Next morning, an American girl came to the production office looking for Diana.
‘Mrs Bailey? Miss Taylor requests a word, if you have a moment.’
For a moment, Diana couldn’t think who she meant by ‘Miss Taylor’ then it dawned on her. ‘Do you mean Elizabeth Taylor?’
‘Yes.’
‘What does she want to see me for?’
The girl shrugged. ‘She didn’t say. She’s in her trailer over by the back lot.’
Diana stood and picked up her handbag. ‘I’ll come straight away.’
She walked right down one of the main boulevards that ran through Cinecittà. It was busy because thousands of extras were being arranged in place for the scene of Cleopatra’s arrival in Rome. She knocked on the door of Elizabeth’s trailer and waited till there was a call of ‘Come in!’, not wanting to surprise the star in her lingerie.
Elizabeth was sitting in a pink velvet chair, her hair restrained in the netting she wore beneath her Cleopatra wig. Heavy makeup formed a mask over her skin and thick black lines circled her eyes and swooped up to her temples like the wings of a raven. She was wearing the gold chain-mail floor-length gown Diana had seen in Irene Sharaff’s studio, the one that weighed more than twenty pounds, and Diana was sure it couldn’t be comfortable.
‘Thanks for coming. I hope you weren’t in the middle of anything important.’ She motioned for Diana to sit in a folding chair opposite. ‘You must have your work cut out trying to make Joe stick to historical fact. There’s an uphill task!’
Diana laughed. ‘I gave up long ago.’
‘I’ve been asking about you,’ Elizabeth said, fixing Diana with her purply-blue gaze. ‘Everyone tells me what a great intellectual you are.’
Diana blushed and shook her head. ‘Oh no, not really.’
Elizabeth continued: ‘I’m going away for a few days’ holiday and I’ve completely run out of books. We went to the English language bookshop but I couldn’t find anything I wanted. Have you been there yet? It’s run by two very charming English women who opened late especially for me, so I had to buy a couple of books, but they don’t appeal.’
‘I didn’t realise there was an English bookshop.’
‘Anyway, I wondered if you could lend me a book or two on ancient Egypt? I’ll bring them back after Easter. I hate not having anything to read and I figured you would be the person to ask.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Diana tried to picture the books she’d brought with her. ‘Most of my books are very academic.’ She blushed again. Would Elizabeth think she was insulting her by implying she wouldn’t be able to follow them?
She didn’t appear to mind. ‘Honey, I read everything from potboilers to PhDs so I’d be happy with whatever you reckon is worth reading. I thought I should learn more about Egypt since I’m supposed to be ruling it.’ She gave a throaty laugh and took a long sip from a glass at her elbow that looked as though it contained Coke. ‘Hey, do you want a drink?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. Why don’t I bring over a few books and you can choose what you want? I’ve got some in the office but most are back at my pensione. I could bring them tomorrow.’ Diana thought she might like Grace Macurdy’s Hellenistic Queens, a very readable biography.
‘I’m planning to leave tonight, but I could send my chauffeur to your pensione later. Say seven o’clock?’
‘No problem at all,’ Diana assured her. It was difficult not to gaze at Elizabeth when you were up close. Diana found herself alternating between staring and looking away, which she worried seemed rude, as though she wasn’t paying attention.
An assistant tapped on the door and came in holding the black Cleopatra wig, but Elizabeth waved her away. ‘Not yet. I’ll put it on at the last moment. I need some time alone with Diana. Would you mind?’ The woman left.
‘The weather is perfect for your scene,’ Diana said. ‘It’s just as well because there are seven thousand extras being arranged in their places as we speak.’
Elizabeth picked up the glass at her elbow and took another large slurp. ‘It’s fucking awful timing, coming straight after the Vatican letter. I hope they don’t all hate me. You don’t think they’ll boo, do you?’
Diana was shocked by the swearing but didn’t want to appear naïve by showing it, so she stammered, ‘God, no. I’m sure they won’t. Of course not.’
‘I hope you’re right, but it’s a Catholic country and I’m an “erotic vagrant” after all.’ There was a tremor in her voice and Diana realised she was upset. All the criticism had got to her.
‘We both know how ridiculous that letter was. I work all over the set and I promise you there’s not one person who doesn’t think it was ludicrous. Everyone is completely on your side.’
‘I fucking hope so.’ She gulped her drink thirstily, and it was only then Diana realised it must be alcohol. Elizabeth didn’t seem drunk but now she thought of it there was a slight smell of booze in the air.
‘Everything’s such a mess. I’m sick and tired of worrying about it. I just go round and round in circles.’ She sighed heavily. ‘How’s your complicated love life? Is it as difficult as mine?’
Diana was normally a very private person, but it felt only fair to share her own problems since Elizabeth had been so frank. She found herself wanting to confess, to make their bond more intimate. ‘I have a husband back in London but the marriage is not in good shape. Three months ago I started an affair with someone here in Rome and tomorrow my husband is due to arrive for an Easter break. So it’s pretty disastrous.’
Elizabeth leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. ‘Is your lover Italian or American?’
‘Italian and jealous.’ Diana raised her eyebrow. ‘I should have dealt with the situation much sooner but I’ve been burying my head in the sand. You’re much braver than me.’
Elizabeth threw back her head and snorted. ‘Me? Brave? Hell, no. I’d have done the same as you if I could, but the media made that impossible. I love Eddie – I still do – but Richard simply swept me away, like a spring tide. He’s too powerful and overwhelming. He calls me “Ocean”. Isn’t that beautiful?’
‘Yes, it is.’ Diana remembered a report from the early days of filming that Richard called her ‘Miss Tits’ but didn’t mention it.
‘I’m a pushover when he speaks to me in that incredible poet’s voice and looks straight through me with those sharp eyes that never miss a thing. I’m lost, vanquished, I surrender completely.’ The speech was theatrical but Diana could tell she meant every word. She looked misty-eyed and blinked hard, perhaps remembering that there was no time to redo her lavish eye makeup.
There was a knock on the door and a girl popped her head in to tell Elizabeth that they were ready for her on set. Her assistant held out the wig but Elizabeth waved her away again. ‘They’ll wait,’ she said.
Once they were alone, she said, ‘God, Diana, what shall we women do?’ She reached out and squeezed her hand. Hers was much warmer than Diana’s.
Suddenly Diana felt protective. It seemed mad, when the most famous woman in the world had dozens of servants and hangers-on, but maybe that made it all the more difficult to get good advice. ‘I suppose we need to keep our feet on the ground and think sensibly,’ she said. ‘These are decisions that affect other people besides ourselves so we have to be sure it’s not just a feeling that will pass.’ She was thinking of Elizabeth’s situation and the likelihood that her affair would only last as long as the filming, rather than her own circumstances in which at least there were no children involved.
‘Do you believe your feelings about your Italian lover will change?’ It was a challenge, a moment for truth.
‘No,’ Diana whispered. ‘I don’t think they will.’
‘So go with your heart,’ Elizabeth breathed. ‘People heal in time. I’ve never known heartbreak to last more than a year.’
Diana had read in the papers that Eddie Fisher was crying on the shoulder of anyone who would listen in New York and wondered if he would have recovered in a year.
There was yet another knock on the door. ‘Everyone’s waiting, Miss Taylor.’
She sighed and emptied her drink. ‘Will you give your address to my assistant? She’ll get a chauffeur to pick up the books tonight. And please come see me after Easter to tell me how it goes with your husband.’
Diana promised that she would, and while Elizabeth’s wig was being pinned in place she scribbled down her address and said her goodbyes.
She walked straight over to the Forum set, where thousands of extras were standing in their places. The script called for Cleopatra to ride in with her son, Caesarion, atop a thirty-foot-high sphinx. It was taken from a Plutarch version of events, which Diana didn’t believe for a moment. In fact, when Caesar returned to Rome in 47 BC, he had entered the city in tribal procession to a certain amount of cheering and some jeering taunts about the Egyptian queen who had bewitched him. It seemed implausible to Diana that Cleopatra would have laid herself open to the taunts (or worse) of Romans in the same way, and much more likely that she sneaked in and installed herself quietly.
The camera started rolling and the giant sphinx, with Cleopatra and her ‘son’ on top, moved slowly forward, only clearing the Arch of Titus by a few inches on either side. It came to a halt and six gigantic Nubian slaves climbed up to lift the platform on which they sat. Diana gasped inadvertently as they began to descend the steps. If the platform had been rigid, Elizabeth would have tipped forward and fallen to the ground, but in fact it was on a kind of fulcrum that kept it level.
The script called for a take in which the extras chanted her name at this point – ‘Cleopatra, Cleopatra’. Diana stood well back and watched the buzz of activity as the camera was positioned and the signal was given for the crowd to start shouting.
‘Leez,’ they called, ‘Viva Leez.’ It was a wall of sound that rose and fell then got louder again. She heard other cries of ‘Baci, baci’ and saw some of the extras blowing kisses. It was a universal affirmation of their support for her with not a hint of booing and Diana wished she could see Elizabeth’s face as it dawned on her that they were emphatically on her side.
Shooting finished but the shouts continued as she was helped down from her perch, the words blurring into one indistinguishable chant.
That’s what fame sounds like, Diana thought to herself. That must be what it’s like when you’re the most famous woman in the world.