Those Wicked Pleasures (31 page)

Jamal heard Lara say, ‘She sounds so happy, Sam. Yes …’ Jamal rose up from his knees. Lara reached for his hand. He squeezed hers and let it go, and walked round behind her. He pulled her up on to her knees and draped her skirt up around her waist. She leaned on her elbows now, trying to control herself. She found her position just as exciting as Jamal did. He caressed her bottom lovingly. She tried to stop him with a gesture and a shake of her head. But he had had enough distractions. He forced her legs wider apart, and his hands rent open the lips of her cunt. She was pink and soft. It excited him to see her thus exposed, vulnerable to his whims. He
spanked her hard, just once, then found her clitoris, and heard her words falter. She placed a hand over the receiver and said quite sharply, ‘No. Please, Jamal.’

‘No!’

With one violent push he was deep inside her. His hands on her waist he fucked her, deeper, harder, more anger and violence with every thrust. He heard her lust-ridden voice tell Sam, ‘I must go.’ She dropped the telephone.

Jamal mastered her with his cock that night. The more she came the more determined he was that her orgasm should keep coming. He used her body like a fine instrument, purpose-built for lust. By morning she was enslaved by their sexual excesses. And he more determined than ever to keep her solely for himself, for his pleasure alone. He knew no other woman who could excite passion in him, who would get down and grovel in the sexual dirt with him, and love him as she did. For that he was happy to give her everything.

In the morning they bathed together. Neither spoke about the telephone call from Sam and Bonnie. She was reluctant to look at any of the other things she had bought for her daughter. She wanted to, but she sensed that fussing about her little girl upset Jamal. Now it was she who was rationalising: a bachelor, it would take time for him to realise he was about to become a family man. To take on Lara was to take on Bonnie as well. Surely he knew that. Instead they talked about the power of sex. How they had found love through it. How he would never let her go this time round.

There were hints, and she missed them all. When he cancelled their riding that morning and charmed her out of going on her own. When he talked her out of meeting Roberto at the Uffizi, a date they had made weeks ago.

‘It’s a special invitation. A chance to see some of the
gallery’s paintings not usually seen by the public. Roberto will be disappointed. He has gone to considerable trouble to arrange things with a museum curator in order to take me.’

‘And what about me? The considerable trouble I have taken to escort you somewhere this afternoon? You mustn’t let me down on this. Really you mustn’t. Last night you told me you were mine. That submission to me was life itself. Have you forgotten so soon?’

She cancelled Roberto. But she was not unaware that he was making capital out of her grand passion for him. A danger signal she chose, foolishly, to ignore. He took the edge off his demands by suggesting they send Bonnie’s presents to the child air-express. What fun it would be for her to have them while on holiday with Sam. They duly instructed the concierge to see to it at once. They played tennis, and during the game he was called away to see a visitor. Lara remained on the court, but finally had to relinquish it, he was away too long. She sat on a bench and watched a game between two Frenchmen. Engrossed by it, she was hardly aware of Jamal’s return.

‘They’re good.’

‘No,’ she corrected, ‘they’re great. But Max could beat them.’

‘And you?’

‘Too powerful for my game.’

‘And mine?’

She turned from the players to look at Jamal. She didn’t much like the tone of his voice. It was as if he were challenging her. That made no sense. It was fanciful for her to think that, she told herself. She wanted to tell him the truth. Those two Frenchmen would cream him. She didn’t dare, but she wouldn’t lie to him either. Instead she said, ‘Ask them for a game.’

He seemed pleased enough with her answer. Had she
imagined the glint in his eyes? She must have, for it was not there now, and he was next to her, his arm around her. They walked arm in arm to the open car waiting to take them the five miles back to the Villa San Michele. In the back seat of the car he played with her hair, kept touching it. She caught him off guard, and he was embarrassed at the tenderness he felt for her. He made an excuse. ‘I have always been enchanted by your hair. So silvery.’

‘Mother still calls it Christmas-tree angel hair.’

At the Villa he stopped her before she went into the hotel. ‘Let’s walk.’ There were several marked trails through the extensive parkland of the Villa. They took one and then another uphill, among the olive trees and rocks, pausing often to gaze upon the spectacular view of the Arno valley below them. They didn’t talk much, absorbed by the landscape, the warm sun, the scent of spring and cypress, wild herbs and flowers. The world had stood still for them, and they were sensitive to the luxury of that.

In their rooms they bathed and changed for lunch. He never minded waiting for her, seemed to take some pleasure in her primping. He read the papers. When she finally appeared, he stood up, went to her and raised her hands to kiss her fingers. ‘Perfect!’

Smiling with pleasure she asked, ‘Perfect for what?’

‘For me. For the occasion. For lunch.’

She had chosen to wear an ivory-coloured dress of the finest linen, an Armani purchased the day before. It had no collar but a plunging neckline over a perfectly tight-fitting, well-tailored bodice, designed to emphasise the huge balloon accordion-pleated sleeves worn tight at the wrists. The skirt to just below her knees was slim, nearly form-fitting. Around her waist was a wide belt of black patent leather. She wore black shoes and carried a black
alligator handbag: a large flat envelope with a buckle of gold. Her long silver-blonde hair was dressed in a French twist that rested low on the nape of her neck and was held in place by a band of lily of the valley, fresh and enchanting. On one wrist she wore a pair of antique-ivory African tribal bracelets, on the other three more. In her ears diamonds, large and square, a gift from Sam for their second anniversary.

On their way to The Loggia they passed by a large, gilt-framed mirror. Lara caught a fleeting glimpse of herself and Jamal. She saw them as a dramatically handsome and romantic couple. For a moment she thought she was being fanciful again, until she also caught the reflections of several people looking at them. It was in their faces. Everyone loves a lover, but even more so a glamorous and romantic couple in love. She raised her chin that little bit higher and tried to suppress the glee she felt. It was impossible. She laughed aloud, bursting with happiness.

‘Share it with me,’ he asked.

‘We’re like movie lovers. Perfectly inspirational. As if we had it all. The looks, romance, love. As if our message was “We’re perfect, but not unique. You too can have what we have. All it takes is love.” I can see it in the people watching us. The way they smile as we pass them, the guests and the staff as well.’

At that moment they passed another mirror. Jamal stopped and they turned to view each other. He smiled at her in the mirror. He was mightily proud of her as she was at this time in her life. All the beautiful women he had ever had rolled into one. And it was true they were unbeatable as a couple. She would give him the sons he wanted, the life he wanted to live.

In The Loggia now they were ushered to their table. He was not unaware of the men admiring Lara as they
walked past other diners. Ordinarily it amused him. He was not amused today. It actually put him on edge. Instead of taking their chairs, they sat on the balustrade facing each other and looking down into the lush garden and across the roof-tops of Florence. Faintly, almost imperceptibly, they could hear the church bells ringing out across the Duomo and the spires and towers of the city. It was the most perfect day. Sun and warmth and no breeze. Birds singing, the hum of other people’s chatter, a small grand piano at the end of The Loggia played this afternoon by a pretty young woman, who had chosen Gershwin, Cole Porter and Jerome Kern. The music was sensitive, tender, and so very amorous. Head-in-the-clouds music. It and the place wrought magic upon Jamal and Lara, lulled them into drinking their Kir Royals in silence.

He had meant to ask her at the end of a perfect lunch, over a delicious dessert. His intention was to be very romantic. For he had never done this before, and would he ever do it again? But he could wait no longer. The waiter was refilling her glass.

‘Say yes.’

Lara’s mind had been adrift in time and space while she gazed over the city far below. The abundant spire-shape cypresses, the olive trees on the surrounding hills, the thread of the river Arno – a definitive Tuscan landscape. She turned away from it to face him. Puzzled, she asked, ‘What?’

‘Say yes. Just say yes.’

Lara laughed, took a sip of her wine, and smiling affectionately at him, said, ‘I might. If you gave me the question.’

He looked surprised. For some reason he seemed unable to ask her. This was ridiculous. He wanted her for his wife, but the very idea of making such a
commitment suddenly stymied him. He had been evading marriage, the appalling commitment it entailed, for as long as that option had been open to him. And now she had brought him to this.

‘Aren’t I allowed to know the question?’

‘Just say yes. Why won’t you say yes? Have I ever asked you to say yes to something you didn’t want?’

‘That’s hardly the point here.’

‘That is precisely the point. If you love me and trust me, what does the question matter, when you see how much I need you to say yes?’

His voice was rent with anxiety. She had never seen him in such a state of nerves before. ‘Jamal, what matters is that you give me a choice about saying yes or not. Without the question, you deny me the right to choose. This is not a matter of trust or love or loyalty. I give myself unconditionally to you, willingly, happily, because I have the freedom to do that.’ She thought she sounded as if she were on a soap-box furthering some cause, so she stopped, remained silent for several seconds, and then said, ‘This is absurd. What are we going on about?’ She placed her glass on the balustrade, reached out and took his hands in hers. She raised each hand in turn to kiss them.

Never had he wanted her more than he did at that moment. She was lovelier, more his than she had ever been any man’s. He smiled back at her, all charm and seductive good looks. Back in control. He asked her, ‘Would you do me the honour of marrying me?’

The maitre d’ was standing in front of them, menus in hand. He would willingly have evaporated. But, for Lara and Jamal, it was as if he wasn’t there. They were locked into each other. The poor man wanted to leave, but was reluctant to imperil the spell of the moment. Inching slowly backwards, he removed himself from the romantic scene.

Lara, more overcome with emotion than surprise, exclaimed: ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Have you any doubts?’

‘None.’

Jamal slid across the balustrade to sit closer to her. ‘Then put me out of my misery. Say yes.’

He took her in his arms and kissed her lovingly on the lips. She smiled and said her simple yes.

They sat there in silence, gazing into each other’s eyes. He reached up with his finger to trace the outline of her eyebrow several times, stroke the bridge of her nose, and then, with the back of his hand, graze her cheek. ‘The best laid plans … I don’t know what I would have done had you not said yes. I wanted it all to be so perfect, romantic for you. Hence the Gershwin, Cole Porter and Jerome Kern. You were playing them that first night when I decided to seduce you into my bed. I was taking you to the opera. Remember? I do, every delectable moment of that night.’

‘I was such an innocent then.’

‘And hungry. Oh, so very hungry for love, and sex.’

‘Nothing seems to have changed,’ she quipped.

It lightened the moment and brought smiles to their faces. ‘I’ve ordered a marvellous lunch for us. Some of your favourite things. Whole bowls of caviare for each of us, and thin pancakes to spread the Beluga on. Dollops of sour cream, too, I know what a piggy you are for that. There are other dishes I know you find irresistible. I intended to seduce you with food, lull you with exquisite wines then, over the chocolate soufflé, propose. But suddenly I couldn’t wait. To go through that meal without knowing your answer became impossible. My dear, you have turned me into a jelly-fish. A wobbly, transparent thing swimming against a tide of angst.’

‘I hope not! I’ve been stung badly by jelly-fish. But
it is nice to know that I have the power to make you, even for a few minutes, feel vulnerable, out of control. It’s good for you, and does wonders for my ego.’ It was said in jest, but not entirely. And Lara was relieved to see he was too happy really to notice that she was crowing over the hold she had upon him. She teased him, ‘And what was to happen after the pudding?’

‘You were to say yes, and I was to give you this.’ He reached into his pocket and withdrew a Van Cleef and Arpels ring box. ‘While I abandoned you on the tennis courts, the jeweller flew in with a selection of baubles. I was choosing one, a gift to commemorate a momentous occasion.’

‘You were very sure of me. That I would say yes.’

‘True, until the very last minute, when everything was arranged, and all you had to do was agree.’

She opened the lid of the box. The ring sparkled up at her. The large, square-cut emerald surrounded by a band of square-cut diamonds was a riveting sight, the colour of green fire surrounded by white ice. It dazzled. She was quite overcome and could find no words. He stepped in to ease a moment that was fast becoming too emotional.

‘I preferred a larger stone, round, with two rows of diamonds. But I thought, Hold on. You’re marrying a Stanton, Emily and Henry’s daughter, and with this ring Emily might say, “Large, but respectably elegant, certainly not vulgar, if worn on gala occasions only.” ’

They shared a laugh against Emily as the ring found its way on to Lara’s finger. With Jamal holding her hand, together they looked at it. ‘Well?’ he asked.