The Affair: An enthralling story of love and passion and Hollywood glamour

‘It can’t be done, my friend. My photographers are bleeding me dry and I have a family to feed.’ The expensive clothes and swanky office belied his penury.

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Scott tried to negotiate an affordable price but it was obvious they weren’t going to agree. Jacopozzi had plenty of business and no need to compromise, so they shook hands and Scott retreated to think of another plan.

That evening he sat outside a café on the Via Veneto watching the paparazzi at work. There was a lookout at either end of the street checking inside approaching cars and calling up or down the hill to alert colleagues to celebrities. Scooters were parked in the road, ready for a quick take-off. Scott watched as Richard Burton and his wife Sybil emerged from one car and walked into the Café de Paris.

‘Who are you planning to fuck on Cleopatra, Richard?’ one of the photographers yelled at him in English.

Another darted in front of them and a flashbulb exploded right in their faces.

Burton looked tight-lipped but didn’t rise to the bait. It made a photo much more valuable if the subject was yelling or shaking their fist and he knew better than to give them that prize.

Scott noticed that one photographer was standing apart from the crowd on a set of steps further up the street. He took several shots of the Burtons and Scott guessed they would work well from that angle. Draining his beer, he left some money on the café table and approached the man.

‘I’m Scott Morgan of Midwest Daily in the States. And you?’

‘Gianni Fortelesa.’

‘I’m looking for a photographer. Would you be interested in coming to the office tomorrow to show me some of your work?’

He realised straight away that he’d chosen well because Gianni’s face lit up. It was a competitive world out there on the street and he seemed keen and hungry. What’s more, he spoke good English.

‘I can’t pay Associated Press prices, but I can give you a retainer and a fee per picture. Bring the shots of the Burtons you took tonight and I’m sure I can use one of them.’

Next day the deal was struck and Scott wrote a quick story about Richard Burton to accompany Gianni’s best photo. He wrote that Burton had only got the role after Stephen Boyd dropped out and neither Marlon Brando or Peter O’Toole were available. The producers had to buy him out of the Broadway show Camelot, where he was playing King Arthur to Julie Andrews’ Guinevere. He was a renowned womaniser who was said to have had affairs with Claire Bloom, Lana Turner, Angie Dickinson and Jean Simmons (while she had been married to his friend Stewart Granger). Sybil, his wife of twelve years, normally turned a blind eye.

‘In fact,’ Scott finished, ‘rumour has it that the only one of his leading ladies he hasn’t had an affair with was Julie Andrews – because he was already shacked up with an exotic dancer called Pat Tunder.’

Cheap it certainly was, but Scott found this kind of journalism couldn’t be simpler to write, and Gianni promised to give him tip-offs about any stories from the film set doing the rounds in Rome. It would buy him time to pursue his own story – the one he was determined to write about the Ghianciaminas, the family who appeared to be above the law.

Chapter Sixteen

Ernesto proved an entertaining companion on the trip to Ischia, pointing out landmarks they passed on the train to Naples and then on the hydrofoil across the bay. It was evening when they arrived, but early next morning they drove to the boatyard where the battleships were being constructed and Diana leapt out of the car in her eagerness to have a look. Brilliant sunshine lit the bay, where rocky cliffs descended to coarse bronze sand. Working fishermen plied their trade just along from the set on which a fleet of ancient craft had been constructed. Some were converted fishing boats that would sail on the water, while others were one-sided, to be held in place for camera.

‘Buongiorno, che piacere vederla,’ one of the boatbuilders said – ‘nice to see you’ – and they all came over to shake her hand. She soon realised these were proud, perfectionist craftsmen who were keen to hear her views on their work, and when she suggested a slight change in the decorative carvings at the prows, they assured her it would be done. They demonstrated how the barrage of stones and blazing javelins would be fired during the sea battle, showed her the spikes that would protrude from the front of the ships and mimed the way they would ram each other.

Next she went to see Cleopatra’s barge, the Antonia, which would be filmed arriving at Tarsus, where she went to meet Mark Antony. The interior scenes would be shot in the studio at Cinecittà but there was a spectacular outdoor scene planned as the barge pulled up in Tarsus with Cleopatra watching from beneath a gold canopy. The basic hull of the ship was ready, and its huge size and curved shape were accurately reproduced. Diana drew a sketch of the rigging, and told them that the sails should be purple, and they nodded, because they already knew. It was an exciting day, when she felt useful and appreciated.

At dinner that evening, Ernesto ordered a bottle of wine and as she finished her first glass, Diana realised she was more relaxed than she had been for a while – certainly since arriving in Italy. The rift with Trevor was on her mind, and towards the bottom of her second glass she found herself telling Ernesto about it. She felt disloyal but he proved a good listener.

‘Do your family like Trevor?’ he asked.

‘I don’t really have a family,’ she told him. ‘My mother died of cancer when I was three, so I only remember her through photos. Then my dad died of a heart attack when I was nineteen.’ There was an unexpected catch in her throat as she said the words. ‘I’ve got an aunt and uncle in Scotland, and a couple of young cousins, but I don’t see much of them. Trevor’s my family now.’

‘What age were you when you met Trevor?’

‘Nineteen. He was one of my college tutors when my dad died. He was really supportive, then gradually we fell in love.’

‘He is older than you?’

‘Yes, eighteen years …’ She could see how it must look to him: as if Trevor had become a father substitute. She’d wondered about that herself sometimes. Certainly, she’d felt very scared and isolated when she was orphaned, and Trevor made her feel safe and connected to the world again. That might have been part of the attraction but it wasn’t by any means the whole story. They’d become good friends as well as lovers. They discussed everything. That’s why the current lack of communication felt so horrible, as though a part of her had been amputated.

Ernesto put a comforting hand on her knee. ‘I’m sorry you’re lonely,’ he said, his eyes full of kindness.

She moved her knee so he had to shift his hand. ‘What about you? You haven’t mentioned your family. I presume you are married?’

‘No,’ he shook his head sadly. ‘But I have a huge family, with so many cousins that I can never remember all their names.’

‘I’m surprised!’ she said. ‘Surely most Italian men are married by your age? I don’t mean …’ In her wine-befuddled head, she realised that sounded rude.

‘I’m not yet thirty,’ he told her. ‘But I am very cautious with women. There was a girl I was in love with for many years. We were at school together, we became girlfriend and boyfriend in our twenties and I always thought we would be married, until I found she had been betraying me.’

‘Oh no! How did you find out?’

‘One day she told me she was marrying someone else, a man who is much wealthier than me. They even invited me to the wedding but I didn’t go. My heart was broken in pieces.’ He held his hands over the spot.

‘Was that recently?’

‘Four years ago, but since then … I don’t know. I am a cynic. I think I need to work hard and make lots of money and then I can choose the woman I want and she will say yes.’

‘We’re not all motivated by money,’ Diana protested. ‘You’ve just had bad luck.’

‘I think I am too soft when I give my heart. I should have realised what was going on with my girlfriend but every time she cancelled a date I forgave her. I never suspected a thing. I don’t think I will ever fall in love like that again.’

‘I’m sure you will,’ Diana smiled. ‘We humans always heal eventually.’ But then she thought of Cleopatra, the queen who gambled everything she possessed, and Mark Antony, the man who lost the sea battle of Actium and eventually his life because of his liaison with her. There had been no healing there.

They talked of affairs on the set and Diana asked, ‘Did you hear some of the extras have complained to Hilary about men groping them?’

Ernesto twinkled. ‘What do they expect when they are wearing next to nothing? We Italian men are very red-blooded.’

‘I’m insulted!’ Diana exclaimed in mock protest. ‘I’ve been in Rome for two months and I haven’t so much as had my bottom pinched. Maybe I am too old for those lotharios. They prefer the lithe young actresses.’ She meant it as a joke, but it reflected her feeling that she was less attractive, less hip than the other girls on the film.

Later that evening, as they walked up to their rooms, Ernesto grabbed her bottom in both hands and squeezed hard. She jumped in surprise and turned to rebuke him, but he gave her a broad wink. ‘Does that make you feel better?’ he asked.

Over the next few days the colour flooded her cheeks every time she thought of it.

Chapter Seventeen

When Diana arrived at the production office on her first day back from Ischia, she could hear an altercation inside. She opened the door to see the actor Richard Burton shouting at Candy. She recognised him straight away as she and Trevor had seen him in the film Look Back in Anger but he was much shorter than she’d imagined and his skin was as cratered as a piece of pumice stone. The eyes were piercing and the voice was magnificent but on the whole she didn’t think him very attractive.

‘Can I help?’ she asked Candy, wondering if she needed moral support.

‘No, it’s OK. Hilary’s on her way.’ She looked like a cornered animal.

Richard Burton glanced at Diana briefly then returned to the attack. ‘If it were the first time or even the second, I’d think it was just one of those bouts of inefficiency that every film set is prone to, but a fourth cock-up is rather too much, don’t you think? Was your silly blonde head too preoccupied with the Italian lads in carpentry?’

‘I was just doing what I was told, Mr Burton.’

Diana decided she didn’t like him. No matter what Candy had done, it was arrogant of him to speak to her in that way.

Hilary burst in, bringing an instant air of calm, and Diana stepped outside the office to let them resolve the dispute in peace. A woman with a pretty, young-looking face and backcombed silver-grey hair was standing smoking by the window.

‘I don’t suppose there’s anywhere to get a cup of tea round here, is there?’ she asked in a strong Welsh accent. ‘I’m fed up with this Italian coffee. It’s like swallowing bloody tar. I’m not sure how long I’ll be stuck here while my other half does his nut in there.’

Diana realised this must be Sybil Burton. ‘We keep a stock of tea in the office,’ she said. ‘Typhoo suit you?’

‘Bless you, love. Milk and two, please.’

As Diana made the tea she wondered at the physical differences between the Burtons. Sybil’s prematurely greyed hair made her look older than him, although her skin was smooth and wrinkle-free while his face looked decidedly lived-in. What must it be like to live with a man who had a temper like that? Diana also knew that he was notorious for having affairs. Was Sybil a doormat?

‘You’ve saved my life,’ she said gratefully when Diana took the tea out. ‘It’s so early we didn’t have time for any breakfast. Rich was told he had to be in makeup at nine but when we turned up there wasn’t a soul here. I think we even wakened the guard at the gate.’

‘I wonder how that happened?’ Diana was puzzled.

‘Seems they don’t need him today after all. No harm done, though. We might go and look around the Colosseum and the Forum. Have you been yet?’

‘I haven’t had time,’ Diana admitted. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

‘Course I’ve seen the one they’ve got here. It’s more than twice the size of the real thing, I heard. That’s bloody Hollywood for you.’ Frowning slightly, she glanced through the window of the production office. ‘They like everything larger than life.’ She dropped her cigarette and ground it under a stiletto heel. ‘So what’s your role on the film?’

Diana explained and Sybil’s eyes widened. ‘You must meet Rich. He’s been doing a lot of background reading and I’m sure he’d love to have a chat with you. Maybe not today, though.’ She glanced inside again. ‘What’s your name, love?’ Diana told her. ‘I’ll mention you. Don’t worry. He’s not as fierce as he looks!’ She grinned in a way that seemed genuinely friendly and Diana warmed to her.

After they left, Diana entered the office to find Candy dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief while Hilary comforted her. ‘It was a simple misunderstanding. He’s got no right to be so rude to you.’ She raised her eyebrows at Diana. ‘Don’t upset yourself now.’

Half an hour later as they walked to the script meeting together, Hilary confided in Diana that the mistaken call had been entirely Candy’s fault and that she really wasn’t on top of the job. This was just one in a string of mishaps. Diana remembered that it was Candy who’d been supposed to arrange the car to pick her up from the airport – the car that never materialised.

‘Will she be sacked?’

‘No, but I’ll ask everyone in the office to try and watch her back from now on. Anyway, how was Ischia?’

‘Wonderful!’ Diana enthused. ‘They’re doing a great job down there. I’ll type up my notes later.’

‘And Ernesto behaved himself?’

‘Of course! He was the perfect gentleman.’ She caught a knowing look in Hilary’s eyes. ‘Honestly!’

She had lunch with Helen, who had been missing her, and relayed all the details of her encounter with the Burtons.

‘Did you know about their daughter?’ Helen asked. ‘They don’t know what’s wrong with her yet but she’s three years old and she can’t speak or walk; she just rocks back and forwards. I read an article about it.’

‘That’s awful! Poor Sybil. I wonder how she copes?’

‘They’ve got an older girl who’s fine, but it must be a worry.’

Diana considered Sybil with fresh respect. She must be a resilient woman to cope with that and put up with her husband’s philandering as well.

Helen seemed depressed so she asked what was wrong.

‘I really want a boyfriend and nothing ever works out. I was chatting to Antonio from the set department all yesterday evening but when I asked him if we could go out some time he said no, that I wasn’t his type.’ She sniffed. ‘It was so hurtful. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’

Diana put a hand on her shoulder. ‘He sounds like a cruel piece of work. It’s as well you found out sooner rather than later that he’s not the one for you.’ She considered suggesting that Helen let the man make the move next time – men liked to be the hunters, all the magazines said so – but decided not to be so personal. What did she know anyway?

‘My sister Claire’s got a lovely boyfriend. Did I tell you that she works for Vogue magazine in London? She’s glamorous and clever and her boyfriend is a stockbroker so they’ll probably be rich and have a big house and lots of children. My mum and dad are really proud of her.’

‘I’ll bet they’re even prouder of you,’ Diana told her, ‘and I bet Claire’s jealous. You’re working on the movie of the century with some of the world’s most famous stars. After this, you’ll be able to hand-pick the jobs you want anywhere in the world. You’ll never look back.’

‘You seem very cheerful,’ Helen said, looking at her curiously. ‘At least one of us is.’

‘I think we’re lucky to be here and we should make the most of it. Why don’t you and I go out tonight, Helen? I’ll treat you to dinner somewhere nice.’

‘OK,’ Helen agreed, with a brave attempt at a smile. ‘I’d like that.’

After they finished eating, she asked the waitress for a glass of milk. ‘Want to see something cute?’ she asked.

Diana followed her out of the bar and over towards the far wall of the studio where, under a large bush, there was a heaving mass of grey and white furry bodies. A cat lay full length, her eyes closed to slits, as half a dozen wriggling, mewling kittens scrambled over her and fought to attach themselves to her nipples.

‘They’re only a week old.’ Helen poured the milk into an old saucer lying by the wall and slid it towards the mother, who immediately began to lap at it with a delicate pink tongue. She bent to pick up a kitten and it was dwarfed by her hands.

‘They’re lovely,’ Diana said.

‘Aren’t they? I pop out here to watch them playing whenever I can find a moment.’

She was mesmerised by them, like a child, and Diana was glad she had found something to lift her low mood. It occurred to her that feral cats might well have fleas but she didn’t want to spoil Helen’s fun. With her face lit up and her blue eyes sparkling, she had a fresh, natural beauty to rival that of any movie star – even Liz Taylor herself.

Chapter Eighteen

Scott took Gianni out for lunch at Chechino’s, an old-fashioned restaurant that had been recommended by the foreign press hacks. ‘Order the coda alla vaccinara,’ they urged him, and there it was on the menu. He asked Gianni what it was and for once he was stumped for the English word, but began to wave his arm behind his lower back, repeating ‘La coda, la coda’. Eventually Scott worked out that it was oxtail and gave it a wide berth. He ordered a bottle of Chianti, though, and when they finished it he got another.

Gianni’s language skills were superior to Scott’s and so they conversed almost solely in English. The man was in his mid-twenties and had a wife and two children – one of two years old and the other a baby, he said, rocking his arms to demonstrate.

‘Doesn’t your wife mind you going out every night?’ Scott asked.

Gianni rubbed his fingers and thumb together. ‘We need the money.’

Talk turned to the Cleopatra film being made at Cinecittà and Gianni told him that two months into shooting it was already the most expensive film ever made. Elizabeth Taylor’s million-dollar fee was one cause, but tales of excess spending kept filtering out of Cinecittà. Almost the entire cast and crew were on full pay for the duration even though only a fraction of them were being used at any given time, so most were sitting around with nothing to do. They’d spent quarter of a million dollars on a special kind of mineral water for the bar, but there was a sign there telling them not to be wasteful with plastic cups – as if that would make all the difference.

‘Have you been inside?’ Scott asked.

‘Yes, there is a side entrance. I got thrown out but not before I’d had a look around. Unfortunately the security guard took the film from my camera.’ He rolled his eyes. It was a hazard of his trade.

‘Any stories about the stars making unreasonable demands?’ That’s the kind of thing that would make a printable story.

‘Of course!’ Gianni told him. ‘I hear they flew in some chilli for Signora Taylor from her favourite restaurant in Hollywood.’

‘Which restaurant was it?’

Gianni screwed up his eyes trying to remember. ‘They have Oscar parties there sometimes and it is famous for its chilli.’

‘Chasen’s?’ Scott guessed.

‘That’s the one. So they spend with one hand, but with the other they try to save money. Just yesterday Rex Harrison was told he no longer had a personal driver but had to share one with other actors. I hear he was so angry that he said he was going to … fare sciopero. How do you say? To stop work. Everyone clapped and cheered and he got his driver back.’

‘That’s great, Gianni. Cool. I’ll do a story on that. Could you get me a picture of Rex Harrison in his car, with his chauffeur?’

‘No problem,’ he shrugged. Scott noticed that he had polished off some pasta and a meat dish and was mopping up the sauce with a piece of bread, as if he were still hungry.

‘Want anything else?’ Scott asked. ‘Dessert? Company’s paying.’

Gianni began to peruse the menu, reading the main course section. He looked as though he wanted to ask something but was embarrassed. ‘Could I have another secondo?’ he asked, blushing.

‘Of course you can.’

Gianni ordered another helping of the hefty meat dish he’d had for his main course, while Scott drained his glass of wine. The dish arrived and Gianni dipped his fork into it but didn’t start eating. After a while Scott got up to go to the gents’ and when he came back the meat dish had disappeared.

‘All finished?’ he asked, surprised. ‘Should I get the check?’

‘Molte grazie,’ Gianni said, looking somehow bashful.

Scott paid and still couldn’t put his finger on what the man might be embarrassed about until they walked out of the restaurant and each headed towards their own scooter. It was the careful way Gianni placed his camera bag in a back compartment of the scooter that gave the game away. Scott guessed he had asked them to put that meat dish in a carton and he was taking it home for his family. They must be really hard up. He resolved to get him as much work as he could in future, to try and help out.

The day after Midwest Daily ran the Rex Harrison story Scott took a call from someone very grumpy at the Twentieth Century Fox press office.

‘Who the hell are you? Some college kid straight out of diapers? Did nobody tell you that we’re happy to help the press so long as you don’t fuck with us? Well, now you’ve fucked with us and I’m going to make sure you don’t get any press releases from the film set, no interviews, no invitations to special screenings, no nothing. Not on this or any other Twentieth Century Fox movie ever. You happy now, college kid?’

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