The Affair Read online

  ‘We don’t know what happened to the poor girl at Torre Astura that night but my client did not see her. The police must continue their investigations until they find the true culprit and we will do all we can to assist them.’

  Diana bit her lip. It sounded convincing if you understood that both she and Helen were gentle types. The idea of them getting into a physical fight was ludicrous. She gazed at the judge, trying to guess what he was thinking but he gave nothing away.

  After hearing all the evidence he stood up and left the courtroom to consider his decision.

  ‘How did it go?’ she asked.

  ‘We’ll have to wait and see,’ Signor Esposito told her. ‘There were a couple of surprises in their evidence.’

  For Diana, the biggest surprise of all was that Ernesto would testify for the prosecution. She was sure he was lying that he had a ‘relationship’ with Helen but why would he do that? He must truly hate her.

  Just ten minutes later, the judge came back into the room. His judgement was short and to the point. Given the mass of circumstantial evidence against Signora Bailey, he ruled that her arrest for the murder of Helen Sharpe was validated. And given the seriousness of the crime, the fact that she had already left the area despite the police requesting her not to, and because she was a foreign national who might decide to flee, he was remanding her in custody while the investigation continued.

  Diana clasped her face in her hands to stifle a scream. ‘How long will that be?’ she asked as soon as she could compose herself.

  ‘Murder trials can take over a year in preparation.’ Signor Esposito patted her shoulder. ‘But don’t worry – we’ll get you out long before then.’

  A guard came to collect her and she stood up, feeling utterly dazed.

  ‘Will you explain to Trevor?’ she asked. ‘Tell him not to worry.’

  ‘Of course.’

  As she was led through the hall back out to the police car, she saw Trevor in a waiting area. She called his name and when he looked up, she managed to blow a kiss before she was led through a doorway and down to the car for the short journey back to Regina Coeli.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Scott Morgan went to the Palazzo di Giustizia for the judicial hearing regarding the arrest of Diana Bailey, hoping that he might be permitted to listen to the evidence, but he was told by an official that it was just the judge, the lawyers and the defendant. Still, he decided to hang around and get the news as soon as judgement was declared. He asked a clerk which courtroom it was in and sat near the entrance. A dozen other journalists were hanging around, some of whom he recognised. On the next bench along there was a bookish sort of man who looked anxious and out of place, and Scott guessed he might be a friend of Diana’s. He was dressed like an Englishman, in a shirt and tie, trousers and socks with gladiator sandals.

  Sooner than he expected, the courtroom door opened and Diana was led out in handcuffs.

  ‘Trevor,’ she shouted, and blew a kiss at the waiting man. He half stood and spread his arms wide, obviously expecting her to run to him. When she was led off through a doorway instead, he hurried after her calling, ‘Diana! Wait! Where are you taking her?’

  A lawyer emerged and summoned the man, Trevor, and they sat in a huddle, head to head. They weren’t far from Scott but their voices were lowered so he couldn’t hear anything. He seemed distraught and that’s when Scott guessed he must be Diana’s husband.

  The lawyer spoke to him quietly for about ten minutes, then got up to leave, whereupon some members of the Italian press surrounded him, clamouring for information. Looking dazed, Trevor wandered towards the main doors of the building.

  ‘Mr Bailey,’ Scott approached him. ‘Scott Morgan. I was a friend of Helen’s and it’s possible I can help with Diana’s case. Can we talk?’

  ‘Who are you?’ he frowned.

  ‘I’m a journalist, but I knew Helen. I’m convinced your wife is innocent, and I might have some information that can help her.’

  ‘What paper do you work for? You’re not planning to write about this by any chance?’

  ‘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.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  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. Pe
rhaps 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.

  Chapter Sixty

  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 Co
nsul 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.

  He set his mind to considering who else he might approach to provide testimonials for Diana. He compiled a list then wrote little notes to each of them, which he would ask Hilary to distribute on set or send to London via the Cinecittà courier service. He didn’t know where to buy envelopes but perhaps she would be able to lend him some.

  He took the bus across town to Regina Coeli, arriving over an hour early for visiting because he wanted to make sure they had as much time as possible together. On this occasion they weren’t alone but in a room full of other women receiving visitors, and Diana was waiting for him. As soon as he saw her he could tell she was depressed – who wouldn’t be? – but she made an effort to appear cheerful and he did the same. He reported all the friends he was asking for testimonials and she seemed embarrassed.