director?’
Hilary nodded. ‘You’ll find sound stage 5 on your map. Lunch is served in the commissary from twelve till three, and you can get snacks at the bar all day long.’
‘Great, thanks.’
The office was empty so Diana made herself a cup of tea, then unclipped her right earring and lifted the phone to ask the operator to connect her with Trevor’s office at City University. There was a lot of clicking and buzzing and a long period of silence before she heard the familiar voice of his secretary on the line.
‘Hello, it’s Diana calling from Rome. I don’t suppose Trevor’s around?’
The reply was so muffled she could hardly hear it, but it seemed he was in a meeting.
‘Will you tell him I rang and that I’ve arrived safely? I’ll try again soon.’
She was relieved not to have to deal with him being curt on the phone. At least he knew she was safe now. She finished her tea, picked up a notepad and pen plus her studio map, and headed out towards sound stage 5.
She walked around the lawn, then turned down a wide avenue with a row of pine trees planted along a central reservation. The sound stages looked like aeroplane hangars. When she got to number 5, she pushed open a heavy, padded door and was confronted by a huge dark cavern full of people. A beam of light illuminated an area where a scene was being prepared. There was a camera mounted on a small crane and behind it stood a portly middle-aged man in a crumpled Hawaiian shirt and a baseball cap, who was studying the scene with a dyspeptic expression. She wondered what his role was because, despite his scruffy appearance, others seemed to be taking orders from him.
It was hotter than outside, like working in an oven. A huge sign in both English and Italian read ‘No Smoking’ and there was a picture of a cigarette with an emphatic slash through it. Underneath it there was a bucket of sand and a sign saying ‘Use in case of fire’ but she noticed that it was being used as an ashtray and had dozens of cigarette butts in it.
‘Are they filming?’ she asked someone, and straight away fingers came up to lips and there was a chorus of shushing. Someone called ‘Silenzio!’
‘Upstairs,’ her nearest neighbour whispered, pointing to a staircase, so Diana crept off the set and up the stairs, not sure where she was heading. A handwritten sign on the landing at the top said ‘Makeup, Dressing room 23’. There was a long corridor of closed doors, each carefully numbered. The only one open was number 23 and a bright light emanated from within. She glanced inside to see a pretty blonde girl doing her own makeup at a dressing-table mirror surrounded by dazzling lightbulbs. Some Italian women were sitting around chatting.
‘Hello. Are you an actress?’ Diana asked the blonde girl.
She gave a broad smile and answered in an English accent with a hint of Birmingham in it. ‘No, I do the makeup along with these ladies. I’m just fixing myself up while we wait.’
‘What are you waiting for?’
‘Elizabeth Taylor’s not here yet so they can’t start filming. She’s always late.’
‘So they’re not actually filming downstairs?’ Diana was relieved. ‘I thought I’d spoiled a shot because I asked a question and everyone told me to shut up.’
‘They might have been doing fill-in shots. They’re shooting live sound on this picture so they need dead quiet when the cameras are rolling. You’re supposed to check whether the red light is on above the door before you go in. Don’t worry, though – you’d know all about it if you’d spoiled a take!’
‘Where is your accent from?’ Diana asked, trying to place it.
‘Leamington Spa. Near Warwick.’
‘You’re kidding! I was born in Leamington Spa and lived there till I was twelve!’ Diana grinned, delighted to meet someone from home. It made her realise how lonely she’d been feeling.
The girl’s name was Helen, she told Diana. They chatted about which part of town they came from and the schools they had attended. Diana asked how she came to be working on the film, and Helen said she had just graduated from a makeup course when she got the job at Pinewood and her school principal had negotiated a clause in her contract that meant they had to take her with them when the production moved to Rome. Most of the other makeup artists were Italian.
‘It’s a great place to work. I’ve met all the stars,’ she said excitedly. ‘Yesterday I was called down to assist Elizabeth Taylor’s makeup artist, and Elizabeth actually asked my name. Wasn’t that nice of her?’
‘What was she like?’
‘Oh my God, those eyes! I never believed it in the magazines when they said she has purple eyes but she really does: a kind of deep violet shade. It’s almost like you can’t breathe when you look directly at her. I asked her to sign my autograph book. Look!’
She showed Diana a book bound in pink fabric and opened it to a page with the signature ‘Elizabeth T’ followed by an ‘X’.
‘Lucky you,’ Diana said. ‘Who else’s have you got?’
‘Just crew really. I don’t like to ask actors as it doesn’t look professional. After all I’m here to do a job! Anyway, Rex Harrison is too scary to ask!’
Helen talked rapidly, full of awe at the surroundings she found herself in. She was probably in her early twenties, only a couple of years younger than Diana, but she had a childlike quality that was beguiling, and she was the first truly friendly person Diana had met there.
‘There’s no one about,’ Helen pointed out. ‘Shall we go and have a Coke? The bar’s not far.’
Diana agreed. She knew she should be trying to find someone who could tell her what her job entailed, but perhaps it would be useful to hear a bit more about the personalities on the set. Helen told the Italian women she’d be back in half an hour and they nodded and carried on talking amongst themselves.
The bar had some tables on a broad outdoor terrace and Helen sat down at one of them, Diana beside her. They attracted appreciative glances from some Italian workmen on a coffee break. They’re interested in Helen, Diana thought. Not me.
‘I don’t like coming here on my own,’ Helen lowered her voice. ‘It makes me self-conscious when they stare like that.’
They ordered two Cokes, and Diana explained how she came to be working on the film.
‘Gosh, you’re an intellectual. That’s so groovy! Don’t worry about not knowing what you’re supposed to be doing. I don’t think anyone does. We’re all just muddling through, but we’re getting paid to live in an amazing city and work with lots of famous people. It can’t be bad, can it? Hey, a crowd of us are going out for a pizza tonight. Do you want to come?’
Diana agreed straight away. She would rather do that than go for dinner with Ernesto, which had all the potential to be compromising.
‘Amazing! Give me the address of your pensione and I’ll pick you up in a taxi about eight o’clock.’ Suddenly she nudged Diana and nodded towards a man walking down the avenue holding a small dog.
‘Who’s
