When Diana reached the production office at Cinecittà on Monday morning, a middle-aged couple were sitting talking to Hilary. And then she looked at the woman and realised who they were, because her face was an older, more tired version of Helen’s. She had carefully set bleached blonde hair and huge bags under her eyes.
‘These are Helen’s parents, Mr and Mrs Sharpe,’ Hilary introduced them, and Diana felt humbled as she shook hands and muttered words of condolence.
‘Helen told us what great friends you were,’ the mother said. ‘I know it must be hard for you, but I wondered if we could ask you a few questions? We’re trying to piece it together and we don’t have a clue …’ She broke off, close to tears.
‘The police don’t seem to have much idea what happened,’ Helen’s father said. ‘And that makes it harder.’
Diana took them to a waiting room outside the admin office, fortunately quiet at that time of the morning, and answered all their questions about the morning at Torre Astura when she’d tried frantically to revive Helen. They listened intently, not wanting to miss a single word.
Helen’s father asked what Diana knew about the police investigation, and was surprised when she told them that an Italian man called Luigi had been taken in for questioning.
‘The police didn’t mention him. They said they are looking for a fair-haired American man who visited her the evening before … They’re bringing the neighbour who saw him to Cinecittà today to see if she can identify the man in question. They seem to be convinced that foul play was involved.’
Diana wondered why the police hadn’t mentioned Luigi. Perhaps they were still trying to gather evidence. Helen’s father asked if Diana had known him and she said no, not really. They had never been introduced.
When they had finished asking questions about Helen’s death, Diana took them for a tour of the studio, stopping first at the makeup rooms. She showed them Helen’s set of brushes, all neat and clean in a plastic wallet, and the autograph book with Elizabeth Taylor’s signature. Helen’s mother picked it up and staggered slightly, overcome by emotion. Her husband put an arm round her to support her.
Diana told them that Helen had been a walking encyclopedia of information on the stars. She told them she had helped to restyle her wardrobe, dragging her into the 1960s, and that she used to do her hair and makeup for special occasions. ‘She was very happy here,’ Diana said, not entirely truthfully. ‘She was doing a job she loved, surrounded by glamorous film stars, in a wonderful city.’
‘I suppose that’s some consolation,’ her father said, in a tone that implied it was no consolation at all.
‘She was always the sensitive one of my two,’ her mother remarked. ‘Julia – that’s my elder daughter – got all the confidence, while Helen worried too much what people thought of her. She could never see how special she was. Even as a toddler, she was a lovely singer and dancer, but she’d be too shy to perform in front of anyone except family no matter how much we encouraged her.’
‘Yes, I saw her dancing. She was tremendous,’ Diana told them. She remembered Helen singing snatches of pop songs as well.
Suddenly she could hear the sweet pure voice in her head and a wave of grief swept over her. This was so hard. She knew she had to be strong for Helen’s parents, but their presence made her feel even more guilty that she hadn’t been a good enough friend to their daughter.
‘We did everything we could to boost her confidence but she got it into her head that her sister was the one we were proud of. It wasn’t true, you know.’ Her mother sniffed hard. ‘Do you have children yet, Diana?’
Diana shook her head.
‘Let me tell you, if anything you love the sensitive ones just a little bit more, because they need you more. You can’t help it.’ She took out a handkerchief and blew her nose, then apologised: ‘Excuse me.’
Afterwards, Diana was haunted by the way they seemed dazed by what had happened. They were still in the early stages of grief and shock; they were only starting to come to terms with the fact that this tragedy would overshadow the rest of their lives.
As she walked back towards the production office, she didn’t notice Ernesto sitting outside the bar until she was right alongside and couldn’t ignore him.
‘I heard about Helen,’ he said. ‘How are you?’
‘A bit shaky,’ she replied, stopping by his table. ‘It’s all so strange. I can’t begin to make head or tail of it. I suppose you heard I’d had an argument with her?’
He nodded, and had the good grace to look embarrassed. ‘Did you tell the police about that?’
‘Yes, I expect they will want to talk to you.’
He shrugged. ‘There’s nothing I can tell them. I hardly knew her.’
Is that so? Diana thought cynically. You tried to seduce her without any attempt to get to know her? She let it pass, though. ‘They’re looking for a man she saw the night before she died: a fair-haired American. Can you think who that might be?’
Ernesto considered this, then shook his head.
‘And they are questioning an Italian man called Luigi. I saw her with him in a café near the studio and the police wanted to talk to him, so we went out and found him on the Via Veneto on Saturday night. I identified him …’ Her voice trailed off, as she noticed Ernesto was staring at her in alarm. ‘What is it?’
‘You’re so naïve, Diana. Do you really not know who Luigi is?’
‘No. Helen never introduced us.’
Ernesto blew air through his teeth. ‘He’s a drug dealer. He used to supply Helen. He’s not going to be pleased with you for tying him into this.’
Diana jerked backwards. ‘Drugs! Helen didn’t take drugs. She sometimes drank too much but …’
‘She took drugs, believe me. She was a very good customer of Luigi’s. Did you never notice her mood swings? Sometimes she was the life and soul of the party and other times she could barely move.’ Ernesto looked directly into her eyes. ‘She was very troubled.’
‘But why didn’t she tell me?’
‘I expect she was ashamed. She looked up to you.’
Diana was reeling. She tried to think of reasons to refute Ernesto’s story, but she didn’t know enough about drugs. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
He looked away. ‘I don’t get involved in things that are none of my business.’
What rot! she thought. He sells news about the stars of the film to journalists. Who does he think he’s fooling?
Ernesto stood up and spoke quietly but insistently. ‘I am going to give you some good advice, Diana. Tell the police it was dark in the café and you might have been mistaken in thinking you saw Luigi with Helen. You don’t want to have him as your enemy.’
‘But he might have killed Helen. I can’t tell a lie.’
Ernesto patted her shoulder and she drew back from his touch. ‘You should think about it very carefully. Even if Luigi was responsible, he will never be convicted. His kind of people never are. You’d be putting yourself in danger for no good reason.’
He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek but she twisted away so he shrugged and said, ‘Goodbye, Diana. Take care of yourself.’ He walked off towards the front gate.
Diana was very disturbed by their talk. What a bad friend she had been if Helen couldn’t even confide in her about a drugs problem. She’d been so caught up in her own affair that she had paid no attention to all the warning signs that were staring her in the face. She felt ashamed for letting Helen down, ashamed of her own self-absorption – and a deep contempt for Ernesto, who had seduced a vulnerable young girl. What a complete and utter bastard he had turned out to be!
She knew she wouldn’t take his advice and retract her statement about Luigi. She planned to do everything in her power to help the police find Helen’s killer and have him put behind bars. It was the very least she could do.