Futile Flame (6 page)

‘It’s complicated.’

Lilly frowns as I swipe the card down the door scanner and the green light flicks on to allow us access to the room. I reach inside and flip the light switch out of habit, even though neither of us needs the light. We can see perfectly well in the dark.

The room lights up. It’s a suite. We always do everything in style and despite Lilly’s aversion to luxury she has begun to come around to my way of thinking. This part of the room is a sitting area. There is a huge flat screen television facing a beige chaise longue, which is both alike and unlike the black and red ones we saw in the reception as we arrived. The hotel is a gothic dream for those of us who like it... and I do, I must admit.

Lilly throws her handbag down on the chaise longue as I go to investigate the rest of the suite. To the right is a door that leads into a toilet, black and white, beautifully designed; I smile in approval as I look through the door. Lilly kicks off her shoes and puts her feet up on the coffee table, but I refuse to let her unladylike behaviour bait me as I head through the archway that leads to the bedroom. Here there is another television at the bottom of the bed on a rich mahogany unit with a DVD player and stereo: all the media conveniences any visitor could want. The bed is plush, covered in rich brown and cream cloth, with cushions resting on the brown velvet-covered headboard. Either side of the bed are two mahogany side tables. To my left is another mahogany unit, bigger than the one holding the television. I open it to find a fridge and safe. As I close it I spot two more doors, one leading to a full sized bathroom, again in black and white, which contains a bath as well as separate double shower cubicle. Good. We’ll make use of both...

I see my hand luggage in the corner and lift it onto the bed. I withdraw my favoured candles to place them around the room. In the reception room, I hear Lilly turn on the television. The blare of different pieces of music and snatches of speech echoes through the wall as she flicks through the channels. I reach inside my pocket to pull out a lighter. Flicking it alight I go from one candle to the other until they are all lit. Twelve of them, all scented with vanilla.

Lilly peeps in through the alcove as I open the mini-bar and remove a bottle of chilled champagne. Her eyes grow round as she looks at the candlelit room.

‘What’s all this?’

The champagne cork pops free with a shrug of my thumb and forefinger and the foam bursts forth faster than the tiny glass can cope with it.

‘A celebration. We’ve been together a year.’

It seems absurd that we can gain so much pleasure out of the thought of drinking Champagne. It is a luxury after all. We can’t get drunk, a momentary tingle is all we will experience from the wine, but still a tiny flush appears in Lilly’s pale cheeks. It is both pleasure and vague embarrassment.

‘Of course I know that,’ she whispers. ‘Shocked that you do.’

‘Why?’ Her blush calls to me; my cock feels like it is drawn in her direction by some will of its own.

‘Because, I guess it just surprises me that you have such awareness of time, when you have an abundance of it.’

She moves into the room as I had hoped she would and glides to the bed, sitting down on the edge; her cream wrap-over skirt parts and I glimpse the flesh coloured hold-up stocking top that I adore so much. She makes no move to cover her bare thigh and I fall forward, hurriedly placing the champagne bottle and glass on the bedside table. My hand is on her leg and she runs her fingers swiftly up my arm, squeezing, feeling the muscles that ripple beneath the fabric of my shirt.

‘Mmmm. I never tire of feeling your strength, Gabriele.’

‘Now can I make love to you?’ I laugh.

As Lilly falls into a deep sleep, I slip quietly out of the room.

‘Doors,’ she murmurs as I leave, and I love that sometimes she talks in her sleep.

Closing the suite door quietly behind me, I move into the night, heading once more for Lucrezia and her tales of the past.

Chapter 8 – Lucrezia’s Story

Caesare took me riding often and our affair continued unchecked, unnoticed by anyone. Sometimes, he would sneak into my room at night and make love to me while everyone slept. At first, not even our father suspected that our new friendship was unseemly, was anything more than a normal brother-sister relationship. During the day we played games like children, and I suppose we were. I was only fifteen and Caesare just a few years older. I took to dressing as a boy. We’d ride out of the gates, while I was disguised as a squire, riding astride a horse. Rumours of our exploits began to be whispered in scandalised voices in the halls of the Vatican. My nosy servant girl giggled when she caught me changing from my boy’s clothing into a more appropriate evening dress of silk and lace. But it didn’t stop. I think, in some way, I was in love with Caesare, certainly infatuated. More than anything, I was enjoying the freedom that our relationship gave me.

We rode together every day and then we would return to the grove. Caesare would bring ecstatic cries from me, as he loved me over and over until we were both exhausted. The afternoon would blend into evening as we lay together under the sun, our skin softly browning. My natural olive hue deepened.

‘It’s most unladylike,’ Guila pointed out. She sent me creams and powders one evening. ‘Perhaps you should consider wearing a veil when you are outside?’

I looked at Guila closely, wondering if this observation meant she knew what was happening between Caesare and I. As she bowed her head back to her embroidery, I had no sense that she thought anything was amiss. I took to powdering my face, and as we made love in the grove, I encouraged Caesare to lie with me in the shade instead of the sun.

I was a willing participant, although I was not naive enough to believe it could go on forever. Some days I thought that one day we would both tire of it. We would return to our former lives as brother and sister, as if nothing had ever happened. At other times I prayed it wouldn’t end for the love and lust were so intense I could not imagine my life without it.

‘We must be careful,’ he warned.

Caesare often did not take his own advice and sometimes at dinner he gazed longingly at me. If we were in a social gathering, his eyes would follow me as I circled the room. Once or twice I thought I observed Guila looking from one to the other of us and I was afraid. I would cool my expression and still my body language, concentrating on my needlepoint, while trying to disregard Caesare’s hurt expression.

‘Please, Caesare, you must understand that we are at times too obvious with each other. What if we are discovered?’ I told him more than once. ‘Father would...’

‘It won’t happen. Why should it? We have been careful.’

‘Not careful enough sometimes,’ I pointed out.

My brother chose to ignore my warnings.

‘Father is not suspicious. He knows you dress as a boy. He laughed about it with me last night after dinner. He likes that you are enjoying a certain freedom.’

‘Yes. Because he still intends to marry me to the Spaniard. Then I will have no freedom, no life of my own. I will have to appear a devoted wife.’

‘It will never happen. Besides, I can’t help how I look at you sometimes. I want you night and day, don’t you know that?’

Caesare kissed my hand. He was so loving and I adored him despite the fact that I knew it was wrong. I couldn’t help myself. We were caught up in some misguided fascination, which I knew one day would come to an end. Our world would change with the forthcoming marriage and so far our father had been adamant that it would go ahead.

‘But, if he does marry me to this Spaniard... on the wedding night I must play the virgin in the way that you taught me.’ I giggled stroking my nail down his bare chest. ‘I’ll be all coy and scared and tremble.’

‘No. I couldn’t bear it,’ Caesare gasped, sitting beside me on my bed. ‘I could never allow another man to touch you, to have you. You’re mine, Luci. You belong to me and no other can have you.’

He kissed me and a shiver ran down my spine as though some evil omen or curse had been spoken. He held me to him, as though he could mould me to him forever. I pushed him away.

‘Ouch. Please Caesare, not so rough! We must be realistic. You’re my brother and the scandal would kill Father. He’s determined. The wedding will happen next month.’

‘Then let’s leave.’

I stared at him, uncertain as to his meaning and proclamation.

‘Leave? And go where?’

‘I have been saving money, we could go anywhere, Luci. We could live as man and wife, change our names. Who would know?’

I sat up, swinging my bare legs over the edge of the bed. Caesare could be so naive and childlike sometimes. It was hard to believe he was the elder of us. I knew Father could and would find us anywhere in Rome, anywhere in Italy. He was the Pope. His power stretched over most of the world. I stepped naked from our bed and reached for a robe.

‘Oh no!’ Caesare gasped suddenly and I spun to look at him.

‘What?’

‘Your belly. Oh my God. I’ve been so foolish.’

I glanced down at my slightly swollen stomach, uncomprehending. I had thought little of the minor weight gain and the discomfort of sickness in the morning. I had put it down to nerves.

‘I think you’re with child.’

Chapter 9 – Lucrezia’s Story

At first I was afraid and hurt that he might use my possible pregnancy as a reason for abandoning me. After all he said he loved me, and that we should run away together. However, he’d lied. Following that night, Caesare’s fear kept him from my bed and my company for more than a week. He became listless, locking himself away in his quarters. I was told that he also sent the servants away when they offered him food. It had never occurred to me that my brother was weak in any sense. His behaviour was a huge disappointment. I waited anxiously for news every day, even put a letter under his door in an attempt to encourage him to talk to me.

The household buzzed with fears that my brother was ill, and my worried pallor became noticeable. Rumours of fever and plague spread amongst the servants; rumours that Father could not allow to continue. So, one morning, he sent for a physician to examine Caesare.

‘He has a fever,’ the doctor told Father, ‘and he seems to be in a severe state of agitation. The fever itself seems minor. He must be encouraged to eat and drink again if he is to recover quickly.’

‘Did he express why he was distressed?’ Father asked.

‘No.’

‘I will have to go and speak with him myself then. Look in on my daughter,’ Father requested. ‘She’s not herself either; her pallor is a great cause for concern to us all.’

I refused to let him examine me. ‘My brother is sick. Father has plans for my wedding shortly. Of course I feel worried!’ I snapped.

The doctor put my nerves down to ‘virginal anxiety’ and suggested that the wedding be postponed, at least until Caesare recovered from his illness. So Caesare had gained some respite for us. His fever was genuine and I began to grow more and more concerned about his health and his state of mind. His avoidance of me continued and, much to my horror, I realised one morning that his suspicions were true. I really was pregnant and I would have to face this alone.

I spent sleepless nights tossing and turning and worrying what could happen. I was certain that my father would send me away. Maybe I would be publicly shamed. Caesare would no longer protect me from my father, how could he? He would probably deny any involvement. If I were to accuse my own brother it would only be worse for me. For what kind of sick mind would devise a lie of incest?

Tortured, I stopped eating. Maybe if I died it would be the best thing for everyone. No matter how hard my handmaid tried, she could not get me to eat or drink.

A few days into my enforced starvation, Caesare came to me. It was in the middle of the night. I was feverish, dehydrated, and I thought I was hallucinating.

I dreamt of a corridor of many doors, all made of different materials and every one I tried was locked. Before me shone a bright entrance that bulged and bowed as if an immense weight were pushing against it from inside.

‘I thought I could stay away, deny everything,’ he said. ‘But I can’t be without you, Luci.’

He climbed into my bed and began to stroke my weak body, while I lay under him, unresponsive. I felt him harden, his touch became more insistent, but I turned away from him.

‘What is it? What’s wrong with you?’

I didn’t answer and he sat up, reaching for a pitcher of water, he poured a glass and forced it to my lips.

‘Stupid girl. What have you done to yourself?’

I croaked, spitting the water back out. ‘It’s better for everyone this way.’

‘Not better for me.’

‘You went away, you let me down.’

Caesare pushed the glass to my lips once more and I swallowed, choking on the liquid. My body was so parched, it responded involuntarily and I gulped down large amounts before he stopped me.