Authors: Anita Hughes
“Your father insisted we take a nap but I couldn’t wait to see you.” Lily wiped her brow. “I forgot Rome in August is so humid, it’s worse than New York.”
“What are you doing in Rome?” Philip sat down opposite her.
“Your father was going to throw a big party for my birthday,” Lily explained. “But then the hurricane approached and everyone scattered. I suggested we come to Rome, I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather celebrate.”
“Happy birthday.” Philip kissed her on the cheek. “Now I’ll have to buy you a present.”
“It’s not until tomorrow, one doesn’t want to turn sixty a day early,” Lily mused. “I’m going to buy myself a silk Versace dress and Bottega Veneta heels.”
“You look wonderful.” Philip nodded. “You could still walk the runway.”
“That’s why one has children, so they can pay you compliments.” Lily gazed at Philip’s blue blazer and tan slacks. “You’re all dressed up, were you meeting someone?”
“I have an errand to run.” Philip stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“I won’t keep you.” Lily waved her hand. “I wanted to see if you’d join us for dinner tomorrow night.”
Philip pictured his father in his three-piece herringbone suit and tasseled shoes and frowned.
“You can’t say no to your mother on her birthday,” Lily pleaded. “I made reservations at Mirabelle, it has the best view in Rome.”
Philip gazed at his mother’s glossy auburn hair and remembered birthday parties when he was young. He saw pony rides in Central Park and ice-skating in Rockefeller Center. He pictured the private dining room at Tavern on the Green filled with blue and white balloons and a three-tier chocolate fondant cake.
“Of course I’ll come to dinner.” Philip smiled. “What time?”
“I’m so happy!” Lily exclaimed. “Your father can’t eat sugar so there’s no one to share my cake.”
“We’ll have beef tartar and wild salmon with Parmesan fondue and hazelnut mascarpone for dessert.” Philip smiled.
“I feel festive already.” Lily stood up and grabbed her purse. “I’m going to visit the boutiques on the Via Condotti and then I’m going to the hotel and take a bath. The bathtub has the most wonderful neck massager, when I step out I feel ten years younger.”
* * *
Philip put the glass in the sink and heard the door open. He turned around and saw Max clutching a brown envelope. His cheeks were pale and he had fresh stubble on his chin.
“You just missed my mother,” Philip said. “They flew in to celebrate her birthday, I have to join them for dinner tomorrow night.”
“These are the rest of the photos of Amelia.” Max slid the envelope across the table. “I thought you might want them.”
Philip opened the envelope and saw a photo of Amelia strolling along the Via Veneto. There were pictures of her trying on leather sandals at Prada and white sunglasses at Fendi. There were photos of her and Sophie eating gelato at Caffé Greco and sitting on the steps of Saint Peter’s Basilica.
“She has the loveliest smile,” Philip sighed. “I’m going to ask her to dinner tonight, I know she’s going to say she’ll marry me.”
“She was here yesterday evening,” Max said slowly.
“She was here?” Philip raised his eyebrow. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Mirabella is considering divorcing the count, we had to see a lawyer,” Max replied. “Amelia saw the stack of photos on the dining room table.”
“What did you tell her?” Philip asked.
“I said I was thinking of starting a photography business.” Max shrugged. “Then she saw your article on the desk, she made me tell her everything.”
“What do you mean ‘everything’?” Philip said slowly.
“That you saw her photo at the press conference and recognized the maid who fell asleep in your taxi.” Max gulped. “I said it was my idea to write the series of articles and Adam offered to pay you twenty thousand dollars.”
“You told her that?” Philip sucked in his breath.
“She asked about the ring and I said you borrowed it.”
“How could you?” Philip spluttered. “I just came back from the office. I told Adam I couldn’t write the articles about Amelia, I’m in love with her.”
“She locked the door and said she wouldn’t leave unless I told her the whole story,” Max said miserably. “I feel like one of those medieval knights, I want to die on my sword.”
Philip paced around the room and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It’s not your fault, I should never have lied.”
“You didn’t tell me you were in love with her,” Max moaned.
Philip pictured Amelia in her pink satin evening gown and white silk gloves. He saw her large brown eyes and small pink mouth.
“I didn’t realize until a few days ago.” He jumped up. “I have to go see her.”
“I told her to wait and you’d explain everything.” Max put his head in his hands. “But she said she never wanted to see you again.”
* * *
Philip entered the Hassler and crossed the black and gold marble lobby. He pictured Amelia’s creamy skin and slender shoulders and felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He strode to the elevator and pressed the button for the seventh floor.
“Excuse me.” Ernesto rushed over to him. “This is a private elevator, it is only for hotel guests.”
“It’s me, Ernesto.” Philip turned around. “I need to see Amelia.”
“Mr. Hamilton,” Ernesto said stiffly. “I’m afraid you can’t use the elevator.”
“I know Amelia is staying in the Villa Medici Suite.” Philip pressed the button. “I must talk to her.”
“Please come to the concierge desk,” Ernesto insisted. “Or I will have to ask you to leave.”
Philip glanced at Ernesto’s slick black hair and gold uniform. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed him to the marble concierge desk.
“You don’t understand.” Philip leaned over the desk. “There’s been a terrible misunderstanding and I need to speak to her right away.”
“Miss Tate left instructions that she did not want to see you,” Ernesto replied.
“It’s all a mistake.” Philip rubbed his forehead. “If I can just talk to her I can explain.”
“I’m sorry.” Ernesto turned to his computer. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“You can give her a note.” Philip grabbed a piece of paper.
“She said she does not want any more letters.” Ernesto tapped on his keyboard.
Philip wanted to reach across the counter and grab a hotel key. He wanted to race to the elevator and shut the doors behind him.
“Ernesto, have you ever wanted something so badly you’d do anything to get it?” Philip searched his pockets and drew out a twenty-lire note.
“Our conversation is over.” Ernesto glanced at the money. “I must assist other guests.”
“I’ll buy you a plane ticket to New York,” Philip implored. “You can visit the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building.”
“I do not want to alert security,” Ernesto threatened.
Philip’s shoulders sagged. He ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. “Miss Tate is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, don’t you want her to be happy?”
Ernesto glanced up from his computer and shrugged. “I’m sorry, I cannot discuss Hassler guests.”
* * *
Philip sat in a Louis XIV chair at the Hassler Bar. He reached into his pocket and drew out the black velvet box. He snapped it open and stared at the oval diamond ring. He put it on the table and signaled to a waiter.
“A dry martini please,” he said. “No ice.”
* * *
Philip entered Mirabelle and scanned the dining room. Wide windows overlooked the Vatican Gardens and the Villa Borghese. There were thick ivory carpets and crystal vases filled with white and yellow lilies. Philip saw tables set with gold inlaid china and gleaming silverware.
“There you are,” Lily beamed. She wore a silver Dior evening gown. Her hair fell smoothly to her shoulders and she wore a diamond necklace around her neck. “Your father just gave me his present, isn’t this necklace lovely?”
“You look beautiful.” Philip kissed his mother on the cheek. He wore a white dinner jacket with a black tie and black slacks. His hair was brushed over his forehead and his cheeks glistened with aftershave. “You get younger every day.”
“It’s my new hair color. The stylist said it’s the same color Sophia Loren wears.” Lily patted her hair.
A tall man in a white dinner jacket approached the table. He had thick gray hair and gray eyes and a cleft on his chin. He wore a gold Patek Philippe watch and black leather Bruno Maglis.
“Philip, I’m glad you could join us.” John held out his hand. “I was sorting out the wine with the maître d’. I asked him to uncork a bottle of 1986 Chateau Margaux.”
“You didn’t have to bring your own wine,” Lily murmured.
“It’s your sixtieth birthday.” John sat on a high-backed velvet chair. “I’ve been saving this bottle for years.”
“Your father had a whole birthday weekend planned.” Lily turned to Philip. “A golf tournament at Southampton and a tennis match at St. George’s and a dinner dance at the Elbow Beach Resort. Then it started raining and everyone left on their private jets.”
“You should come to Bermuda next August.” John tore an olive baguette. “The strongest business relationships are formed on the eighteenth hole of the Port Royal Golf Course.”
Philip glanced at his father’s steel gray eyes and flinched. “I’ve never been able to swing a golf club and I’m allergic to mosquito bites.”
“I’d much rather celebrate my birthday in Rome,” Lily interrupted, her cheeks flushing. “You must try the fresh goose liver with cherry brioche, it’s a house specialty.”
Philip watched while the waiter served creamy onion soup and rack of lamb with a raspberry crust. He gazed at his father meticulously cutting his meat and his stomach clenched.
“We received an invitation to Andrew Claxton’s wedding,” Lily said, eating a spoonful of risotto. “Didn’t you room with him your second year at Yale? He’s marrying Sarah Groton; she went to Smith and works at Sotheby’s. The ceremony is going to be at Trinity Church followed by a reception at the Carlyle.”
“It’s important to marry the right person.” John ate a large bite of lamb. “Your mother has always given the best dinner parties, she has impeccable taste.”
“We were wondering about the girl you proposed to.” Lily turned to Philip. “We don’t know anything about her.”
Philip held his wineglass so tightly he thought it would snap. He put down his fork and straightened his shoulders.
“You didn’t come to Rome for your birthday,” he seethed. “You came to see who I wanted to marry.”
“You called and asked to borrow ten thousand dollars to buy a diamond ring. Your mother convinced me to wire the money even though we knew nothing about her.” John frowned. “Of course we’re curious.”
“Don’t be angry.” Lily touched Philip’s hand. “We’re thrilled you want to get married but last time we were here you never mentioned you were seeing someone. It’s easy to pick the wrong person when you’re away from family and friends.”
“I’ve lived in Rome for three years and I have great friends,” Philip said icily.
“Friends you grew up with,” Lily murmured.
“I don’t mind lending you the money but you have to consider our position.” John sipped his wine. “You’ll be representing Hamilton and Sons at charity and society functions all over Manhattan. Your wife has to have a certain…”
“Class? Breeding? You make it sound like a dog show.” Philip’s eyes flickered. “Amelia is the most wonderful girl I’ve ever met. She has eyes like a young deer and the grace of a dancer. She’s articulate and intelligent and her smile lights up a room.”
“She sounds lovely,” Lily murmured, eating taglierini and baby peas. “You should have brought her to dinner, we can’t wait to meet her.”
“I would have done anything for her but unfortunately she turned me down.” Philip’s eyes were dark. “I’m going to work at Hamilton and Sons because I’m a man of my word. But the minute I pay back your two hundred thousand dollars I never want to speak to either of you again.”
Philip threw his napkin on his plate and pushed back his chair. He looked at his mother and frowned. “I’m sorry to ruin your birthday, but I just lost my appetite.”
* * *
Philip walked along the Via di Porta Pinciana. The sky was a swath of black velvet and all of Rome lay at his feet. He saw the stone buildings of the National Museum and the gray ruins of the Pantheon.
He wanted to hail a taxi and go to the Hassler. He wanted to wait in the lobby until Amelia walked through the gold revolving doors.
He remembered what Ernesto said and knew he would call security and kick him out. He strode along the Via del Corso to his apartment. He climbed the metal staircase and opened the door. He loosened his tie and buried his head in his hands.
Amelia sat at a mahogany table in the Hassler Bar and picked at a silver bowl of pistachios. She glanced at women in shimmering cocktail dresses and men in white dinner jackets and wished Sophie was back from Pompeii.
She spent the evening browsing in the shops on the Via Condotti. She considered going to Caffé Greco and ordering linguini with scampi but she wasn’t hungry. She walked back to the Hassler and entered the glass revolving doors.
Suddenly she didn’t want to sit in the Villa Medici Suite and nibble a room service caprese salad. She didn’t want to change into a silk robe and curl up with
Vogue
and a cup of English breakfast tea.
“You look familiar.” A woman sat at the next table. She had auburn hair and wore a silver Dior evening gown. She had a diamond necklace around her neck and clutched a quilted Chanel purse.
“I’m Amelia Tate.” Amelia blushed. “I’m an actress.”
“I mainly see classic movies.” The woman shrugged. “I’m a huge fan of Lauren Bacall and Grace Kelly and Audrey Hepburn.”
“I’m in Rome filming the remake of
Roman Holiday
,” Amelia replied, sipping a glass of amaretto and cream.
“Audrey Hepburn is my favorite actress!” the woman exclaimed. “When I was young I used to carry around a gold cigarette holder like Holly Golightly in
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
. I’ve seen all her movies, I cry every time I watch
Two for the Road
and then I press replay and watch it again.”