known her a few hours so it wasn’t her place to say anything. In fact, all the girls were giggling as they moved on to the second carafe of wine while Diana had barely touched her first glass.
The topic of discussion was which aspects of a star’s life it was legitimate for photographers to take pictures of. The girls reckoned that they were only doing their job if they shot the actors as they walked into a party or nightclub all dressed up to the nines but that the
paparazzi
who hid in the trees round Elizabeth Taylor’s villa and photographed her children in the swimming pool were going too far. Diana hadn’t heard the term ‘
paparazzi
’ before but realised it referred to the press pack she had seen outside.
‘One of them offered me a hundred thousand
lire
for a shot of Elizabeth on the set,’ a girl told them, and a couple of others concurred.
‘Yeah, me too. But we’d get fired if we were found out so it’s not worth it.’
When they’d finished eating, someone suggested they went to a piano bar and Diana tagged along, although she was beginning to feel tired. There were taxis cruising the street and she planned to pop into the bar for a few moments, to see what it was like, before coming out to hail one. They crowded into a small, dark hideaway with no name on the door, and just inside she spotted Ernesto standing at the bar. He kissed her on both cheeks and seemed genuinely delighted to see her.
‘Diana, you must join me for a drink. I insist.’
‘I was about to leave,’ she began, but he didn’t pay any attention, calling out to a waiter ‘
Due Belline
.’
‘What’s a Bellini?’ she asked.
‘Trust me. You’ll like it,’ he said, and she did. It was sweet, fruity and fizzy and it didn’t taste alcoholic, although she suspected it probably was. The other girls had found a table, where they had been joined by some Italian boys, and she wondered whether she should sit with them.
‘How did you become a Cleopatra expert?’ Ernesto asked, and she explained about the subjects she had taken at Oxford and her fascination for the Egyptian queen who was an astute politician and military tactician. He seemed genuinely interested in her PhD research and asked questions about how Cleopatra held on to the throne for almost forty years. Diana enjoyed telling him her own theories about the clever ways Cleopatra won the support of the Egyptian people.
‘Don’t you think being involved with a Hollywood movie will undermine your credibility?’ Ernesto asked.
‘That’s what my husband thinks,’ Diana confessed. ‘He didn’t want me to come.’
‘Of
course
he didn’t. I am amazed that he allowed you! An Italian husband would have stopped you.’
Diana raised an eyebrow. ‘In Britain in the 1960s, we women don’t need our husband’s permission to take a career opportunity.’
Ernesto shrugged. ‘In Italy you would. But tell me, how was your first day on the set?’
Diana explained that she had no idea what to do. No one had explained what her responsibilities were and she hadn’t met the director or caught up with the producer.
‘Don’t worry,’ Ernesto patted her hand. ‘Tomorrow morning, I will take you to the script meeting and you can meet everyone there. It’s at ten o’clock.’
‘You seem very well-connected. How did you get involved with the film?’
Ernesto explained that Cinecittà studios recommended him because he had worked on dozens of films there. He was good at finding locations, sourcing unusual items or materials that were needed, and striking deals with local businesses for supplies.
‘I am a businessman, and I know a lot of people. That’s all you require to do my job.’
‘Your English is excellent. That must help.’
‘I make deals with lots of English people and I need to be sure they are not cheating me,’ he grinned. ‘Many have tried.’
‘What other films have you worked on?’
‘Dozens! You know the opening shot of
La Dolce Vita
when
Learning to Kill: Stories