Rome in Love (16 page)

“I brought you these.” James handed me the flowers. “I thought I’d take you to lunch at Alfredo’s.”

“They’re lovely,” I replied. “But we might not break for lunch for hours.”

James gazed at the huge cameras and the bright lights and the row of canvas chairs.

“I’ll wait,” he said, hopping onto a chair.

We were shooting the scene where I drop a basket of apples and they roll on the pavement. Joe helps me collect them and we end up kissing. It’s a tiny kiss but suddenly I was nervous. I saw James consult his watch and stride over to Mr. Wyler.

“You should have stopped for lunch hours ago,” he fumed. “It’s three o’clock in the afternoon.”

“This is a major motion picture.” Mr. Wyler glared at him. “I don’t stop until it’s perfect.”

“I run an international transportation business.” James knotted his brow. “There’s nothing more important than delivering on time.”

“Let’s behave, gentlemen.” Mr. Peck approached them. He had a light sheen on his cheeks. “I’m sure Mr. Hanson is only concerned for Miss Hepburn’s well-being.”

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” James held out his hand. “I’m James Hanson, Audrey’s fiancé.”

“Gregory Peck.” He shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You’re in an odd line of business,” James said slowly. “Kissing other women for a living.”

Mr. Peck dropped his hand. “At least when I kiss another woman, I’m only acting.”

I glanced at Mr. Peck’s chair and saw a copy of the
Observer
. I ran to my dressing room and shut the door. I laid my head on the desk and burst into tears.

Oh, Kitty, I kept picturing James whirling around the dance floor with a debutante in a white satin gown. I heard a knock on the door and got up to answer it.

“You’re going to give Willy a heart attack if you don’t finish the scene.” Mr. Peck entered the dressing room.

“I’m sorry for the way James behaved,” I mumbled.

“If I was your fiancé and saw you kissing another man, I’d punch him in the jaw.”

“You would?” I raised my eyebrow.

“Of course.” He shrugged. “What man wouldn’t?”

“But we were acting, it’s my job,” I protested.

He drew a newspaper from under his arm and opened it on the desk. “I’m guessing Mr. Hanson’s job includes attending debutante balls and rubbing elbows with dukes and duchesses.”

“It is important that he maintains the right connections,” I conceded.

“Then neither of you have anything to worry about.” He walked to the door. “Let’s finish the scene, I’m dying for a plate of spaghetti and a cold beer.”

“How can I thank you?” I asked. “I feel like such a nuisance.”

He turned to me and stood very close.

“There’s one thing you can do,” he said.

“There is?” I replied.

“You can call me Greg.”

Oh, Kitty, sometimes I feel like I’m not a good actress or a good fiancée. But every now and then, when Mr. Wyler smiles or Gregory Peck says a kind word, I think I have the best job in the world.

Audrey

July 4, 1952

Dear Kitty,

This evening I was changing out of Princess Ann’s pink satin ball gown when there was a knock on the dressing room door.

Gregory Peck poked his head in. “We’re going to Harry’s Bar for a drink. You should join us.”

“No, thank you.” I shook my head. “I’m going home to study my lines.”

“An old friend of mine wants to meet you,” he insisted. “He’s directing a movie and thinks you’d be perfect for the lead.”

“You said I should retire to Yorkshire and wear wide hats and learn to play croquet.” I raised my eyebrow.

“I’ve changed my mind.” He shrugged. “My friend saw you on Broadway and thinks you are the finest actress of your generation.”

“I’ve nothing to wear.” I flushed.

“What you have on will do,” he replied. “It’s just a small group of friends.”

“This is a four-hundred-dollar Dior couture gown,” I protested. “Mr. Wyler would kill me.”

“If anything happens I’ll tell him it was my fault.” He took my arm and propelled me toward the door. “Come on, I’m dying of thirst.”

We entered Harry’s Bar and I could barely breathe from the cigarette smoke. The walls were covered with gold velvet and the floors were dark wood. I saw waiters in white jackets carry silver trays of chilled prawns and caviar and melba toast.

“There you are.” Veronique Passani crossed the room. “We’ve ordered a round of Negronis and a platter of oysters. I just got off the plane and I’m starving.”

I hadn’t seen Veronique in a week and I’d hoped she finished her interviews. She makes me nervous, as if she’s going to write down everything I say.

“I didn’t know you were away,” I said, following them to a table in the back.

She wore a red crepe Dior dress and ivory pumps. Her auburn hair fell to her shoulders and she carried a Chanel clutch. I glanced down at my pink satin ball gown and felt hopelessly overdressed.

“I was in London doing a story on Queen Elizabeth.” Veronique dipped oysters in cocktail sauce. “I ruined three pairs of shoes in the rain and drank endless cups of tea. I couldn’t live in a city where you can’t get a decent cup of coffee.”

“You’ve brought Audrey Hepburn.” A man approached the table. He had thick brown hair and gray eyes. He wore a white dinner jacket and tan slacks. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“This is Mel Ferrer,” Greg introduced us. “We acted in some plays in New York, now he’s an up-and-coming director in Hollywood.”

“That’s a nice way of saying ‘struggling.’” Mel laughed. “I do have my eye on a project, and you would be perfect for the lead.”

“What is it called?” I asked.

“
War and Peace,
” he replied, popping an olive in his mouth.

“
War and Peace,
” I spluttered.

“Do you think I haven’t read it?” Mel asked, looking amused.

“Mel went to Princeton,” Greg explained. He wore a black dinner jacket and gray slacks. “He’s trying to elevate the movie business.”

“Princeton?” I raised my eyebrow.

“You don’t believe me?” Mel asked.

“I can’t say, I’ve never met anyone who went to Princeton.”

He squeezed into the table beside me. His cheeks were smooth and he smelled of peppermint aftershave. “Well, Miss Hepburn, now you have.”

Greg and Mel walked to the bar to order another round of drinks and Veronique tapped her long red fingernails on the marble counter.

“Mel Ferrer is very handsome,” she mused.

“I wouldn’t know, I’m engaged,” I bristled.

“I admire you, you’re such a progressive fiancée.”

“Progressive?” I repeated, feeling a prickle on the back of my neck.

“Allowing your fiancé to dance with fashionable young women,” she replied, scooping up a handful of cashews.

“If you’re talking about Henrietta Fleming’s debutante ball, Henrietta is the little sister of one of James’s oldest friends.”

“I was talking about them dancing at the Flamingo Club in Soho the other night,” Veronique continued.

“I’m sure they were with a group,” I said icily. “The
Observer
prints all sorts of gossip without telling the whole story.”

Veronique swallowed the cashews and looked at me. “I didn’t read about it in the paper, I saw them together.”

We drank Bloody Marys and Mel asked me to dance. He is a wonderful dancer, I could barely keep up. But I listened to Cole Porter and pictured James in a smoky London nightclub.

Oh, Kitty, I can’t expect James to sit at home while I make a movie in Rome. But sometimes I picture his sparkling eyes and white smile and think I want too much.

Audrey

Amelia put the letters on the glass coffee table. She leaned against the silk cushions and tucked her feet under her. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.

chapter seventeen

Philip poured another cup of coffee and studied the photo on the dining room table. It was the only picture that hadn’t been erased from Max’s camera. He picked it up and looked at Amelia’s wide brown eyes and white smile. She was gazing at Philip and her hand rested on his sleeve.

He tossed it on the table and walked to the fire escape. For three days he had been trying to come up with a plan to see Amelia. He imagined running into her in the Hassler lobby or at a café in the Piazza di Trevi. But what if she was with her producer or on her way to the set? If she were forced to reveal her identity the charade would be over.

He heard a knock on the door and went to open it. He saw an older woman with auburn hair and slender cheekbones. She wore a beige linen dress with a cropped jacket. She carried a white leather Gucci purse and wore large white sunglasses.

“Mom!” Philip exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m glad I found you.” She entered the room. “Your father said I should wait at the hotel, but I love exploring the streets of Rome. Every woman should be whistled at, it makes me feel ten years younger.”

Philip studied his mother’s large blue eyes and wide red mouth. She was almost sixty but she was still a beautiful woman. She had been a model in New York before she married his father. She spent the last thirty years being a society hostess but she still looked lovely in a designer dress and pumps.

“I mean, what are you doing in Rome? I thought you were on your way to Bermuda.”

“It’s a quick trip.” She moved around the living room, running her fingers over the wooden bookshelf and glass dining room table. “We arrived late last night and we’re leaving for Paris tonight. Your father had business and I decided to join him.”

“Can I get you something?” Philip waved his hand. “A cup of coffee, a slice of toast.”

“A glass of water would be nice. I already drank more coffee than Dr. Burns allows me in a week. Everything in Rome is irresistible, the espresso, the fashion, the pasta. I can see why you’re here, but I’m glad you’re coming home. We’ve missed you so much.”

Philip collected cups and saucers and put them in the sink. He poured a glass of water and handed it to his mother.

“What a pretty girl.” She examined the photo of Amelia. “Is she someone special?”

Philip grabbed the photo and put it on his desk. “She’s just a friend.”

“She reminds me of a young Audrey Hepburn,” she mused. “She’s always been my favorite movie star. When your father and I got married I had a little black dress I wore every Saturday night. John used to call me Holly Golightly. If only I still had a twenty-four-inch waist and natural eyelashes.”

The front door opened and Max walked in. He wore a yellow shirt and jeans and sneakers. His camera was slung over his shoulder and he was eating an almond croissant.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he stumbled. “I can come back later.”

“This is my mother, Lily Hamilton,” Philip introduced them. “She and my father made a surprise visit.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hamilton.” Max took her hand. “It’s a shame you just had this ugly guy, you would have created some beautiful girls.”

“All this flattery is going to my head.” Lily laughed. “I should go back to the hotel and have a beauty rest. Perhaps we can have an early dinner before we leave. We’re staying at the Hassler.”

“The Hassler,” Philip spluttered, spilling coffee on the dining room table.

“Your father prefers the Grand Hotel but I insisted.” Lily shrugged. “I love the location, all of Rome is at my feet.”

Philip glanced at the photo of Amelia and his heart raced. If his mother bumped into Amelia in the lobby she might recognize her and say something. He tugged at his collar and glanced at Max.

“Max and I are going to Umbria,” Philip improvised. “I’m writing an article on the truffle industry and Max is taking photos. You should come with us, it’s a beautiful drive.”

“Your father has meetings and I do love the countryside.” Lily hesitated. “I’ll run back to the Hassler and change my clothes.”

“No!” Philip interrupted. “We don’t have time, we want to get some photos while the light is good. Why don’t you take off your jacket and splash water on your face?”

Lily opened the door to the bathroom and beamed. “How can I refuse such a wonderful invitation? I’ll just be a minute.”

Philip dragged Max onto the landing and shut the door. “My mother saw the photo of Amelia. If she runs into her at the Hassler, she could ruin the whole thing. We have to keep her busy until her flight.”

“How are we going to get to Umbria?” Max frowned. “We don’t have a car.”

Philip reached into his pocket and took out a wad of euros. He flashed on Adam saying he was throwing his money in the Tiber River and shuddered. “Here, take this and go rent one.”

*   *   *

They drove in a red Fiat through the outskirts of Rome into the winding hills of Umbria. Philip glanced out the window at the deep valleys and green fields and wished he explored the countryside more often. But it cost money to rent a car or take a train and he felt nervous if he wasn’t drumming up assignments.

His mother sat in the backseat exclaiming over the medieval castles and ancient churches and tiny villages. They took photos at Lake Trasimene and sampled sheep cheese in Norcia. They ate a picnic lunch of sausages and ham and unsalted bread and washed it down with sparkling water.