Authors: Roberta Latow
Vittorio was approaching her now with his offering of flowers. He always had a happy heart, though his life at times had not been easy. His greatest asset was his strength of will and knowing how to cherish every day, no matter how bad it might be or what disappointments or tragedies might accompany it. And Vittorio had had his share of tragedies, bad times over the years: his impossible marriage to Janine, the birth of his three sons whom she had kidnapped away from him, the tragic death of his first-born, and finally the suicide of Janine, then after the return of his boys, bringing them up as a single parent. That was why everyone who knew him had a degree of admiration and respect for him. He had weathered his lot in life, the scandals and the pain Janine caused him, without complaint or bitterness. Vittorio was steadfast. Eliza saw him as essentially a simple man who knew how to live without complications. But the women he chose were more complex, drawn to him for his pure and simple qualities, his sexuality, his sense of belonging to the earth. All that was going on in Eliza’s mind when Vittorio dropped to his knees at her feet and laid the
bouquet in her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him on the lips, then picked up the bouquet and pressed her face into the flowers, the better to take in their perfume.
Vittorio removed her straw hat from her head and placed it on the ground next to him. Then reaching around, he broke the band that held her plait and proceeded to unbraid it and arrange her hair around her face and over her shoulders. He gathered some of the strands and pressed them to his lips, then gave her, a more intimate kiss on the lips. ‘Hello, Eliza. You look like a painting sitting here in your Tuscan garden.’
Very gently Vittorio raised the hem of her skirt and kissed it, then rolled it back, exposing her thighs. Eliza watched him as he snapped the silk strings of her bikini underpants and lowered the triangle of cream-coloured silk to expose her mound of very blonde pubic hair. He caressed it, and the crease between her thigh and the mound, and then opened her legs and caressed the inside of her thighs.
‘I love you, Eliza, adore you. You are the sweet life for me,’ he told her, voice husky with desire.
Placing his hands on her legs, he pulled her gently forward on the small artist’s seat. Eliza leaned back and gathered several handfuls of cypress. She clung on to them to keep her balance and watched Vittorio’s face as he lowered it to place his mouth upon her sex and licked, kissed, and made love to it. Once he had the taste of her in his mouth and he was assured that she had come, he carried her dew upon his lips to hers and they kissed, a kiss of tenderness and passion.
Then arm and arm together they walked up the drive to the villa, Vittorio telling her about his day, Eliza
listening, always attentive to his every word. In the house he walked them into the library where he closed and locked the door and was almost immediately undressed. He bent her over the back of the sofa and raised her skirts. Eliza enjoyed being taken from behind, especially in that position. The fucking was deep and astonishingly sexy for them both. Carried away in a kind of animal lust she asked for and received the sting of the flat of his hand as he spanked the solidly fleshy orbs of her bottom. They came in a burst of orgasm and slid together in a panting heap to the floor.
Some minutes later, Vittorio asked, ‘Do you think me an animal?’
‘Vittorio!’
‘I mean to have an answer, Eliza.’
‘I have no problem answering the question, I am only astonished that you should ask that and curious as to why?’
‘Today, when I was riding with Signora Dix, she couldn’t speak to me. She never even made conversation about your tea party, never mentioned your name. And the way she stole glances at me … they were more of puzzlement than interest. Yes, I think she thinks I’m an animal, and I guess she finds the farmer and his lady a bit shocking.’ All this was said with good humour.
Eliza knew him well enough to understand that what Amanda Dix thought mattered not at all to him. He had a very solid and healthy ego, a sureness of himself, and that very special Italian male arrogance, all of which he never over indulged.
Eliza pulled herself on to his lap and said, ‘I think
you’re looking for compliments. You know very well you are a sexual animal, by which I mean you can let go in sex, forget the moral code and enjoy sex for the sheer pleasure of it. You excite yourself and your partner to go to tremendous lengths to experience total ecstasy, without thought for your actions. You wear your sexuality like a strong cologne, that’s what women are attracted to, what I am sure Amanda Dix is aware of. I think we unsettle her perfect world because we have something she and her husband are not prepared to accept: passion. Does that answer your question?’
‘You’re so clever about us, Eliza. I regret our lost years even though I know they were something we had to go through to get where we are now. In that car with Signora Dix, I felt a sadness for her and didn’t know why. I do now. Maybe one day we can make up to her for her loss – her inability to consider throwing down her life for love.’
Amanda and Philip were in Florence where he had been invited to examine what was purported to be a newly found Giotto. Controversy raged as to its authenticity. They entered the bar of the Excelsior Hotel for glasses of champagne poured into a tall flute over small white peaches. Miss Dix and Mr Markham were well known by the barman and waiters and were greeted with enthusiasm. They took a small table on the upper level of the bar. The place at this hour was always fun and always elegant because it was here that the most interesting of the scholars and travellers stopped for that first early-evening drink, and because the barman was a master of his craft. It was as much a meeting place as a bar, and it was rare not to see an internationally famous writer or successful poet, celebrated painter or connoisseur – anyone with a need to see Florence again. Florence was an addiction. You always had to have more of it. And of course there was the shopping which was paradise, be it for antiquities, jewellery, leather or bed linen. Philip always said about the Excelsior Bar, ‘You wait long enough and you are sure to recognise someone you know, or at least wish you did know.’
The room was a third full by the time they arrived.
There was that lovely social buzz about the place that adds to the pleasure of drinking. It was about twenty minutes after their arrival when over the rim of Amanda’s crystal flute she saw Eliza Flemming enter the room on the arm of a very handsome and distinguished-looking man, well dressed in a dark grey suit, white shirt and handsome tie, a pale pink silk handkerchief frothing just above the edge of his breast pocket. They went directly to stand at the bar. Amanda was astounded and said aloud, ‘And where, pray, is Heathcliff?’
‘Heathcliff? I doubt your Tuscan Heathcliff has even heard of the Excelsior Bar, never mind been here, Amanda. What are you talking about?’
Amanda turned to Philip and told him, ‘I dare say you’re right, but his fiancée has. The pretty blonde dressed in the black linen suit with the white lapels – she’s the pale rider come off her horse. It’s Eliza Flemming.’
Philip, who had never seen Eliza except through his binoculars and Amanda’s eyes, looked across the room. It was at that moment that the man raised Eliza’s hands and lowered his head to place a kiss upon each of them. The look that passed between them and the smiles that crossed their lips showed an obvious intimacy.
‘She’s far more smart-looking than you led me to believe,’ said Philip.
‘I suppose she dresses down for her farmer. Now I’m more curious about her than ever.’
It was at that moment that Lord Michael Fenchurch, once Ambassador to Italy, a position which he’d held for many years though now retired and living in a
magnificent palazzo, joined Eliza at the bar. Like her, Lord Michael was accompanied by a man. All four greeted each other and certainly not as strangers. Amanda and Philip knew Lord Michael and his wife very well. They had often been guests at the palazzo. The Fenchurches had been, for many generations, connected with Tuscany. They were members of the old guard English in residence and very influential in Italy.
‘This is getting more interesting by the minute,’ said Philip.
Tables were now rapidly being taken over by new arrivals to the bar, people greeting one another and joining friends. Several of them as they passed by Eliza and her small group stopped to greet the men with her; she seemed to know none of them. An American painter living in Florence, on the way to her table where friends were waiting, stopped briefly to say hello to Amanda and Philip. It was then that they very nearly missed Eliza and her friends. They were passing the table on the way to theirs when Lord Michael saw them and stopped. Eliza of course recognised Amanda. They greeted one another warmly and Philip invited Lord Michael and his friends to join their table. There was that sociable moment of ‘Why not? The more the merrier,’ and chairs were brought to the table.
It was Lord Michael who made the introductions. ‘Eliza, I see you already know Amanda and Philip?’
‘No. Actually, I only know Amanda, we had tea together,’ she answered, and offered Philip her hand. The two of them shook hands and exchanged smiles.
‘Ah, then let me make the rest of the introductions, gentlemen. Amanda Dix and Philip Markham,
friends of mine. Amanda, Philip, may I present Dr Antonio Rinaldi and Pietro Portinari?’ Everyone stood around the small table shaking hands and exchanging greetings.
Lord Michael continued, ‘Pietro is Eliza’s closest neighbour and Antonio is a Florentine. Philip and Amanda have a charming place in your area, Eliza. But then, of course, you know that, you’ve been there for tea. I think I’m going dotty in my old age!’
‘Do you often come down to Florence, Eliza?’ asked Amanda.
‘No, not often.’
Amanda was thinking, She doesn’t give much away, when she heard Antonio say, ‘Mostly when we call on her to troubleshoot for us, as she has done now. She’s constantly putting me in her debt.’
‘How intriguing. You mustn’t leave us to guess what you have been doing here, Eliza?’
‘It’s always good to have a magistrate on your side, especially one who has been on the executive board of the health service,’ teased Antonio.
‘You make it sound as if Eliza is a woman to take sides. Very naughty of you, Antonio,’ chided Lord Michael.
‘How very extraordinary, Eliza. An Englishwoman being an Italian magistrate, and also having been an executive in the Italian Health Service?’
‘You make it sound much more important than it was or is, Amanda. I was born here in Italy. My mother was half-Italian so I carry dual citizenship. I needed a job, got hired and did the work. Still serve as what you in England would call a circuit judge.’
‘I think that’s a bit of a simplification of the facts, Eliza,’ said Pietro.
Now it was Antonio’s turn to satisfy Amanda’s curiosity. ‘Luckily for me she needed a job, because when I returned to Italy several years ago and got heavily involved in the Health Service, it was an utter mess. I knew she would be the woman to get us straight here in Florence. She sorted out the entire service in Tuscany, then left us for law rather than medicine. Still, we can’t complain. She troubleshoots for us when we’re desperate and we can prise her away from her beloved villa.’
‘I had no idea you worked, Eliza.’
‘Only when finances demand. Now enough about me, what are you doing in Florence?’ she asked Amanda.
It was clear to Eliza over several drinks, amusing chatter and a fascinating discussion of the painting that Philip had just viewed, that Amanda and he had been charmed by Antonio and considered him a suitable match for her. They could barely hide their disappointment when he announced he must leave them because he was meeting his wife.
Eliza watched him as he walked away from their table. The past was the past but he would always have a place in her heart for those years shared in Egypt. When they had parted that day by the pyramids, she’d honestly thought he might do as Anwar had said
he
would: never make contact again. But Antonio did make contact, not as a lover or even as a former lover but as a friend who needed her help. It was he who recommended her for the job in the Health Service, and with the help of Lord Michael pulled the
right strings to make sure she got it. For Eliza the job had been a godsend. The villa had needed repairs and the revenue from the estate certainly would not stretch to them. Antonio and Eliza rarely saw each other, that was the way it had been since his return from Egypt and there was never a time when she thought that was strange. They both seemed to understand it was a way of leaving the past, something marvellous that was over, firmly in the past so that it might remain set apart and they might get on with their lives. Only once had there been a certain something in their eyes for each other that reminded them of that period in their lives, then it had vanished as quickly as it had come. They were friends who knew little about each other’s emotional lives any more.
Pietro tapped Eliza on the arm. ‘We must go, we’ve missed the early-evening rush of traffic, I hope.’
‘I’ll come to see you off,’ offered Lord Michael.
‘We’ll all walk you to the car,’ suggested Amanda.
Philip would have preferred to stay for another drink but had been put in an awkward position, so they rose as a group and left the bar. He was seeing more of the interest Amanda had in Eliza Flemming. She did have a certain quiet charm, a simplicity about her that got under the skin, and there was an air of sensuality about her that was mysterious. She appeared to be neither particularly wise or clever and yet she had held down very difficult jobs and from what he had heard had made a success of them. She had friends in high places. Had she lovers there as well? Was this Englishwoman, and she
was
very much an Englishwoman, really going to marry the farmer who cut their fields twice a year? Whatever for!
The doorman snapped to attention when he saw the group coming through the entrance and into the street. He was effusive in his salute, winning smiles from Pietro and Eliza with his expressions of gratitude for being allowed to drive the 1937 Rolls-Royce tourer with a drop head which had been down to the garage to be filled with petrol.
‘What a marvellous car, Pietro, in such mint condition. What a lucky man you are to own such a beautiful object,’ exclaimed Philip.
‘You mean, what a lucky lady Eliza is. It’s her car, I only run it in rallies.’
‘And maintain it and all the other cars in the most perfect condition, otherwise they would be falling to bits in the barns. What fun it was for me to ride into Florence in it!’ Then she turned to Pietro and kissed him on the cheek, adding, ‘It was good of you to drive me today.’
There were eight or ten people around the car admiring it, a Japanese with a camera snapping away from every angle. Amanda, quite stunned that Eliza should own such a prize, felt she had to say something. It was not that she begrudged a compliment, simply that surprise had caught her out. All she managed was, ‘You are a woman who surprises, Eliza.’
Eliza was nearly amused enough to say, ‘Is that a compliment or a reprimand?’ but thought better of it. Instead she said, possibly too pointedly, ‘I imagine we will meet again.’
Amanda, Philip, Lord Michael and the band of admirers watched as Pietro drove the car away, Eliza by his side. ‘Will they make it home tonight, do you think?’ asked Amanda.
‘They think they will, but I have my doubts,’ answered Lord Michael.
‘Am I to understand that Eliza Flemming has a collection of vintage cars, Michael?’ asked Philip.
‘Every one the family has ever purchased, and all maintained, driven and endowed by Pietro and his team of vintage car enthusiasts. Eliza could never afford to do it, and even if she could, she would not. She’s a Forrester and a Montecatini, and they have a history of not bothering with their possessions. They have lived in that divine house and on that small but exquisite estate, on a shoestring for several generations. They are the most charming and eccentric of families, always have been for as long as anyone can remember. Their house is known for being a family home always with an open door and a good table. They are a family who always seem happiest in their own company. One is always welcome there but rarely invited. They have never been social animals, and especially not so with the other English families who have been living in Tuscany for many generations. They have always maintained closer relationships with the Tuscan families from the simple peasant farmer to the dukes, even the papacy. We always know where to go when we need a favour, they are known for the quiet influence they can wield without even trying. Julian Forrester was like that, Dulcima’s father before him, and his father before him, and now little Eliza. It runs in the blood, I think.
‘Do get yourself invited to the Villa Montecatini. You will have a splendid day, and the house … well, you will be astounded: genteel poverty meets eighteenth-century Italian furniture at its best. Frescos,
paintings, Etruscan treasures, Greek vases, carpets, curtains, French eighteenth-century screens, seventeenth-century tapestries … they have no idea what they have there and wouldn’t care if they did. It’s just home to them. Well, we all love them for it. The Forresters have simple souls, kind hearts, and a passion for living free from stress, away from the world and the way it turns. For as long as I can remember they have lived the way they want to live, without giving a fig for what anyone else thinks, and good for them, say I. Well, I must be off. Come to dinner next week. I’ll have Edwina call you.’
Lady Fenchurch did call and a week later Philip and Amanda went to dinner at their palazzo and stayed the night. The following morning Amanda was the first of the guests down for breakfast. Edwina Fenchurch was already there wearing a broad-brimmed sun hat, sitting on the terrace at the breakfast table. They greeted each other warmly and Amanda took her seat. The Fenchurches lived in rather grand style. There was no shortage of staff, all Tuscan except for Sir Michael’s valet, Quimby, and the butler, Webster, who had both been serving the Fenchurches for nearly forty years. Webster poured fresh peach juice into a glass for Amanda, placed a plate on the white linen mat in front of her together with a small basket wherein nestled on a crisp lace-trimmed napkin small croissants, brioches, and pecan rolls oozing swirls of sticky maple syrup.
As Amanda and her hostess were looking out across the magnificent gardens to the hills beyond, Amanda spoke up. ‘This is so different from our view at home. Ah, the charm of the Tuscan hills. Changing but always beautiful. We love our view, and now I find
it even more charming because every morning I watch a woman riding a great white stallion. I have dubbed her the pale rider. She rides up and down the hills to the valley below as if she were one with her horse and they a part of the landscape. She’s an Englishwoman called Eliza Flemming.’
‘I could have guessed that. Her mother rode the same way. In fact Julian, Eliza’s father, and all five of the Forrester girls were terrifically accomplished riders.’