When Diana came into the visiting room the following day, she was surprised to find Signor Esposito sitting there.
‘Where’s my husband?’ she demanded immediately, panicked that something had happened to Trevor.
‘He’s still down in Torre Astura,’ the lawyer reported, ‘but he telephoned and asked me to let you know that they appear to have discovered what happened to your friend Helen.’
Diana’s heart skipped a beat. She sat down hard on the wooden chair.
‘It seems she came to find you in the pensione but knocked on the door of the wrong room. She left you a note then went to shelter on a boat on the film set, where she fell overboard, striking her head. This morning the police found one of her earrings caught in the rigging, and her handbag was underneath the boat, tangled in the anchor chain.’
‘Oh no!’ Diana began to cry. How stupid and tragic that her death should have been accidental. Had she perhaps been on drugs? Though Diana supposed it made no difference. Either way she was gone. And then she remembered the change of rooms: if only the maid had cleaned number eleven on time, Diana would have been there and Helen would have found her.
‘The note says she wanted to go home to England and was planning to ask you for her aeroplane fare.’
Diana cried even harder, and the lawyer pulled an immaculate handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to her. He seemed unconcerned by the emotion, as if this was an everyday occurrence in his line of work.
‘Of course, the prosecution could still argue that you were responsible for pushing your friend off the boat, but your husband spoke to the night guard at Torre Astura, who assures him it is impossible that two women could have been fighting nearby without him hearing. This afternoon the police are bringing their witness – a local woman – to question her story. Trevor is waiting to hear what she has to say, then he’ll telephone me. Once we know the facts, I’ll put them in front of a judge and ask him to release you.’
Diana wiped her eyes and blew her nose loudly, struggling for control. ‘Do you think it’s likely he will?’
Signor Esposito shrugged. ‘It depends on the witness. If she is credible, we still have a problem. But things are looking a lot better for you than they were yesterday. Your husband has done a remarkable job.’
Diana looked down at her lap. ‘He’s a remarkable man,’ she said quietly.
Back in her cell afterwards, she decided not to tell Donatella the news. Relations between them had cooled. That morning Diana had wanted to telephone Hilary but when she opened her purse she found that all her gettoni were missing. She’d been robbed. Donatella must have taken them, unless one of the other women had slipped into her cell while she was bathing. There was no point complaining, but the theft left her totally isolated. She needed someone to visit and bring her more gettoni before she could make any contact with the outside world.
Her heart was fluttering but she sat on her bed and forced herself to work, looking up tiny details in her books and writing more and more notes. No one would ever read them, but she needed a way of filling her time. She couldn’t bear to think about Helen, alone and desperate – so close to finding her, but just not close enough.