over Easter. You were off with Trevor so I didn’t have a chance to tell you about it. Then he arrived at the club where we went dancing last night and was lovely to me.’ Suddenly she burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry you don’t approve, but it’s alright for you with your cosy marriage and your PhD and everything in your life being perfect. I’d like to get married too one day.’