Two days after their dinner with Elizabeth and Richard, just long enough for Diana’s hangover to subside, she and Trevor set off for Ischia. They took a Rapido down to Naples, then caught the hydrofoil boat across the bay. Diana felt a twinge of guilt as she identified the islands on the horizon for Trevor, remembering an evening when Ernesto showed them to her, long before anything had happened between them. That had been the beginning of the seduction, she realised. He had been playing a long game, prepared to wait for the right moment rather than leaping on her during their stay on the island.
It was a bright, sunny June day. The Mediterranean was an extraordinary cerulean shade of blue, while the sky was more of an azure, but on the horizon they blurred together in a misty haze. The sea breeze made the temperature comfortable. Everything would have been perfect, if only Helen hadn’t died and the future of Diana’s marriage wasn’t up in the air.
‘Let’s just enjoy this,’ Trevor said, and she got a spooky sense that he’d read her mind. He must know she was no longer interested in him sexually. He didn’t seem interested in her either. They hugged in bed, but that was all.
‘Yes, let’s,’ she said, and meant it.
Most of the cast and crew were to be billeted at the purpose-built Pensione Cleopatra, but the production staff were based in the nearby Jolly Hotel. Its ballroom had been converted into an office with desks, typewriters and telephones, and through the glass doors Diana could see the glint of a swimming pool. They left their luggage in their room, but Diana was impatient to get down to the harbour and inspect the boats, and Cleopatra’s and Antony’s in particular. How had the master boatbuilders realised all the final details?
As their taxi wove down into the little cove, she could see Cleopatra’s barge, the Antonia, from afar, the gold-painted hull resplendent in the sunlight. The Antonia was huge and ornate, with purple sails furled round the masts, and numerous statues and urns at prow and stern. It was moored in deep water but connected to the jetty by a series of floating planks with a rope running along as a handrail. It all looked rather precarious, but they got out of their taxi and made their way towards it.
One of the boatbuilders recognised her as she walked along the jetty.
‘Signora Bailey, cosa pensi della nostra creazione?’ – ‘What do you think of our creation?’ He gestured with a sweep of his arm.
‘Magnifico,’ she proclaimed. ‘Better than the real thing.’
He told her that after she had looked round Cleopatra’s barge, he would take her out in a motorboat to Antony’s ship, which was moored further round the bay.
She and Trevor stepped onto the slippery planks, which tilted under their weight, threatening to tip them into the sea. She clung to the rope, stepping carefully over gaps between planks. Some large silver fish circled below as if expecting to be fed. When she reached the gold-painted side of the barge, there was a rope ladder to climb up to the deck.
‘Are they seriously expecting Elizabeth to do this in full Cleopatra costume?’ she called over her shoulder. ‘That’s one sight I absolutely have to see.’
When they got on deck they saw that every single surface that could possibly be decorated had curlicues, incense burners or carvings of Egyptian gods. It wasn’t historically accurate but it was spectacular – like the eighth wonder of the world, Trevor said, with only a hint of irony. The local boatbuilders had been working on it for six months since she last saw the basic shape and advised on the masts, and it had been transformed into a floating palace worthy of any queen, whether from ancient Egypt or modern Hollywood.
There was no point in criticising anything because there was no time to change it. Diana made a few notes about where the different scenes would be filmed and highlighted some issues that the continuity staff would have to look out for, but she could see this was going to be the pièce de résistance of the whole movie. It was the physical manifestation of the budget over-spend.
They clambered down the rope ladder and into the boatbuilders’ launch to travel out to Antony’s more utilitarian battleship, with huge steel spikes protruding from the front. Everything was just as she had envisioned it, and she was delighted. They toured the other boats that would take part in the sea battle of Actium, and Diana pronounced them perfect.
‘That’s it!’ she announced. ‘My work is done. Now all I have to do is relax for a week until the cast and crew arrive.’
They spent the week walking, swimming in secluded bays, eating and drinking in local restaurants and bars, and Diana felt the tension in her muscles slowly dissolve away. With the combination of warm sun and gentle exercise Trevor’s back stopped bothering him, and his skin tanned, making him look healthier. The island got busier as the week progressed. Foremost among the new arrivals were some young men on motor scooters wielding huge cameras.
‘Here we go,’ Trevor sighed. ‘They’re gearing up for the Liz and Dick Show.’
‘They’ll have no privacy here, except within the walls of their hotel room – if there. Someone told me that a new chambermaid at the Regina Isabella Hotel, where Richard and Elizabeth have suites, was discovered to be a journalist from Novella magazine.’
However, it seemed the couple had given up any hope of privacy because, instead of sailing to the island on a private boat, their arrival was heralded by the whirring of a helicopter resounding through the skies. The noise became deafening as it got closer then dropped down to land at the island’s only heliport, five minutes from their hotel. Every paparazzo on Ischia was there with cameras primed before the helicopter doors opened and all got plenty of shots of the world’s most famous couple.
The filming of the sea battle went according to plan, and on 23rd June they were to film the Antonia arriving at Tarsus – an event that had marked the beginning of Cleopatra’s affair with Antony. Of course, like every outdoor scene, it was split into panoramic shots, long shots and close-ups, and there was stopping and restarting whenever the camera angle changed. The gold barge should have proceeded slowly into port, its purple sails fluttering and palm trees swaying on deck, to the sound of fifes, harps and flutes, but there was no music. Instead spectators heard the sounds of aeroplanes flying overhead, and the chatter of the watching crowd. Still, it was exciting. Coloured smoke spiralled from incense burners. Cleopatra stood under a golden canopy flanked by two silver cat gods and surrounded by dozens of beautiful young girls. The silver oars flashed through the water, even though the boat was actually powered by a motor.
There were hundreds of tiny craft in the water. Cleopatra’s handmaidens threw coins from the deck of the Antonia, and seventy-five swimmers from the Italian Olympic team dived to retrieve them. The air was thick with the honeyed scent of hundreds of dollars-worth of flowers wilting in the heat of the midday sun.
It was Elizabeth’s last official day of filming, and it seemed very apt that this should be her final scene. She was regal, indomitable, the queen of all she surveyed. Weighed down with gold and jewels, she must have been sweltering in the June heat but not a bead of sweat marked her flawless brow. Diana wondered how she was feeling inside, though. The day was drawing near when Richard would have to make the momentous decision: Sybil, his friends and family and the English theatrical establishment – or Elizabeth and Hollywood superstardom.
Elizabeth was throwing a party in her suite that evening, to which Diana and Trevor were invited, and she expected that the actress would be rather emotional. Hilary told her that Walter had arranged for an ambulance to be on standby in case she did anything silly, but that seemed unduly melodramatic.
Still, one never knew with Elizabeth.
Diana wore her lilac dress, the one Helen had helped her to choose, and when they arrived Elizabeth admired it effusively.
‘You’re so skinny. I can’t wear styles like that with my big momma hips.’ She patted them, with a conspiratorial smile.
They were handed bright turquoise cocktails to drink, and Trevor grumbled in Diana’s ear that he would rather have had a beer. The suite was overflowing with people crowded onto the balconies to admire the sunset, lounging on Elizabeth’s giant bed, or dancing to some 45 rpms playing on a record player. ‘I Can’t Stop Loving You’, sang Ray Charles and all heads turned to look at Elizabeth, who pretended not to notice.
Diana had brought a notebook and she took the opportunity to swap telephone numbers and addresses with cast and crew who were leaving the next morning. Everyone was pledging eternal friendship but Diana wondered how many would keep in touch once they were back in California or New York or London. She had known these people for eight months now and some had been working together for over a year. The intensity of the film-making experience made you feel like close friends but it wasn’t the genuine kind of friendship that grew from common interests and long-term loyalty. It was artificial and forced by circumstances.
Trevor was pulled into the circle around Richard Burton, where they were discussing the British writers known as ‘Angry Young Men’ – John Osborne, Arnold Wesker, Edward Bond and Harold Pinter. Would their works still be read in twenty years’ time? Trevor argued that they were of the moment and wouldn’t age well but Richard disagreed.
Momentarily alone, Diana decided to sneak out for a look round the hotel, which was considerably swankier than theirs. She toured the grand public rooms then walked through a glass door into a lush landscaped garden, and there, by the swimming pool, was Elizabeth, all on her own.
‘Are you alright?’ Diana called, and Elizabeth turned.
‘Sure. I just wanted a moment’s peace. It’s so beautiful here, don’t you think?’
‘Shall I leave you alone to enjoy the peace?’
‘No, come and talk. Want a cigarette?’
She offered her pack, but Diana shook her head.
‘How are things with you and Trevor? Do you reckon you two are gonna make it?’
Diana was taken aback by the directness of the question and didn’t know what to say.
Elizabeth smiled. ‘No, don’t answer. I think I know. He’s a fascinating man, and great company, but he’s not your lover. So you have to decide whether you are going to settle for that. People do a lot worse. Some make such a mess of everything …’
She took a deep drag of her cigarette and blew out the smoke in a long puff. ‘Richard and I sneaked down to the bay this morning to watch the dawn and it was glorious. There were no photographers around, just us – at least, so I thought. Richard went back to bed and I stayed to watch the sunrise and then suddenly I realised there was an old fisherman sitting there mending a net. He looked about a hundred years old.’
She fingered a chunky diamond bracelet on her wrist. ‘I lost this bracelet somewhere last night and I think it must have been on the beach. Then this afternoon the hotel reception called to say it had been handed in and from their description, I’m sure it was that fisherman. But I don’t understand why he didn’t sell it? Money like that could have turned his life around. Or if he had asked for a reward I’d gladly have paid.’
She gazed out across the pool towards the bay. ‘I suppose he must be content with the life he has. There was a kind of stillness and wisdom about him that made me want to ask his advice. I wanted to ask him what I should do with the rest of my life.’ She gave a hoarse little laugh. ‘Of course, then I remembered that I don’t speak any Italian so I couldn’t.’
‘What do you think he would have said?’
‘Well, he’s probably Catholic so he no doubt believes I’m an erotic vagrant!’ She shivered in her off-the-shoulder décolleté dress. ‘But I think what I would have wanted him to say was “Follow your heart”. Because no matter what anyone thinks of me, that’s what I intend to do. I have no choice. It’s the way I’m made.’
She dropped her cigarette only three-quarters smoked and ground it out under one of her pin-sharp heels. ‘Come on, let’s get back to the party. I need another cocktail.’
Diana followed her back into the hotel building, trying to think of something wise to say in response to the confession, but then she realised it wasn’t necessary. Everything had already been said.