Authors: Roberta Latow
They entered the room just as they were passing over the white cliffs of Dover. As if by magic the gray light
disappeared and the sun broke through. The English Channel sparkled like a vast sheet of sequins.
Just as she saw the white cliffs of Dover receding under the bright sunlight, Anthony put his arm around her and said, with a wry smile, “You know, I made a terrible mistake a long time ago. I should never have encouraged you to make a life of your own, away from me. I should have kept you like a prisoner, locked up only for me when I wanted you. I should have kept you as a sexual slave, to be toyed with, played with, as I saw fit. I have complete control over you and our few days together, and I like that feeling. It excites me. I can do whatever I like with you and you can’t possibly get away.”
“Oh, you think not?” she said laughingly.
“I know not,” he said. “I have your passport.” Removing it from his breast pocket, he waved it at her.
“I have you now, Arabella Crawford. Complete control over you and your movements, for three days. I am going to give you the gift of three lovely, adventurous days and divine nights, beautiful sights, delectable food, and lots of lovemaking.” And he did.
There is a romantic aura about Rome. Poets, painters, lovers for centuries from all over the world have run away to live and love and even die there. Glorious, sunny Rome. A worthy city to be busy in, but blissful to do nothing whatsoever in. A city for the poets and lovers of the world to be idle and play in. Glorious, beautiful, romantic Rome, where the beautiful, well-dressed women strut rather than walk and the dark, sexy men swagger. Gorgeous Rome, with her cafés, flower stalls, and moments of history frozen in stone. Divine Rome and her vanity, a constant, delightful charade. Rome and the Romans who can give a performance that is polished and faultless, so much so that you believe that they are what they pretend to be: elegant, disdainful, superior.
The
Belvedeer Clipper
flew low over St. Peter’s Square, always imposing, full of grandeur. Arabella and Anthony
sat in soft chairs absorbing their bird’s-eye view of the exquisite piazzas and little churches, the old areas of Monti and the Ghetto. They were dazzled by the majestic ruins of the Fora.
Anthony turned away from the window, looked at Arabella, and said, “I love Rome. I always have. And I know how much you adore it too. That’s why we are stopping here for lunch.” He checked his watch. “Two twenty. Right on time.”
They flew over the Colosseum, then down the center of the Tiber River that wends its way through the heart of the city like some exotic, watery serpent.
The
Belvedeer Clipper
touched down on the Tiber and cruised upriver, docking against a small crumbling pier where there waited a customs officer, several policemen, and a representative from the mayor’s office. Once they were moored, the
Clipper
’s door opened and the couple stepped out on to the pier and into the sunshine and warmth of Rome.
They were in an older section of the city with narrow, crooked, cobbled streets and tilting buildings of soft warm colors of ochre, faded persimmon, worn pale yellow, soft pink.
Anthony greeted the officials, cleared passport control, and left the remainder of the details to the pilot. While he was tending to those things, a small crowd had gathered to see who was going to emerge from this odd-looking plane. Once convinced no movie star was on board, the people began dispersing back into the little streets and shops.
Anthony recognized the owner of the Hosteria del Orso, who was there to meet him. The three shook hands and walked the short distance through the picturesque streets to the famous restaurant. They entered the ground floor to the sounds of romantic Italian music being played by a small group of elderly musicians. In the bar they drank Negronis, a Roman speciality of orange juice, gin, and campari, and petted and touched each other like young lovers. A beautiful
young girl appeared with a cluster of perfect white gardenias.
“
Scussi, permisso
,” said the girl, and pinned the gardenias in Arabella’s hair. “
Bellissimo! Buono, buono. Bellissimo
.”
“She is right, you know. You are very
bellissimo
indeed.”
They were taken to a table upstairs by the
maître d’
. There, in the utterly romantic and enchanting atmosphere of the elegant restaurant, they dined on exquisite food. First they had white asparagus in a superb hollandaise sauce that was as light as air, served with an exceptional bottle of white wine from the deep cellars of Frascati, which date from ancient Rome. Then came
gnocchi verdi
in a cream sauce, followed by
osso bucco
served with spinach sautéed in garlic and oil, accompanied by a full-bodied red wine. Finally they were served a pyramid of
profiterole
, airy puff pastries filled with rich, homemade vanilla ice cream covered in dark-chocolate sauce and topped with heavy whipped cream.
They sipped espresso laced with sambucca under the hot Italian sun on the balcony of the Hosteria del Orso and looked over the rooftops of Rome. They talked about the beauty of St. Peter’s, the imposing Bernini’s colonnade, the magnificence of the Sistine Chapel. Anthony spoke about the two great English poets, Keats and Shelley, whose remains lay under the broken columns and marble fragments covered by acanthus leaves, honeysuckle, wild flowers, and red camellias growing in abundance under shading pines, laurels, and myrtles in the English Cemetery of Rome, where the famous expatriates of the world are buried.
Arabella felt the romance of Rome, the romance of poetry and the romantic side of Anthony to the depths of her soul, and was seduced by them yet again.
They regretted there was not time to go to the Villa Borghese and see the Canova masterpiece of Paolina, Napoleon’s favorite sister, reclining in marble. Nor was there time to visit the Museo Romano. They decided to go to the incomparable Piazza Navona, where they rode in an open
carriage pulled by a pair of horses. They stopped at the Piazza d’Espagna and walked to the top of the stairs hand in hand, then down again, buying all the flowers they could carry from the old vendor with his stall set under a pair of umbrellas in the middle of the steps.
They rode in the flower-filled carriage back to the
Belvedeer
and were arranging flowers in all the cabins as the plane slipped from her mooring and traversed the Tiber slowly, through the city. They went into Anthony’s room last, where they placed the remaining flowers in a vase.
“What a wonderful birthday lunch,” said Arabella, and she put her arms around Anthony’s neck. “Thank you, darling.”
He kissed her neck and then her throat. “That was just the beginning, Arabella. Just the beginning.” And he led her toward the bed.
It was dusk when they flew away from Rome and just barely light when they circled the lake and the pilot rang through to Anthony and woke the couple.
“Come,” he said. “Come to the window. We’re making our next birthday stop. Come quickly and you’ll see something wonderful.”
Arabella went to him. He pulled her forward in front of him. She stood there naked in the darkness of the cabin, looking through the window, and saw, far below, the faint outline of a large lake.
He pressed his own naked body against hers and kissed her back while looking over her shoulder. After the
Belvedeer
completed its third circle over the lake, he slipped his arms around her waist and held her breasts in his hands. She felt his full erection against her bottom.
“Watch now,” he said.
A light flared bright in the darkness on the edge of the lakefront, then another, and another, and on they went ringing the lake, each of the flames about fifty yards apart.
He caressed her bottom, bent her over slightly, and whispered huskily as he spread her open, “They look like the
candles around a great birthday cake, don’t they?” Then he eased deep inside her with a rampant throbbing cock.
Arabella let out a sigh of surprise and ecstasy as she felt him fill her completely.
“You feel wonderful inside me like this. And what a birthday cake. It has to be the birthday cake to end all birthday cakes, Anthony. But surely this is not all arranged for me?”
“No, darling, not for you. But it’s a lovely idea, isn’t it?”
And, with his hands firmly clamped on her hips, he began to move slowly in and out of her. In and out, bending her body down forward, he kissed her back as he made love to her in the dark room flying over the fire-lit lake.
“God, it’s sexy taking you this way from the back, bent over, watching the lake light up. Oh,” he said, increasing the intensity and speed of his thrusts. “I like taking you like this, standing up in the sky.”
“Oh, yes, I like it too,” she answered breathlessly. As the
Belvedeer
began to descend, a small light flashed in the cabin announcing their imminent landing. Anthony gripped her more firmly, his passion broke loose, and he moved in her fast and hard, shooting into her as the plane skimmed only inches above the water. He continued to move in and out of her, and Arabella came just as the
Belvedeer Clipper
eased down into the waters of Lago Bolsena.
Anthony picked up her beige silk kimono and helped her on with it. Then he walked across the room to the dresser, took out a pair of dungarees, and slipped into them. He pulled on a navy-blue cashmere sweater, reached his hand out to Arabella, and said, “Let’s go have drinks in the main cabin.”
“Anthony, that’s a lovely idea and this is all so exciting, but where exactly are we, and where are we going?”
“We are now on Lago Bolsena, about a hundred and fifty miles north of Rome. Our host is the Count of Bolsena. We are going to a ball in his castle tonight. The torches have been lit to receive all seaplanes landing on the lake this
evening. The ball is in honor of the restoration of the family castle. The count is the patriarch of a very old Italian family, but one which, like many others, lost everything but its name over the years. Roberto has worked very hard to regain the family’s fortune, restore their position as successful landowners. He has carved a place for himself in Bolsena and has even served a term as mayor of the town. All Italian society will turn out for this ball. It should be a very lively party, filled with the beautiful people gowned and bejeweled to dazzle. You’ll love it.”
“I am sure I will, but I do wish you had told me that this afternoon. Oh, Anthony, you should have told me while we were in Rome so I could have picked up something very special.” Here she was on her thirty-fifth birthday, pouting like a child.
“Poor Cinderella,” he said, going to her and kissing her tenderly on the lips. “My poor Cinderella.”
He walked across the cabin to a desk, opened the drawer and quickly removed something. “Think quickly,” he called out and threw a key across the room to Arabella who caught it.
“It’s a key to the cabin next to yours. Pretend that it’s a silver wand and I am your fairy godfather. If you use that key, you will find a gown for the ball, a birthday present from me.”
Arabella jumped out of the chair and into his arms. “I’ve never known you like this! This is the most romantic, exquisitely detailed, loving birthday imaginable. You’ve thought of everything, taken so much care to make me happy. It’s lovely, absolutely lovely to be cared for by you like this.”
Anthony became very serious for a moment, stroked her hair, touched her cheek with the back of his hand, and said, “I know I am a selfish man, Arabella. I don’t give you nearly the care and attention or the love you deserve and want. But I do the best I can.”
Arabella went to the ball dressed by Valentino. The gown was grand and elegant, made of Dupioni silk in a rich ivory
color. It was strapless and cut daringly, meant to excite. The soft silk hung precariously low over her breasts, just covering the swell at the sides before it disappeared into the waistband on the hip, leaving a completely bare back. The skirt appeared to be made of endless yards luscious silk. It hung to the middle of the ankle in the front and gradually flowed into a three-foot train at the back. Her evening coat was of the same silk in black, with a collar of white ostrich feathers. It had long, snug-fitting sleeves and was cut to cover the very full skirt of the gown.
She wore the rubies he had given her for their first anniversary together — smuggled on board thanks to Xu. She looked as splendid as any one of the many great beauties at the ball.
Arabella did feel like Cinderella from the moment they left the
Belvedeer Clipper
and walked onto the jetty. They were swept away by a chauffeur in one of the count’s vintage cars, an open Bugatti. The night was very black and warm, with just a few stars in the sky. The scent of wildflowers filled the air. They drove through narrow tree-lined roads where the only noise was the night sounds of the woods.
In the center of the town the road they were on merged with the main road and they were joined by a stream of cars moving slowly toward the castle. They inched up to the roadblock where the police guards waited. Every passenger in every car was made to display an invitation, which was then checked against a guest list. Once cleared, three young boys from the town dressed as medieval pages ran in front and at the sides of the car holding high flaming torches. They ran as an escort through the darkened streets lined by townspeople clapping and waving all the way to the foot of the castle’s entrance. There the passengers left the car and were led by another young boy, also carrying a torch, up the steep castle stairs to the balcony, where they were greeted by the count.
It was a splendid sight. The entire town was lit only by torchlight and candle. Anthony introduced Arabella to the count and they proceeded into the castle.
The party was glamorous and fun. Never before had Arabella ever seen a more beautiful group of people under one roof. Dinner for four hundred was served at round tables of ten, glittering with silver and crystal, white linen, wildflowers, and candlelight. The tables trailed all through the wide corridors and main rooms of the castle so lavishly restored to its old splendor. They drank wine and dined on suckling pig dressed with apples in their mouths and wildflowers behind their ears. Just watching the beautiful people was a feast in itself.