Free The Affair by Gill Paul Page A

and the criteria she used to design Elizabeth Taylor’s costumes, such as displaying the ‘renowned mammaries’. She told him about the Indian elephants and the fact that the circus owner who supplied them was now suing Twentieth Century Fox for ‘insulting his elephants’. The letter spilled over many pages. It made her feel close to him to be able to express everything that was on her mind and she prayed that he would read it and try to understand.
    At the end, she begged him to write back soon, using the studio’s courier service, or to telephone her at the office, and if she wasn’t there someone would take a message and she would call back. And then she couldn’t think of anything more to say so she signed off with all her love and lots of Xs underneath. There was a pain in her chest, in exactly the same place as her heart.

Chapter Eleven

    Scott spent two days in a morphine fug, while doctors and nurses came and went, occasionally stopping to perform some unpleasant procedure. His nose had been broken and there were strips of plaster across it and great wads of cotton wool stuffed inside so that he could only breathe through his mouth. His ribs were strapped up and his left wrist was also broken and in plaster. He vaguely recalled one of the men stamping on it. He had a catheter and he knew there was blood in his urine from all the kidney punches and kicks he’d taken, but the doctor assured him the ‘trauma’ would heal in time.
    As well as bruising and swelling, there were many contusions on his face and body, and a nurse said they must have used a
pugno di ferro
. He’d never heard the term, but from her mime he realised she meant a knuckleduster. What kind of person carried one of those around on a normal weekday morning? That suggestion shook him, but when he examined a cut above his forehead, he could see the indentations of metal knuckles, so it must be true.
    Two
carabinieri
came and he told his story slowly and carefully, remembering every detail of his conversation with the girl and giving a precise description of her brother. He hadn’t seen the other two attackers clearly but thought they had been wearing leather jackets. But when he mentioned the name Ghianciamina, and the fact that they lived in Piazza Navona, the
carabinieri
glanced at each other.
    ‘I think you must have misheard, sir. There is a family of that name but they are a very prominent family of good character.’
    ‘I can show you the exact house where they live,’ Scott insisted. ‘Take me there and I’ll identify the man who did this.’
    One of the policemen produced a loose-leaf folder. ‘There’s no need, sir. We’ve brought pictures of all the violent criminals in the city and you can go through and point to the men who hurt you without getting out of your bed.’
    Scott began to flick through. They were rough-looking, dark-skinned young men, aged between fifteen and twenty-five, all of them scowling out of police mugshots. ‘My attacker was dressed smarter and his skin was paler than these men,’ he said, but continued to work through the folder until he reached the end. ‘Nope, none of them. Can we go to Piazza Navona now?’
    ‘The doctors say you can’t be moved. Don’t worry, because we are asking shopkeepers and bartenders in the street and we hope there will be witnesses. You’re sure your wallet was not taken? Often, there is robbery involved.’
    ‘My wallet is here,’ Scott said, pointing to the cabinet by his bed. ‘I wasn’t being robbed. It was because I was talking to the girl, Gina.’ He was frustrated that he had given them a name and an address and was not being taken seriously. ‘For crying out loud, don’t you guys want to catch him? What’s the problem? Are you going to wait till he does this to somebody else?’
    ‘At least you are alive,’ one of them said quietly. ‘Your bones will heal.’
    Scott stared at him, too surprised to respond.
    The nurses had asked if he wanted a