The Affair: An enthralling story of love and passion and Hollywood glamour. Gill Paul

      ‘Don’t worry. I know you are married. I am not a Casanova type. You and I are going to be good friends, that’s all.’

      She smiled. ‘Excellent. I need some friends out here. I’m going back to my pensione now as I’m getting rather tired, but I’ll see you tomorrow.’

      ‘How are you getting home? Let me give you a lift.’ He stood up and pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket.

      ‘I was going to get a taxi. Don’t worry. It’s not far. I’m only in Piazza Repubblica.’

      ‘I wouldn’t dream of letting you take a taxi alone at night. Nice girls would never travel unaccompanied.’

      ‘Oh my gosh!’ Diana exclaimed. ‘Well, in that case …’

      She said her goodbyes to Helen and the other girls, then followed Ernesto out to the street. She’d been expecting a car and was taken aback when he climbed onto a Vespa motor scooter and gestured for her to get on behind. What option did she have, though?

      ‘I don’t know what to do. I’ve never been on one of these.’

      ‘You just climb on and put your arms round my waist. It’s easy.’

      She gathered up her full skirts and straddled the scooter, wondering how on earth other girls managed in those tight short dresses. She placed her hands loosely on the sides of Ernesto’s jacket, but when the scooter started to move, she gripped more firmly. Her skirt billowed out on one side and she tucked it under her thighs. The breeze blew her hair back off her face and she closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. When she opened them, they were going past a beautiful church.

      She was in Rome, in 1961, riding home on the back of a Vespa. The life she had been waiting to lead felt as though it had finally begun.

       Chapter Seven

      Ernesto came to the production office to collect Diana at five to ten the following morning to take her to the script meeting.

      ‘Are you absolutely sure I’m supposed to come along?’ she asked.

      ‘Of course. You must be there. You can actually make a difference at this stage.’

      The director’s office was in a building opposite the main gate. A dozen people were sitting smoking and drinking coffee, among them Walter Wanger, who leapt to his feet and rushed over to embrace Diana.

      ‘Sweetheart, you made it! It’s terrific to see you. Let me introduce you to everybody.’ He went round the room, pointing out John De Cuir, the set designer; Hilary Armitage, the woman she already knew from the production office; Leon Shamroy, the director of photography, whom she recognised as the man in the Hawaiian shirt she had seen on set; as well as some production managers, continuity girls, and various others. Diana desperately tried to remember their names. The door opened and in walked a man with an open, friendly face that seemed familiar. He was smoking a pipe.

      ‘Joe, meet Diana, our new historical advisor,’ Walter called. ‘I asked her along today to see how she can be of use to you.’ This was a lie, of course; Walter hadn’t asked her at all. ‘Diana, this is Joe Mankiewicz.’

      She shook hands with the director and realised she had read an interview with him in the Sunday Times; she recalled him from the photograph. He’d struck both her and Trevor as being very bright and articulate.

      ‘Welcome on board,’ Joe said, then sat on the edge of his desk and held out a sheaf of typewritten pages to a girl called Rosemary Matthews, who began to distribute them. ‘Give Diana a copy as well,’ he instructed.

      She liked the smell of his pipe tobacco, which was like new-mown hay compared to the stale harshness of cigarette smoke. Everyone smoked here, male and female – she had yet to meet anyone who didn’t.

      ‘Joe rewrites the script every night,’ Walter explained. ‘We weren’t happy with the last draft. As soon as you get your copy in the morning you should read it through and tell Hilary if you can see any major problems. You’ll have to be quick, though, because we start rehearsing right after this meeting and we start shooting about noon.’

      ‘On the script you’ve just written?’

      Joe nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s crazy but I’ve known crazier things to happen on movies. You’ll get used to it.’

      They began to discuss a scene they wanted to shoot the following week down on the Anzio coast, in which Cleopatra is encamped facing Ptolemy’s troops and trying to work out how to reach Caesar to ask for his help. Joe asked Diana about the way the troops would have been positioned and she was relieved that she knew the answer and could draw a sketch for him on the back of one of the sheets of script.

      He nodded, pleased. ‘OK, we can use the natural curve of the bay for that bit and have the cameras here.’ He pointed to a spot on the paper and all heads bent to look.

      ‘Any dialogue?’

      ‘I’ll keep it short,’ Joe said.

      Ernesto leaned over and told her in a whisper that they avoided dialogue on exterior shots as much as possible because they would have to dub it later, which could be hit-and-miss.

      ‘Does anyone know if Miss Taylor is coming in today?’ someone asked.

      ‘Nobody called to say she isn’t,’ Walter told them.

      ‘Have you checked the calendar? Is it a red-letter day?’ another voice called, and there were snorts round the room, which Diana didn’t understand. She’d have to ask someone later.

      They ran through the parts of the script they’d been given and Diana attempted to skim read but it was hard to comment without knowing the context. No one had any criticisms. They just talked about camera angles. It seemed more of a technical meeting than anything else.

      Joe got up to leave, but turned for a word with Diana on the way out. ‘Will you leave a message at the production office to say where you’re going to be every night? In case I need to call you about something while I’m writing.’

      Diana agreed that she would do, and glowed with importance. The director was going to consult her while he was writing the script! She would be on call, like a doctor.

      Brimming with pride, she made her way over to Walter to ask about her other responsibilities. How did he see her role?

      ‘I want you to have a look at all John’s wonderful sets and discuss with him if there are any little details that could make them just a tiny bit more authentic.’

      John De Cuir scowled, making it obvious he didn’t want any interference.

      ‘Introduce yourself in the props and costume departments and see if they want any advice,’ Walter continued. ‘Talk to people in makeup and hair. You’re the lynchpin, communicating with people across the set and raising the intellectual level of the movie.’

      ‘I’ve already written some notes on the outdoor sets I saw yesterday,’ she volunteered. She’d brought them with her in her handbag and started to open it.

      ‘Wonderful!’ Walter clasped his hands behind his back. ‘Give them to Hilary and she’ll make sure the right people see them. It’s great that you’ve got off to a flying start. Is your pensione comfortable?’

      ‘Charming, thank you.’

      ‘Good, good. Well, I better get going, but I’m really glad you are with us.’

      Ernesto appeared by her side again. ‘They have some stills here from the scene that was shot of Miss Taylor at the altar of Isis. Do you want to have a look?’

      Diana went over to a