The Sweetness of Liberty James (8 page)

As Liberty glanced around, savouring the clarity of the light and the cypress trees reaching up in columns to the sky, a man came dancing down the steps to the car.

‘Mr Cholmondly-Radley, welcome; Luca di Campo, manager of the most wonderful hotel in Italy, if not the world,' he said by way of introduction as he stuck out his hand. Percy took it, and said, ‘That's quite a claim. I hope you can back it up,' and then sotto voce to Liberty, ‘Bloody Italians, arrogant little Eyetie. They should stick to pinching bottoms and making handbags.'

‘Come on, darling,' replied Liberty. ‘He seems charming, and this hotel is very beautiful.' She gazed up at the facade of the building.

‘Attributed to Michelangelo,' announced the manager
proudly. ‘Please come with me, we will get you settled on the terrace with a refreshing drink while we take your luggage to your suite.'

‘I would rather check in first,' stated Percy.

‘No need, we don't do things like that here,' explained the manager kindly. ‘We have your booking, no need for any more formality, you are here to rest! Come to the terrace and relax.'

Percy professed himself disappointed to find there was no real bar, just a table set on the loggia, laid with a linen cloth holding a few bottles and glasses and a fridge for the peach juice and Prosecco in case anyone wished for a Bellini.

‘Giovanni will look after you from here,' said Luca. ‘Welcome again and enjoy your stay. Anything you need, let me know. Our little bus will take you into town, it leaves every half hour, or we can arrange a taxi.'

‘Thank you,' said Liberty, gazing out at the heavenly view towards Florence in the distance, and entranced by the hilltop setting of the hotel.

The maître d' appeared as if from nowhere. ‘The best table has been reserved for you for dinner, sir.' He indicated a table at the far end of the terrace, slightly apart from the others, and furthest away from the piano.

‘Come and sit in the garden,' said Giovanni, somehow manoeuvring them into two comfortable chairs overlooking the distant city. ‘Now, my dear lady, a fresh peach juice for you, I think? And what would sir enjoy?' Percy looked aghast at the term of endearment directed towards his wife, and Liberty could almost hear him thinking ‘Bloody Eyetie!'.

‘Whisky, single malt,' said Percy, ‘and make it a decent size!' he shouted at Giovanni's back. The maître d' acknowledged this with a nod of his head and a smile. He was used to hassled visitors who were unable to unwind from their hectic lives. A few days here and things would change.

While they waited for their drinks Liberty sat back on her comfortable cushion-filled chair, and took in the incredible
beauty of her surroundings. The gardens were terraced, flanked by one wall of the hotel. Swathed by an ancient wisteria, small garden rooms could just be seen tucked under the lower terrace where the gentle splash of water in the swimming pool soothed their ears. Near them was the lemon garden, with beautiful metal chairs covered in thick white cushions carefully arranged in groups so as to provide instant comfort wherever wanted. Some had small tables shaded by white fringed parasols, just slightly moving in the light breeze, and the whisper of the wind gave the right amount of relief from the otherwise pressurising heat of the late afternoon. Liberty felt so fortunate that she could experience this intense beauty, so far removed from the real world, and she marvelled that once in a while man could get it right, and create a paradise on earth. She made a mental note that she must tell J-T and Bob to visit; they would adore it. Percy broke into her reverie.

‘Damn the Eyeties, they are just too bloody familiar. The Ritz could teach them a thing or two. Next they will be telling us what to wear for dinner and what to eat.'

Liberty knew full well they would do exactly that, or at least strongly recommend their special dishes. All Italians try to help visitors to realise in which direction they should be going, whether culinary, sartorially or any other which way, rather than sticking to their own known world. The manager would understand that as an Englishman, Percy could well order pasta for a main course, and would try to sway him tactfully towards it as a first course, to be followed by a little meat or fish, so she simply smiled and said, ‘But Percy, just look at this place – have you ever been anywhere quite so stunning? And when have you ever stayed at the Ritz?'

Percy ignored the question and said, ‘Well, August the twelfth is pretty damned bearable if you are in the Highlands, when you have a gun in your hands.'

‘I am sure the management could arrange some shooting
here, and they probably have game on the menu. Let's just enjoy our drinks, shall we?'

She sipped her white peach juice, and settled herself back in the cushions as she realised just how delicious her drink was. This was not only because she knew it should be so, but because she felt that this drink was truly tasty. She sat bolt upright. Then she recognised it had been subtly enhanced with lemon juice.

‘What's wrong?' asked Percy, glancing up from his smartphone.

‘Nothing, nothing,' said Liberty, not daring to hope that pregnancy may indeed have been bringing back her taste buds. But she kept that fact to herself. She was so excited that her sense of taste could be returning in such a magical place, but would hate to make a thing of it, just in case it was simply the miraculous setting that had made her imagination run riot. ‘Cheers, darling, and thank you again. I feel so lucky to have you, although I do wish you didn't work so hard, you are meant to be relaxing!'

Percy looked up at his exquisite wife, in the unique setting, and wished he could be anywhere else in the world. He knew the subject of her pregnancy would pop out the moment they got to their room. Trapped. Trapped by baby, trapped by job. Why was life turning into such a chore? Didn't he deserve some fun? This weekend was meant to be oh-so different. But he managed to put his phone down, and with some effort raised his glass and said ‘To life!', before downing the amber liquid in one.

7

They chatted idly as they finished their drinks, and before they felt in any way impatient a member of staff was at their side saying their bags were in their room, and would they like to go up now?

He took them up the narrow mahogany staircase, along an arched hallway and stopped at Room Eight. He opened the double doors and they walked into a beautiful vaulted room that took up the entire width of the hotel. An enormous bed with a half-tester stood proudly in the centre against one ancient stone wall, draped heavily in red velvet; comfortable chairs sat cosily around a table; whilst all mod cons had been hidden in wooden chests and cabinets. To see the view from the shuttered windows they had to step up slightly to a ledge wide enough for both of them to stand on together. One of these windows afforded them a full vista of the bowl that held the city of Florence, like a teacup containing an exquisite hibiscus flower.

Liberty immediately moved up to the ledge, pushed open the shutters just enough to glimpse the golden dome of the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore in the valley below and gasped at the wonder of the sight before her. She knew Florence was a noisy, bustling city, but from their vantage point they only saw the glamour, the beauty, the well-known skyline, without the noise or polluted air. All was serene, bar the sound of knives and forks and happy chatter wafting up from the terrace, as late diners were still enjoying their luncheon, although by now it was nearly five o'clock.

There was the sound of a bottle popping behind her. ‘Look
what I ordered – Krug '99,' said Percy. ‘Come on, here is a glass for you. Funny they didn't offer you alcohol downstairs.'

Liberty opened her handbag and said that she wanted to get unpacked first. She couldn't help but think only of the pregnancy test she wanted to do. Percy wanted to get drunk.

‘Come on, just one glass to celebrate, and then I need to check my emails and make some calls before we go down to dinner.'

Liberty accepted the glass from Percy and took a sip, again not experiencing anything but bubbles. But she was convinced she had been right about her taste coming back before, so surely it would again? They sat with the sun peeping through the shutters, until Liberty glanced at him and blurted out, ‘So, aren't you desperate to know?'

Percy looked startled for a moment. ‘Know what, my darling? Oh yes,' he corrected himself sharply. ‘Well, go on then, but you are so sure already that little Charles is on his way, aren't you? I'm already celebrating, as you can see, but I hope that at least you won't eat for two and get all podgy like Conrad's wife did. The poor man couldn't look at her for two years until she went to that fat farm, and now everything still sags, he says.'

Oh great,
thought Liberty.
Well, I suppose that is what men want. A wife, a baby, the immaculately presentable family that seems perfect but without any change in bodily substance. Must remember to do my best to remain svelte for as long as possible, but if I AM pregnant, nothing else matters
.

She wandered through a huge arched doorway that led to the stunning bathroom, wide bath set below a window, vast shower for at least two, and an enormous vanity table inset with two basins, all enrobed in Carrara marble. In fact, it was hard to find anything that didn't seem to be carved out of the gleaming grey and white stone that flattered every skin tone, whilst adding a sense of serene calm and good taste. The ceilings were as high as those in the bedroom, with frescos along one wall that looked as though they could date from the fifteenth century, but had probably been added later.
J-T would have a field day
here
, thought Liberty as she emptied her cosmetics out of her seemingly bottomless Birkin. ‘I know I put in at least ten of the damn things, and now I can't find one,' she muttered. ‘Aha!' she exclaimed as she found a pregnancy test, feeling triumphant, like Mary Poppins when she discovered her hat stand.

For a brief moment she wondered whether being pregnant might not be the dream she had hoped for. Percy had seemed so distant the moment she said she was sure it had worked. Then she checked herself. Did she not love Percy, didn't she respect him at all? What was she doing with such a superficial man, anyway? Why hadn't she noticed his behaviour before now? She supposed it was because she had always made such an effort to be exactly the woman that Percy wanted, the perfect wife and partner, whereas now she just didn't care any longer, all she wanted was to be a mummy and have a family, with Percy. She was sure he would be a good father. He was probably just nervous. After taking a few deep breaths leaning over one of the sinks, she reassured herself that he was a good man; not too good at showing love or emotion, perhaps, but kind nonetheless. She tried to remember the man she had met all those years ago, filled with passion and drive. He would be a fine father, she reasoned, it would just take a little getting used to for him. She regained her excited feeling and threw doubt to the wind.

She tried to open one of the plastic wrappers to get into the pregnancy test and observed they were made for organised people who carried scissors wherever they went, so she hurried back into the bedroom to find a sewing kit or something similar. There was no sewing kit in the room that she could find. She looked around and saw a bottle opener on the table. Percy must have left the room to make his calls. There was a letter next to the bowl of fruit on the table that she had not noticed before. It must have just been delivered. It was addressed to Mr and Mrs Percy Smith. Out of curiosity, she opened it.

‘Welcome to the Villa San Michele. We hope to make your
honeymoon a very special and memorable one.' It was signed Luca di Campo, Manager, San Michele.

Oh no!
she thought.
We have been given their champagne and now their fruit, and it's all a mistake
. She called down to reception to correct the error.

‘I think you have mixed us up with some other guests,' she said.

‘Oh no, Madame, we have had you booked in here since you came in May,' said the lady at the end of the line. ‘I specifically remembered your husband when I saw him coming out of the elevator, so I do know that you are our special honeymoon guests, and I welcome you back to Villa San Michele. I look forward to greeting you again in person at dinner. We have your favourite Martini on ice already.'

The receptionist was pleased with herself – she would get high praise for her attention to detail. When she had arrived for the evening shift, she found that Luca, usually such a stickler, had left the note he would normally deliver himself while checking a guest's room was prepared to his satisfaction behind the desk. She had hurried upstairs, really not in her job description, and placed it in the room. It was then she saw Mr Smith walk down the corridor, talking on his phone.

Liberty's legs started shaking and she felt instantly sick. She replaced the phone in its cradle without replying. She sat down on the sofa and gazed around her. She saw Percy's briefcase by the armchair, and walked over to it. Hesitating only for an instant she placed it on the sofa and opened it, not caring about snooping, something she would abhor in any other situation. She rummaged about until she found his diary. He was sufficiently old-fashioned still to use a paper one, and also had a secretary who entered his appointments in it. Although he also put things in his smartphone, he didn't yet know exactly how to retrieve them, so this was his backup.

Sure enough: ‘September 1st–4th, Florence – send money for undies.' All through June, July and August until the shooting
season started a little tick appeared on certain days, and then on 12th August, when he had been in Derbyshire, ‘make sure G invited'.

Liberty's entire body now began to convulse. Percy had made some excuse to her, telling her that it would not be a good idea for her to go to Derbyshire this year, saying the men were shooting without their wives this time, and ‘anyway, darling, you wont feel like it after taking all those medical hormone things'.