Those Wicked Pleasures (30 page)

Once in her rooms she threw off her shoes and lay down on the bed to read the letters from Sam. He was very good about keeping her informed while he played father to Bonnie. She was not ungrateful for that. There was a letter from Nancy and one from Nanny. Lara seemed to need to read them twice to be assured that they were all well and happy.

She turned out the lights in her room and looked down on Florence, sparkling below her. She sat there for several minutes recalling the puzzling experience she had had alongside Roberto, communing with ‘
Il Biancone
’. And Jamal. Nothing else seemed possible for her that evening but to be very rude and cancel dining with her friends, even at this late hour. She switched on the light, found her address-book and called the three people who were to have been her guests. She told them, ‘It’s unforgivable, I know. You have every right to be angry with me, but I must cancel dinner. Something unexpected has
happened. Nothing bad, but something I must give my full attention to.’ They were understanding and polite about it. Lara did not feel undue remorse. She knew her Florentines well. They had three hours to find another party to go to. Long enough in any city. They were a most hospitable lot, the Florentines, always ready to make room for one more at the table.

Lara called the open air restaurant in the hotel, The Loggia. From the elegant stone loggia, with its arches and vaulted ceilings that ran along one whole side of the monastery, and with its open balustrade and the huge, arched openings above them, guests could look out over Florence to the hills on the opposite side of the Arno, while enjoying a drink or a meal. She changed her reservation from four to two.

Then Lara called the maid and had her prepare a bath, scented with bubbles of jasmine and rose and honeysuckle. When the maid arrived, so did four page-boys, olive-skinned
ragazzi
bearing bouquets of flowers: three dozen ruby red, long-stemmed roses in a glass vase, a bowl of white tulips, another of camellias, a pot of a dozen white moth orchids, all in full bloom. No card. She smiled, pleased that he knew he hadn’t needed to include a card.

The water was milky and smooth with bath oils, and Lara luxuriated in it, her mind emptied of all thoughts of past and present. The silence was like beautiful music broken only by the trickle of water from the dipped sponge with which she gently bathed herself.

The Loggia restaurant catered to the most chic of women. When, two hours later, she walked in, every woman there turned with admiration or envy for the American heiress Lara Stanton, every man with desire.

Lara had not called Jamal. She just knew that he would come. It was unthinkable that he might fail her. She
dressed for him. To be ravishingly beautiful and sensuous for him. She wanted him to know, on sight, that she recognised there could be nothing else for them but to be together this night. She had taken a long time making herself ready. Once, in Egypt, she had been taken to a woman famous for her unguents. The most seductive and exciting women engaged her to prepare ointments and creams for them. The ladies rubbed their genitals with them, applying them to their vaginas. The scent was of jasmine, the effect to tantalise men with their sexuality.

She chose a black dress of silk jersey. It had a halter top, just two slips of fabric that covered the breasts and plunged to the waist in the front. It was backless, had a tight waist-band and a short skirt that was soft and cut on the bias so that it looked both skimpy and flared. High-heeled black satin sandals shod her feet. She carried a deep violet-coloured shawl of the same material as the dress, to be used if she felt chilly.

She sat at her table, savouring the sparkle of a fine champagne. Several people she knew stopped by to speak to her, asking her to join them. She declined. She felt quite hungry. Since she had no idea when Jamal might arrive, she decided to order her meal. She chose first scallops served with a lobster sauce. Next a risotto. For a third course, veal and peppers. She postponed ordering a pudding. She had just finished giving the maitre d’ her order when one of the page-boys arrived at her table with a folded piece of paper on the inevitable silver salver. She smiled at the impassive boy then looked at the note for some time. Not in hesitation, more in pleasurable anticipation. Then she picked it up.

Lara,
May I see you?
Jamal

She thanked the boy, rose from her chair and draped the shawl over the back of it. After telling the maitre d’ to put another bottle of champagne on ice, she left The Loggia for the reception hall. There she met Jamal.

‘I am sorry about this but, quite frankly, I couldn’t stay away.’ He took both her hands in his and kissed them in turn. There were several people in the reception hall. A clumsily discreet exit by the hall porter from behind the reception desk told them how conspicuous they were making themselves.

Lara suggested, ‘Let’s go sit in the covered courtyard.’

‘Did you receive my flowers?’

‘They were lovely.’

‘You knew they were from me?’

‘Of course.’

‘You look ravishing. Unimaginably sexy. Every male in the reception hall thought so, too. They looked as hungry for you as I am.’

‘I think not. They haven’t had me as you have.’

That brought a smile to his lips. Although there was no tension between them, there was time and distance. Her quick retort seemed to dissolve that now.

‘What happened to your friends, Jamal? I thought you were dining with them.’

‘They understand that, having just found you again, I can’t stay away from you. They sent me here with their blessings. I know you are dining with friends but … would you allow me to join you?’

‘Come on, then, I’m famished.’

Allowing her to pass through the door before him, he was overcome with the need to hold her in his arms. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her sharply back against him. ‘What a joy, to find you naked under your dress.’

His hold on her was loose enough for her to slip round
and place her arms around his neck. They were quite alone. He took advantage of that to slide his hands beneath her skirt. He was caressing her naked flesh when they heard foot-steps on the stone floor. He removed his hands at once, and she released him. They walked from the inside courtyard to another room.

The look of surprise and pleasure on his face further endeared Jamal to her. ‘You’re pleased?’

‘Delighted.’

‘I learned my erotic lessons well from you as a young girl.’

‘And they have served you well, I trust.’

‘More than well.’

She reached for his hand and together they walked up to the restaurant. They were not unaware of the sensation they were causing during their walk down that spectacular loggia, most especially to several Americans who recognised Lara. The Italians, who are such great romantics, had only to take one look to see that this was a rather special love affair going on in their midst. And, if they enjoyed a love affair, they enjoyed it tenfold if it was between two such handsome and elegant people as Jamal and Lara. They launched their commentaries in thundering whispers among themselves, before the couple had a chance even to sit down.

As they were ushered to Lara’s table, and the waiter pulled the chairs back for them, Jamal saw that it had been set for only two. Lara smiled to see that she had taken him by surprise yet again.

‘Your friends?’

‘It was rude of me at such short notice, but what else was there to do …?’

‘And if I had not come?’

‘It never crossed my mind.’

He took her in his arms and kissed her with some
passion, before releasing her and helping her to her seat. Unembarrassed, the waiter was still standing to attention, his hands on the back of her chair. Then Jamal took his own seat. Now half the people in The Loggia were unashamedly assessing the romance unfolding before them.

Over dinner, Lara and Jamal gossiped about family and friends. Once they started talking, they seemed to have a great deal of catching up to do. Only once did Jamal mention Sam and her marriage.

‘Would it be indiscreet of me to ask what broke it up?’

‘Yes, I think it might be.’ That was the end of that subject. They drank champagne and forgot about everything and everyone else. He moved his chair next to hers, and they watched the lights of the city in silence. A chill wind had been steadily rising. He felt Lara’s hand cold in his. Concerned, he asked, ‘You’re cold?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t you say?’

‘I didn’t want this to stop.’

‘It’s not going to stop.’

‘Good.’

‘I think it’s time for bed?’

‘I thought you would never notice.’

Jamal pushed open the sitting room door of Lara’s suite. She entered and he followed. Just behind them was a waiter with more champagne and a tray of hand-made white chocolates. Jamal closed the door as the waiter departed and double-locked it.

Lara’s particular fondness for this suite of rooms at the Villa San Michele had something to do with their tranquillity. They maintained an atmosphere of immense calm, like a grain of eternity for her. Lara thought it was the effect of the soft warm Fiesole light that filtered through the window on to the stone walls in the daytime.
At night, the shape of the rooms, with their vaulted ceiling, lent them a kind of monastic splendour.

The furniture was antique, and there was a superior elegance and pleasant lack of interior decoration. Often, when in these rooms, she would think how perfect they would be for a writer or an artist. They were rooms to inspire the imagination. This was the oldest part of the sixteenth-century monastery, and Lara was convinced that the spirit of the place lingered still in those rooms. And, after all, hadn’t the Franciscan monks managed to retain possession of the building until they were suppressed by Napoleon? The monastic aura might well have clung on since 1808. She could imagine them in their brown habits, stalking the corridors and gardens.

But there was, too, something else about these rooms. Something extremely sensual. While sleeping there, she found herself always ready, yearning even, for sensual delights. For the right man to come to her and make love to her. She had never, however, imagined it would be Jamal.

Lara left him to open the wine and went into her dressing-room. She sat at the dressing-table and gazed at herself in the mirror. She removed the diamond earrings from her ears, the bracelets from her wrists. It seemed the most natural thing in the world that Jamal should be in the other room. That they should be there together, about to go to bed. From a drawer she selected a night-dress. White lace, finely elegant, a Parisian extravagance she had not yet worn. She brushed her hair, powdered her face. Barefoot she walked into the bedroom.

Jamal was there waiting for her. The wine and the chocolates were forgotten.

Chapter 21

‘I never thought that you could happen to me again. That such passionate love could happen to me again.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Because you involve risk, more risk than I thought I would ever want to take again.’

‘And now?’

‘And now I’m older. No less frightened perhaps, but more prepared to expose myself to new risks and the enlarged possibilities that passionate love can offer. And, for the moment, what choice do I have? We’re together. Fate stepped in.’

‘What if it was not fate but me? That I wanted you back, because I miss the fire and the passion in you, and what you bring to our sex life. What then?’

‘I would say you love me, pretty much the way I love you.’

‘Ah, then we’re getting somewhere.’

‘No, not really. Remember, it was fate not you who brought us together.’

He hesitated for some time before he spoke again.

‘Come back to bed.’

For three days they stayed at the Villa. They swam in the pool and rode horses and played tennis close by at the Cascine village. They dined in the hotel, in their rooms or the restaurants. By night they slaked their sensual passion for each other, with new and ever more exciting acts of lust.

Lara had once again fallen passionately in love with Jamal. She felt the full force of passion for him. His charm, his kindness, his intelligence, all the things the family had loved about him for years, swelled her admiration for him. She was able to give herself sexually to him, express, as he had taught her years before, every aspect of her erotic nature. They wallowed in the darker side of their sexual life together, and felt lifted to glorious heights, free to love each other as well in the light as they did in the dark.

They were in love and hid it from no one. Lara would fantasise that it would never end. That their lust would bear fruit. Children. That he would make her his wife, and parade her before the world as his only great love. He admired her, and adored her, and had his own fantasies about her. The sexual fantasies: that she would never again have another man except, at his command, the men he might enlist for their mutual pleasure. She would bear him a son, many sons. He would keep her all for himself, never let her go. Their three days together gave them threads of hope that they had found love. Then there would be fleeting moments of doubt. But neither of them talked about love. They lived, for those three days, in the full flood of passion, with their hopes and their doubts. And then, in the dawn light, while lying in each other’s arms and tasting their mutual lust upon the tips of Jamal’s fingers, they knew they were two of the luckiest people in the world. Love had flowered between them. As lovers they were responding to the warmth and admiration throbbing through them. They knew that their fantasies would come to a fulfilment, that their wishes would be realised.

Jamal was not a man to question his emotions. Nor the two unsolved mysteries of love: why we fall in love when we do, and why we choose who we do. He knew
only that he had loved and chosen. The sooner he married Lara the happier he would be, having taken possession for always of his love-object. If he did have to marry – which he did – she would at least afford him a marriage that would not sink into mere boredom. Hardly a rationalist, he could not recognise that he was excusing himself his urgent desire to make Lara his wife. He would marry her at once. He wasted not even a minute once he had made his decision.

He was sitting alone at the time, in the afternoon sunlight of the garden of the Villa San Michele. In the quiet broken only by occasional bird-song, he felt extremely vulnerable. Lara, through love, had power over him. It was an unwelcome feeling. He had taken on the very male role of hunting her down, captivating her with what he felt was his charm and sexual power. As with almost any man, it was the exercising of that masculinity that allowed him to fall in love. He was happier with that than actually being in love. A wedding as soon as possible would, he was certain, restore his sense of control over his emotions. Excited now, he left the garden for their room to make the several phone calls that would activate his plans.

Lara was in Florence shopping, one of the things she least liked to do. But she wanted to be away from Jamal for a few hours. She needed time to gain some perspective on his reappearance in her life. Lara had matured considerably since those days when she had been obsessed with Jamal and being in love with him. Now she had no fear of being alone and facing up to her involvement with him, to having fallen in love with him again. While she wandered in and out of shops, buying beautiful things for Bonnie and herself, she was relieved to find herself capable of being in love with him and yet remaining her own person at the same time. She loved him all the more for that.

She sat in the Excelsior Bar amid stacks of colourfully wrapped boxes with luscious satin ribbons, drinking a Cinzano and soda and eating freshly roasted salted almonds. Like most women in love she felt a newfound zest for life, yet this time without being blinded by the dazzle of love. She was well aware of everything that was happening to her. That loving Jamal was a kind of escape. And she was secure in the knowledge that she could handle it, as she had not been able to before. She was pleasantly surprised by realising how right she had been all those years ago to want what she was now receiving from Jamal. The more he showed his love for her, the more she gave herself to loving. All inhibition had always vanished when she had been with Jamal, or so she had thought, but now … Well, now they were not only sexual inhibitions that vanished. All doubts were put aside. She had no fear of being made vulnerable by love. Every day she re-established her feminine identity through loving. It emboldened her. How glorious to live with all her defenses down. How lonely those years when she hadn’t been in love. When no man had been in love with her.

She ordered another Cinzano and airily returned the routine flirtations of several attractive men in the bar, apparently unable to contain their admiration for her. She gazed at her purchases and smiled. How sure of herself she was. She had selected several stunningly elegant outfits. One in particular might well grace a wedding. There was no doubt in her mind that she would marry Jamal, even though he had scarcely hinted at it as yet.

It was nearly seven o’clock before Lara returned to the Villa San Michele. Jamal had been waiting for her for hours, angry to think she would stay away for so long without a call. He had tried to read. Had gone to The
Loggia for a drink there. Several drinks there. Had cancelled their table for the evening, reserving one for lunch on the following day instead. He ordered dinner for them in their rooms. Restless, he roamed through the public rooms of the hotel or paced around the reception area. He was there when the long black limousine drew up at the door and she stepped out. He saw first her long, shapely legs encased in cream-coloured stockings. Impatience became entangled with erotic need to have her. He saw at once that she had indeed been shopping. She was wearing a new dress, a short skirt of chocolate-brown silk georgette, and over it a well-tailored cream jacket finished at the waist with a bright-yellow lizard belt. Her small matching handbag slung over her shoulder, she took hurried strides into the hotel. Behind her the chauffeur was depositing box after box into the waiting arms of two porters.

Relief at seeing her curtailed mere speech. He rushed to meet her, swept her into his arms and kissed her. She laughed. His own laughter was a reaction to his acute anxiety. He wanted to ask, Where have you been? Who have you been with? Why didn’t you call? He asked none of those things. Instead they walked arm in arm up to their room, he kissing her and whispering endearments, her colourful packages being carried up behind them. At last they were alone.

‘I’ve had a wonderful time.’

‘I’ve had a miserable time.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’ve missed you terribly.’

‘Oh. Well, that’s a good thing.’

‘Maybe for you, not for me. I think I will have to do something about it.’ He smiled. How could he help smiling? She looked so happy, so pretty, so delectable. He told her, ‘Your new dress is lovely.’

‘Valentino. And wait till you see the other things. All exciting and sexy and provocative. And all bought with the sole purpose of pleasing you.’ She was flirting with him, and was pleased to see by the look in his eye how much it awakened the lust he always had for her. ‘I’ll wear one of them tonight to dinner.’

‘Do you mind if we dine here in our room?’

She sat down on the settee next to him. She leaned in towards him and he slid an arm around her shoulders. It was her answer. He could see that she was pleased about the change of plans. He unbuttoned her jacket and felt the weight of her breasts in his hands. With the tip of his finger he caressed the dark nimbus of her nipples with a gentle circular motion. He talked while he fondled her. ‘You must let me give you all your shopping. A gift for you to surprise me with.’

‘That’s not necessary, Jamal.’

‘No, but it’s what I want to do. Please.’

She kissed him, a sensuous kiss with parted lips. Their tongues touched and trembled with passion. Then she whispered, ‘Thank you.’

They lay like that for a while. Quiet, with only his hands petting her. The occasional lowering of his head to her breast where he gently sucked her nipple and licked it. His tenderness was slowly enkindling her erotic needs. She tried to distract herself, wanting to hold on to this intimate state of togetherness that was so rich and comfortable before its moment led them towards greater passion. To that end, she asked him, with a slight tremor in her voice, ‘Shall I give you a fashion show?’

He answered, ‘No,’ not unaware of what she was doing.

Her body was beginning to ache for him. But she didn’t want to give in. She tried again, a little breathlessly, ‘A package or two, then. Just to amuse you.’
Before he could stop her, she reached for a parcel wrapped in shiny red paper, a pink satin bow on it, and another smaller box wrapped in yellow paper with purple spots and tied with a red bow. She dropped them on to her lap and sighed.

He reached under her jacket and caressed her breasts now with both hands. Played with them, pressing them together and then pushing them apart. He removed her jacket slowly from her shoulders and laid it over the back of the settee. Once more he placed his arm around her shoulders and she leaned against him. He caressed her arms. His tongue found the line of flesh in between her breasts. Then he too succumbed to that desire not to lose this tender reunion. Grudgingly he told her, ‘All right. Let’s see what you have there.’ He handed her one of the parcels.

Lara pulled at the bow and it dissolved in her hands. She very carefully undid the paper and removed the lid of the box. He watched her. Her enthusiasm was so childlike, so incongruous in the bare-breasted woman lying in his arms in a Valentino silk georgette skirt, enthralling him with her sensual nature, her very special personality.

He tried to hide his surprise when she held up the red and white candy-striped cotton dress. It was piped around the neck, its sleeves and the hem decorated with tiny white flowers, and it was tied with a large red organza sash, the bow to one side. The child’s dress was a confection. Something he himself might have bought for Bonnie because she partly enchanted him. But here, now, she had been forgotten. That he would have to share Lara with her was something he had not counted on. For the moment it only niggled. When Lara drew from the second box a pair of suede dungarees that looked doll-size, he knew for certain that he had a very serious rival for Lara’s affections. Ridiculous! A child is a child is a child, he
told himself. And then aloud, he said, ‘For a woman is a woman is a mother.

‘They are like doll’s clothes. You like playing dolls. You are still a child – part of your charm.’

‘A child, playing at dolls!’ To herself she added: I am a mother, not a child, and Bonnie is a child and not a doll, and don’t trivialise who and what we are! I take offence at that.

She nearly said those things to him aloud. But when she studied his face, his handsomeness, his smouldering sensual looks, and watched him lower his head to her breasts and suck on her nipples, Bonnie was momentarily forgotten. She placed the child’s things and the boxes and wrappings to one side, and took his face in her hands, raising it to her lips. Before she began kissing it, she told him, ‘A child playing at dolls – hardly!’

She kissed first his lips and then his eyes, and then his lips again as she found the zip in his trousers. Once she had him in her hands, she slid from his arms to her knees between his legs. The weight of his penis erect and straining for her in her hands; the feel of his large succulent balls on her lips, in her mouth: aphrodisiacs. The dry scent of cock and sex, the taste of Jamal: aphrodisiacs. She teased him, lulled him into surrender in the ways that lead to sexual oblivion.

The telephone kept ringing. They were lying there between two worlds, unable to pull themselves back sufficiently to do anything about it. The ringing was insistent.

‘Oh, God, it won’t stop!’

‘Don’t you stop. Ignore it,’ he was begging.

Lara stretched past him to reach for the intrusive telephone. He grabbed her wrist. ‘Let it go!’ he demanded. She kissed him quickly, but released his grip. He sank back among the cushions and sighed. She smiled
and kissed him on the knee, then lunged for the telephone, pulling it to the floor and dragging it towards her. He watched her sprawled at his feet. She looked so feline, lewd. Half-naked, the soft brown translucent silk hiked up leaving a span of thigh exposed, a hint of bottom: voluptuous cheeks, and the crack dividing them.

He listened to Lara’s conversation. ‘Yes. Put her on the line.’ No need to listen further. The tone of her voice, a lilt of happiness in it, she was talking to Bonnie. Jamal sat up and walked round Lara, still stretched out on the floor, the length of the telephone cord determining her position. He stood where she could see him. She smiled up at him and continued to talk to Bonnie. Jamal stripped down in front of her. She found it difficult not to watch him. With her free hand she caressed his leg, as if to pacify him for her divided attention. He went down on his knees in front of her, his penis offering itself to her lips. She was not amused at such an inviting distraction. Rather than reject him she gave the knob a quick kiss. Bonnie was telling Lara about the dog her father had bought her, and now that she had said everything she had to say, was quite finished talking to Lara. She managed a hurried goodbye, and Sam was back on the line.