The Affair: An enthralling story of love and passion and Hollywood glamour. Gill Paul
Читать онлайн книгу.
wearing a low-cut evening gown, whereas Cleopatra would have worn a long high-necked tunic with coiled ropes of pearls round her neck. In that era, pearls would have been the most desirable jewel, their equivalent to diamonds, and it was known that Cleopatra was especially partial to them. Her hairstyle was wrong as well, with a fringed bob style, as was the heavy black eye makeup that curved outwards at the corners. Ancient Egyptians had used black kohl on their eyelids to protect their eyes from the sun’s rays, but it wouldn’t have been stylised like that.
‘It’s all wrong,’ she whispered to Ernesto.
He grinned. ‘You’re welcome to tell Irene Sharaff your views but take a suit of armour! She has a reputation for not welcoming criticism.’
‘Everyone keeps telling me to give my honest opinion and then they proceed to disregard it. I’ve no idea why I’m here. What am I to do for the next six months?’
He rubbed her arm sympathetically. ‘You could relax and let me show you around Rome. Or you could talk to the key people with some tact and see if you can persuade them to make minor changes to their designs. Personally, I recommend you do both.’
Before leaving the meeting, she took her notes from the previous day over to Hilary. ‘Walter said to give these to you.’
Hilary glanced at them and seemed puzzled. ‘Did he? OK. Thanks.’ She tucked them under her arm.
Ernesto hurried off and Diana returned to the office to read the script properly, but it was invented dialogue without any facts she could correct. When she finished, she decided to walk out to the back lot, where she’d been the day before, and work her way along an avenue that was marked on the map as having several workshops. The first ones she came to contained huge pieces of scenery, most of them in white marble with gold leaf decoration. There were some enormous unguent jars that looked fine from a distance but close up she could see they were papier-mâché and liable to topple over if the wind blew. She saw gold-painted cat-goddess statues but from the wrong period so she took out her notebook and made a note. There was no one around to discuss them with.
In the next workshop, a couple of Italian men were making Roman standards and she stopped to watch. They’d got the eagle’s feet curling over the SPQR lettering, and they’d inserted full stops between the initials, which was incorrect. She drew a quick sketch in her book to show them the authentic style and held it towards them.
‘It should be like this,’ she said in Italian. ‘The eagle’s feet here, and SPQR down there.’ She pointed with the tip of her pen.
‘Chi diavolo sei?’ one of them responded – ‘Who the hell are you?’ – in a manner that definitely wasn’t friendly.
‘I’m the historical advisor. From the British Museum, in London. I’ve just arrived.’
It was only then she noticed that they had already completed around fifty of the standards, which were all propped up to dry, each with the incorrect design.
‘Why don’t you fuck off back to London?’ one of the men said in accented English. He dipped his brush into a pot of gold paint and carried on with his work.
She held up her hands defensively and backed out of the workshop.
When Diana got back to the production office, it was empty. She decided she ought to try to reach Trevor again so she called the operator and gave the number. While she was waiting for the call to be put through, Hilary came in and nodded as she sat down at her desk. Diana considered hanging up and trying again later but at that moment she heard the ringing sound and Trevor’s secretary answered the phone.
‘You’re in luck. I’ll just put you through,’ she said.
‘Hello, it’s me. How are you?’ Diana asked once Trevor was on the line.
‘Surviving,’ he said, and there was a long pause in which neither spoke.
‘Have you thought about whether you could come out here one weekend soon? The weather’s fantastic and it would be nice to go round the sites with you.’
‘I’m too busy,’ came the reply. ‘I’ve been asked to tutor several more students who enrolled at the last minute and I’m up to my ears in assessments.’
Diana sighed. ‘I’m not sure when I’ll be able to come back to London because it seems we have to work on Saturdays. I do wish you would come out, Trevor.’
‘It’s a long way and a lot of money just to spend a Sunday with you.’
She knew she was asking a lot, but she desperately wanted to see him and make things alright between them. ‘If you could come on Friday night and stay till Sunday night, or even first thing Monday morning, it would be worth the trip.’
‘I wouldn’t like to cramp your style. My colleagues are warning me that you’ll run off to Hollywood with a movie star and the first I’ll hear of it will be a headline in the Daily Mail.’
She knew he meant it as a joke, but it came across as an accusation. Diana’s eyes filled with tears. ‘That’s silly. I would never leave you.’ She kept her voice low, acutely conscious of Hilary’s presence.
He spoke sadly: ‘Well, that’s what I always thought – and yet it appears you have.’
A tear spilled over and trickled down her cheek. She smeared it with the back of her hand. ‘I’m working, Trevor. I miss you terribly but this was something I had to do. I wish you would try to understand.’
‘I am trying to understand. It’s difficult to get over the fact that you attached no weight to my feelings on the matter. Honestly, Diana, you can’t have it all ways. I wish you hadn’t gone. I’m too busy to visit you. Just let me know when you are coming back. Now, I have some students arriving for a tutorial so I will have to hang up on you.’ He paused then added: ‘Take care of yourself, darling. Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye, Trevor,’ she said, but he had already replaced the receiver and she could no longer hold back the tears. She covered her face with her hands.
Hilary hurried over to put a hand on her shoulder and placed a packet of tissues on the desk. ‘You poor thing. I couldn’t help overhearing. Was that your husband?’
Diana nodded.
‘He didn’t want you to come out here? I imagine there aren’t many men who would want their wives in a place like this unless they were around to supervise. Don’t cry, dear. He’ll come round. How long have you been married?’
Diana blew her nose. ‘Two years.’
‘Were you a couple for long before that?’
‘Yes, ages. He was my tutor at Oxford and we fell in love, but we kept it secret for a while because the university authorities wouldn’t have approved. It was only after I graduated and started work on my PhD that we told people.’
Hilary perched on the desk, her hand on Diana’s shoulder. ‘Is he very serious and academic? I imagine he must be older than you.’
‘He’s eighteen years older, and he’s fiercely clever, of course, but he’s funny as well. He can always make me laugh.’ She paused. ‘Well, usually.’
‘Tell me his bad points,’ Hilary asked. ‘Does he try to control you?’
‘No, not really. I suppose we’ve never disagreed about anything before. Not anything major. His worst fault is that he is very slovenly to live with. He puts down cups of tea wherever he happens to be at the time and I spend my life clearing up his dirty socks and tattered old history magazines.’ She smiled fondly. He was always losing things because