and a pair of heavy-framed glasses almost too large for her narrow face.
“This is Bella, my personal assistant, who is also acting as interpreter for the movie. Thanks, Bella, but I’ll have to ask you to leave us for a while.”
Bella Alfieri closed the drawer of the filing cabinet and smiled again at the producer. “Of course, Monty. I’ll be in the other trailer when you want me.”
She crossed to the door, and Moretti heard her heels clacking down the steps outside.
Monty Lord indicated a chair on the other side of the desk, and sat down himself.
“You speak Italian very well, sir,” said Moretti, taking his seat. “How did you learn the language?”
Monty Lord tipped back his chair and laughed. “Because I’ve made what seems like hundreds of movies in Italy — probably dozens, anyway. I’ve spent much of the past ten or fifteen years there, making my living. Spaghetti westerns, that’s what I made, by the reelful. I’ll never sneer at them, because they gave me the money and the connections to make movies like this one — and they made me a great deal of money. Most of them feature someone who has since become a major Hollywood star, and at one time I owned a piece of him. Now he and I make the movies we always wanted to make.”
The name Monty Lord dropped was major enough to raise Moretti’s eyebrows and make him whistle in surprise.
“That, presumably, is why Rastrellamento appealed to you. But, with your connections, why take the trouble to bring cast and crew over here — let alone all that heavy equipment you need?”
“Costs, Detective Inspector. We could have rented a fabulous Medici palazzo near Florence, but at a price that would make your blood run cold. So when my major investor suggested using the family’s Guernsey property at a rock-bottom price, I jumped at it. The other determining factor was the availability of authentic war sites, without having to build them. The room in the bunker is just one of our planned locations. We are going to use some of the coastal fortifications as well.”
“So you haven’t financed the whole enterprise yourself?”
“No. I have my major investor in Italy, and I have also set up another branch of my company — Epicure Films Italia. This is quite normal for movie work.”
“I see. Who is your major investor?”
“The marchesa’s husband and his company — Vannoni Vigneti e Boschetti.”
“I somehow thought the marchesa was a widow.” Moretti was taken by surprise.
Opposite him, Monty Lord rubbed a hand vigorously over his shining, shaved dome. “For all intents and purposes, she is.”
“The marchese is absorbed in the work of the company, you mean?”
“They live apart, Detective Inspector. He rarely if ever comes here. He has an apartment in Florence and runs the business from there.”
“Does anyone in the family have contact with him?”
“I think Anna sees the most of her father. As a matter of fact, I met Paolo Vannoni before I met Donatella, at some government shindig or other. It was he who suggested using the Guernsey property.”
“How did the marchesa feel about that, I wonder?”
“Like shit at first. Then we met and — got along.”
Apart from a slight pause it was said simply, without any discernible subtext. For Moretti, who always listened for subtexts and hidden messages, it was a curiously empty remark, devoid of emotion. Either Monty Lord was brilliant at concealing emotions, or there was indeed nothing to conceal.
“It’s a while since I read Rastrellamento, but I remember the action being quite scattered. Apart from the war sites, this film seems to be centred on the manor. Am I right?”
“Yes. The scenes in the book are far more diverse. We wanted to create a much more enclosed and claustrophobic feeling in the movie, so we focused in on the aristocratic Cavalli family in the novel, and spun the rest of the action around them.”
“You say ‘we.’ I presume you mean yourself and Mario Bianchi? Is it usual for a producer like yourself to have that kind of input?”
“It varies. Some are just the money men, and some like to have creative control. Like me.”
“Doesn’t this make for problems — with your director, I mean?”
“Not in this case. Mario is brilliant, but he’s also very unsure of himself in some ways. Often I simply reinforce what he has already decided — take the blame, you might say, and tell Gilbert. To the producer falls a number of unpleasant tasks, and that for sure is one of them.” Monty Lord gave a grim laugh.
“Why the casting changes? Is this normal?”
“Perfectly, particularly if there are changes to the script. Obviously, we pay the original actor, if he or she has a signed contract. You may have noticed we haven’t changed any of our leads — it would cost us a fortune.”
“You say you were in Rome — we will, of course, be confirming that. Where were you when Mr. Albarosa was killed?”
“Still in Italy, I think, or up in the air. Depends exactly when he was killed, but I got back to Guernsey very early this morning, as soon as your airport opened up. I am a qualified pilot and was on my own, but you could check that with the airport.”
“How long were you off the island? Were you here when the incident occurred with Mr. Ensor?”
“Unfortunately, yes, given our working relationship. I was only in Italy for just over twenty-four hours — possibly thirty-six.”
“And where, precisely, were you?”
“Here.” Monty Lord jabbed his finger downwards toward his chair. “Bella could confirm that. She was here with me taking notes that evening. I worked on my own for a while, and then called her back in to complete a couple of letters.”
Moretti put his notepad away. He often wondered what useful purpose it served. “Thank you, sir. We’ll check that with Ms. —?”
“Alfieri. Bella Alfieri. Highly competent and completely reliable.”
“Good.” Moretti stood up. “I was hoping to speak to some of your lead actors, but I see from the schedule they’re filming right now. It will have to wait until tomorrow — oh, did you know that Mr. Ensor says his wife is missing?”
“No, I didn’t.” Monty Lord seemed genuinely surprised.
“Does she have a function of any kind?”
“Apart from being Gilbert’s minder, you mean? Not officially. They’ve had some godawful fights since we started shooting, but there’s no doubt he behaves better when she’s around — or else she takes the crap he usually hands out to others. She is — was — a gifted woman. Gave it all up for that shit — what we do for love, as the song says, eh, Inspector?”
“Yes.”
