The Affair (41 page)

‘I understand why you are suspicious, but I guarantee I won’t write about anything you tell me. I promise.’ He held out his hand. ‘Can I buy you a coffee?’

‘Alright,’ Trevor agreed, and they shook.

They went to a nearby bar, which was empty apart from the owner and a scruffy dog snuffling on the floor. Scott began by telling Trevor about his article on the drugs trade in Rome, and how he had come to know Helen.

Trevor listened carefully. When the coffee came, his hand trembled as he raised the cup, sloshing some into the saucer.

‘Want a brandy to go in that?’ Scott asked. ‘I’ll join you.’

‘Perhaps I will,’ Trevor said. He was on the verge of tears and needed something to stiffen him up.

Scott told Trevor about his encounters with Luigi, then he described his visit to Helen the night before she died when he had found her in such a distressed state.

‘She was very indiscreet about Luigi and I wonder if he had threatened her. It was pretty obvious that she was close to rock bottom but she wouldn’t tell me why. Diana was her closest friend in Rome, so I’m sure that’s why she decided to try and find her the next day. Except she didn’t quite get there.’

Trevor nodded, thinking it over. ‘But what can I do, Mr Morgan? They don’t let you out on bail in this country and I can’t have my wife spending a year in prison. It’s extraordinary! We are not this kind of people.’

‘I know you’re not,’ he soothed. ‘I can see that a mile off. I don’t know what the judge was thinking of.’

Trevor shook his head. ‘I can’t understand why a witness would claim to have seen them. She must be mistaken. And Ernesto Balboni, the man with whom Diana had an “affair”’ – he grimaced – ‘appears to be testifying that he was seeing Helen at the same time. Diana doesn’t believe it, but why is he lying? That’s another thing we need to find out.’

‘It would be difficult for you to make contact with Balboni. You’d probably feel like slugging him, but I could try if you like. I bet I can find a way to catch him off guard.’

‘Are you sure it’s not against the law to contact witnesses?’ He had finished his brandy and seemed more composed.

‘Only if we intimidate them.’ Scott pursed his lips in a half-smile. ‘Let’s trade addresses and phone numbers and keep in touch.’ He scribbled his on a sheet of paper torn from his reporter’s notebook. Trevor wrote the address of Diana’s
pensione
on the bottom of the page and ripped it off to hand back.

‘The telephone is out of order, I’m afraid, but you will catch me in the room after dinner every evening. I have nothing to do but go back there and read.’

Scott didn’t know what to say. ‘We’re going to solve this, Trevor. Try not to worry too much.’

Trevor tilted his head to one side. ‘“Don’t worry?” You’re not married, are you, Mr Morgan?’ Scott shook his head. ‘No, I thought not.’

When they left the bar, Scott asked if he could give him a lift anywhere but Trevor said he would rather take the bus. The Rome bus service seemed to work rather well. He shuffled off, his shoulders hunched.

Back at his office, Scott rang the
Cleopatra
press office. ‘One of your crew is dead and another is being investigated for murder. Do you have a comment?’

‘It’s a private matter, in police hands. We have nothing more to say.’

‘I wonder if it would be possible to talk to Ernesto Balboni?’

‘No.’

‘Do you think the threat to kill Elizabeth Taylor might have anything to do with the death of Helen Sharpe?’ He was fishing, but it didn’t get him anywhere.

‘Now you’re being ridiculous,’ he was told, and the line went dead.

Diana felt numb as she was driven back to Regina Coeli prison after the hearing. A year of her life might be spent there – more if she was found guilty at trial. Perhaps she would never leave the Mantellate wing’s yellow walls again.

The guard met her at the entrance and told her he was taking her to a different cell.

‘Why am I moving?’

‘You’ll share a cell now.’

‘With another prisoner?’
Stupid question: of course it would be. Oh God, what kind of person would it be? They wouldn’t put her in with anyone violent, would they?

She was led to her original cell first, where she gathered her books, clothes and toiletries, then they continued up two flights of stairs. Noises echoed through the stairwells: footsteps on ancient stone, voices calling and strange unidentifiable clankings. The high ceilings amplified every footfall.

The warden took her along a corridor and unlocked the door of a cell. Inside Diana saw a woman of roughly her own age sitting on a narrow bed. There was an empty bed along the other wall. The woman looked up at her with suspicion, taking in her pale skin and mousy-brown hair.

‘
Parli italiano?
’ she asked.

‘
Sì.
’

‘
Quello è il tuo letto là
.’ She pointed to the other bed.

Diana sat down on it, and the warden locked the door behind her. ‘My name’s Diana. I’m English,’ she said in Italian.

‘Donatella.’ She had thick dark hair that hung below her breasts, and manly features. ‘What are you in for?’

Diana explained that she had been accused of murdering a friend but that it wasn’t true. ‘And you?’ she asked.

‘
Pah!
’ The woman spat in disgust. ‘Theft. From my own brother-in-law, the son of a whore.’

She launched into a long explanation, gesticulating wildly to stress the crucial points, almost as if she were signing for a deaf person. Her husband died two years ago, she said, leaving her with no income and three children to feed. Her brother-in-law was rich, with a string of shops, and she asked if he could help. He gave her a job in one of his stores but paid her only a pittance and she got behind on the rent. There was nothing else she could do but slip a few hundred
lire
from the till every now and then. She had no choice. But her brother-in-law had set a trap for her by marking some notes. ‘I took one – that’s all. One hundred thousand
lire
! He called the police and they searched my bag and then I was arrested.’

‘How could he?’ Diana gasped. It was roughly fifty-seven pounds’ worth, not a huge sum for a family member to take. ‘Your children’s uncle did that to you?’

Donatella shrugged dramatically. ‘He’s a bastard. When I see him I will scratch his eyes out, so help me.’ Her face hardened and Diana thought she looked easily capable of it.

‘So tell me your story,’ Donatella challenged. ‘If you are innocent, why are you here?’

Diana explained about the circumstances surrounding her arrest, and her suspicion that a drug dealer was the real culprit. Donatella made a face. ‘That’s a problem. The big dealers don’t tend to get convicted. But if you work for the film studios, get them to buy you a fancy lawyer and you should get off. Hey, did you know that if you have money, you can pay for a cell of your own and extra food here?’

‘Can you?’ She vaguely remembered Signor Esposito mentioning it but she had been so sure she’d get out today that she hadn’t paid much attention. ‘I’ve been in a cell on my own for two days and I think I’d rather have company – if you don’t mind, that is. But I’ll ask about getting extra food. Maybe we could share it.’

‘Good idea.’ Donatella grinned, and Diana saw that one of her front teeth was missing. ‘So have you met
La Taylor
?’

‘Yes, of course!’ Diana told her about working on the film, and the obsessive character of its star. She saw no need for discretion in the present circumstances, so she described the way Elizabeth pursued Richard relentlessly yet still he kept returning to his wife. ‘You’d think she could get any man she wanted but she may have set her sights on the one man who will reject her in the end. Isn’t it strange how some women do that?’

‘I’m the same. Why do we fall for the bad guys every time?’ Donatella rolled her eyes. She had a million questions about the stars of the film and the time passed. A meal was brought and then they were allowed out of their cells for an hour’s recreation. Donatella introduced Diana to a crowd of other women and she found herself the centre of attention as she described life on the film set and the peccadilloes of its international stars.

‘What time is visiting hour?’ she asked Donatella. ‘I hope my husband will come to see me.’

‘It’s just after lunch. You’ve missed it for today,’ came the reply, and Diana’s face fell. ‘But you can phone him if you have
gettoni
for the telephone.’

Diana nearly burst into tears. ‘I have
gettoni
but the phone’s out of order at the
pensione
so there’s no way of contacting him.’ She was miserable when she thought of Trevor hearing that he wasn’t allowed to visit her that day. Maybe he would come to the jail only to be told at the gates. She wished she could get word to him that she was fine. She couldn’t bear to think of what this must be doing to him. He had looked thin and tired before and now he must be beside himself with worry.

Back in the cell, while Donatella washed herself, Diana lay on her bed feeling crushed by misery. She’d been so happy. She loved the job. She loved living in Rome. She loved her friendship with Helen. For a while she had thought she loved Ernesto. Now they had all been taken away from her. Even if she were released from prison, life could never be the same again.

The morning after the hearing, Trevor got up at the crack of dawn, determined to do something useful before visiting Diana so that he could report some progress. He consulted his elderly Baedeker, which told him that the British Consulate was on Via Septembre XX. He walked there using the maps in the guidebook only to find the building in ruins, with rubble strewn around. A solitary guard in a gatehouse wrote down another address for him – the Villa Wolkonsky – but when he consulted his Baedeker he found that it was a long way off, just inside the Aurelian walls which surrounded one of the city’s seven hills, and he was forced to hail a taxi.

‘Yes, we were bombed out of the old building in 1946,’ a consular official told him when he finally found it. ‘Zionist terrorists were responsible. There are plans being drawn up for a new one but meanwhile we are stuck out here in the back of beyond. Now what can I do for you?’

Trevor explained who he was and the official nodded in sympathy. ‘We are familiar with the case and were planning to send someone to visit your wife. How is she coping?’

‘She’s a strong woman, but being wrongfully imprisoned would test anyone.’

‘Yes, of course. The Italian press have been having a field day, trying to paint her as immoral. My advice would be that you ask any prominent friends to write testimonies in her support. It could be colleagues of hers back in England or here in Rome. Get your lawyer to release them to the media and you might start to swing public opinion in her favour. Is she religious?’

‘No.’

The official tutted. ‘That’s a shame. You can’t say that she is spending her time praying?’

‘It would be a lie.’

‘Not to worry. See how you get on with collecting testimonials, and do get back in touch if you need any further help.’

They agreed to let Trevor use a telephone, so he called his university department head to ask for compassionate leave, which was immediately granted. The story had broken in the British press that morning and they guessed that’s why Trevor had failed to turn up for his lectures.

He telephoned Diana’s old boss at the British Museum then her Head of House at Oxford and asked if they would write testimonials. Everyone was immensely sympathetic, and quite baffled at the predicament in which Diana found herself.

Next he phoned the production office at Cinecittà and made an appointment to see Hilary. He felt fine as long as he had tasks to fill the time, but as he sat having coffee on his own in a little café near the Colosseum, he felt his spirits plummet. The Consul had really been very little use. He’d been expecting a lot more support, but it seemed it was going to be up to him and Signor Esposito if anything were to be done.

It had been his worst fear all along that Diana would fall for another man in Rome. He was too old for her, and too set in his ways. He’d long suspected that the only reason he’d won the hand of such an extraordinary woman was because she was feeling adrift after the death of her father and had clung to the nearest life-raft. Well, perhaps she would still leave him, but for now she needed her life-raft and that’s what he would be. He would apply his intelligence to this problem, do everything he possibly could, and not rest until he had solved it. He hoped he wouldn’t have to meet Diana’s lover, though. That would be a step too far.