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.
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.
‘How awful it should come to this, that I need people to vouch for my good character.’
She gave him a thick pile of notes that she had written about forthcoming scenes on the film and asked him to pass them to Hilary. ‘And will you pick up a copy of the latest shooting schedule from Candy?’
He agreed that he would. ‘I met an American journalist called Scott Morgan – did Helen ever mention him?’ Diana shook her head. ‘Well, he’s agreed to help. He’s going to contact Ernesto Balboni and try to get the truth out of him.’
Diana hung her head, ashamed that Trevor should have to say that name. ‘That’s good.’
‘How is the food, darling?’ he asked.
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Stews, stodgy pasta, soup, that kind of thing. It’s quite edible, although the crockery has seen better days. I won’t starve. But if we can afford to pay for extra rations, I will share them with my colourful room-mate.’ She described Donatella and imitated her expressive way of talking with arms, head and whole body sometimes involved.
‘Can I bring you anything else? Any treats?’
‘Not really. Maybe some teabags. I think I may be able to get hot water for tea.’
With business complete, they sat holding hands for the comfort of it. Trevor’s heart ached. He couldn’t look her in the eye because he could read in her expression how miserable she was, and he didn’t want to add to her misery by letting her know his own anxieties. It was awkward yet companionable at the same time. When the guard called ‘È ora!’ he squeezed her fingers tightly.
‘Every minute I am not here, apart from when I am sleeping, I will be working for your release. Trust me, Diana. I’m going to get you out.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. She thought, but didn’t say out loud, I don’t deserve you.
When he left the prison, he checked all the bus stops he could find but none seemed to go all the way to Cinecittà so he had to take one bus to Termini station and find another from there. Hilary met him at the studio gates and waved him in past the guard. She took him to the bar, where they ordered iced lemonades because the heat was fierce.
‘How is she doing?’
‘Remarkably well. Perhaps she is trying to be strong for my sake, but she does a good job of it.’
‘I don’t know how she copes. I’d be a nervous wreck.’
‘She’s keeping busy. I think that helps.’
Trevor handed over the reams of notes Diana had made, and Hilary said she would deliver them to Joe Mankiewicz. He also handed over his testimonial requests. Some were to go back to London by courier but needed envelopes, while the rest were for people working on the film.
‘I’ve written a note for Elizabeth Taylor. Diana doesn’t know about it, but I wondered if she might be able to bring any influence to bear.’
Hilary reluctantly took the note from him. ‘She’s very busy. I wouldn’t hold out any hope but I’ll give it to one of her secretaries.’
‘Thank you. Now, is there any sign of Ernesto Balboni?’ He hated the sound of the name, its syllables, everything about it. ‘Diana’s lawyer needs to talk to him urgently.’
‘He’s off sick. No one has heard from him. We’re very cross with him.’
‘Do you have his address?’
‘You’d think I would, but I checked our records and he listed Diana’s pensione as his address. There was another one before that but it’s been crossed out and I can’t read it. I’m so sorry.’
Trevor was quiet for a moment. It really was too bad. How would Scott Morgan track him down without an address? You’d think if the chap had any decency at all he would have volunteered to come forward. It was hard to fathom how Diana could have chosen such a rogue, but those were always the pushy ones, he supposed. There was a chap in the Latin department at university who was a real womaniser and Trevor had watched at a party once as he seduced a colleague with unctuous flattery, but he had never thought Diana would be susceptible to that kind of thing. It made him shudder.
After they finished their drinks, Hilary took him back to the office, where he addressed all his envelopes and picked up a copy of the shooting schedule.
‘Do give Diana our love,’ Hilary said. ‘Tell her we’re all rooting for her.’
After leaving, Trevor consulted the sign on the bus stop opposite Cinecittà and took a bus back into town. He stopped at a trattoria near Diana’s pensione and ate some chewy type of pasta, drank a whole bottle of a dark, heavy wine, then threw it all up in the gutter outside.