by Anita Hughes
“I’m sure they were with a group,” I said icily. “The Observer prints all sorts of gossip without telling the whole story.”
Veronique swallowed the cashews and looked at me. “I didn’t read about it in the paper, I saw them together.”
We drank Bloody Marys and Mel asked me to dance. He is a wonderful dancer, I could barely keep up. But I listened to Cole Porter and pictured James in a smoky London nightclub.
Oh, Kitty, I can’t expect James to sit at home while I make a movie in Rome. But sometimes I picture his sparkling eyes and white smile and think I want too much.
Audrey
Amelia put the letters on the glass coffee table. She leaned against the silk cushions and tucked her feet under her. She closed her eyes and fell asleep.
chapter seventeen
Philip poured another cup of coffee and studied the photo on the dining room table. It was the only picture that hadn’t been erased from Max’s camera. He picked it up and looked at Amelia’s wide brown eyes and white smile. She was gazing at Philip and her hand rested on his sleeve.
He tossed it on the table and walked to the fire escape. For three days he had been trying to come up with a plan to see Amelia. He imagined running into her in the Hassler lobby or at a café in the Piazza di Trevi. But what if she was with her producer or on her way to the set? If she were forced to reveal her identity the charade would be over.
He heard a knock on the door and went to open it. He saw an older woman with auburn hair and slender cheekbones. She wore a beige linen dress with a cropped jacket. She carried a white leather Gucci purse and wore large white sunglasses.
“Mom!” Philip exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m glad I found you.” She entered the room. “Your father said I should wait at the hotel, but I love exploring the streets of Rome. Every woman should be whistled at, it makes me feel ten years younger.”
Philip studied his mother’s large blue eyes and wide red mouth. She was almost sixty but she was still a beautiful woman. She had been a model in New York before she married his father. She spent the last thirty years being a society hostess but she still looked lovely in a designer dress and pumps.
“I mean, what are you doing in Rome? I thought you were on your way to Bermuda.”
“It’s a quick trip.” She moved around the living room, running her fingers over the wooden bookshelf and glass dining room table. “We arrived late last night and we’re leaving for Paris tonight. Your father had business and I decided to join him.”
“Can I get you something?” Philip waved his hand. “A cup of coffee, a slice of toast.”
“A glass of water would be nice. I already drank more coffee than Dr. Burns allows me in a week. Everything in Rome is irresistible, the espresso, the fashion, the pasta. I can see why you’re here, but I’m glad you’re coming home. We’ve missed you so much.”
Philip collected cups and saucers and put them in the sink. He poured a glass of water and handed it to his mother.
“What a pretty girl.” She examined the photo of Amelia. “Is she someone special?”
Philip grabbed the photo and put it on his desk. “She’s just a friend.”
“She reminds me of a young Audrey Hepburn,” she mused. “She’s always been my favorite movie star. When your father and I got married I had a little black dress I wore every Saturday night. John used to call me Holly Golightly. If only I still had a twenty-four-inch waist and natural eyelashes.”
The front door opened and Max walked in. He wore a yellow shirt and jeans and sneakers. His camera was slung over his shoulder and he was eating an almond croissant.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he stumbled. “I can come back later.”
“This is my mother, Lily Hamilton,” Philip introduced them. “She and my father made a surprise visit.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hamilton.” Max took her hand. “It’s a shame you just had this ugly guy, you would have created some beautiful girls.”
“All this flattery is going to my head.” Lily laughed. “I should go back to the hotel and have a beauty rest. Perhaps we can have an early dinner before we leave. We’re staying at the Hassler.”
“The Hassler,” Philip spluttered, spilling coffee on the dining room table.
“Your father prefers the Grand Hotel but I insisted.” Lily shrugged. “I love the location, all of Rome is at my feet.”
Philip glanced at the photo of Amelia and his heart raced. If his mother bumped into Amelia in the lobby she might recognize her and say something. He tugged at his collar and glanced at Max.
“Max and I are going to Umbria,” Philip improvised. “I’m writing an article on the truffle industry and Max is taking photos. You should come with us, it’s a beautiful drive.”
“Your father has meetings and I do love the countryside.” Lily hesitated. “I’ll run back to the Hassler and change my clothes.”
“No!” Philip interrupted. “We don’t have time, we want to get some photos while the light is good. Why don’t you take off your jacket and splash water on your face?”
Lily opened the door to the bathroom and beamed. “How can I refuse such a wonderful invitation? I’ll just be a minute.”
Philip dragged Max onto the landing and shut the door. “My mother saw the photo of Amelia. If she runs into her at the Hassler, she could ruin the whole thing. We have to keep her busy until her flight.”
“How are we going to get to Umbria?” Max frowned. “We don’t have a car.”
Philip reached into his pocket and took out a wad of euros. He flashed on Adam saying he was throwing his money in the Tiber River and shuddered. “Here, take this and go rent one.”
* * *
They drove in a red Fiat through the outskirts of Rome into the winding hills of Umbria. Philip glanced out the window at the deep valleys and green fields and wished he explored the countryside more often. But it cost money to rent a car or take a train and he felt nervous if he wasn’t drumming up assignments.
His mother sat in the backseat exclaiming over the medieval castles and ancient churches and tiny villages. They took photos at Lake Trasimene and sampled sheep cheese in Norcia. They ate a picnic lunch of sausages and ham and unsalted bread and washed it down with sparkling water.
They visited the Ducal Palace in Gubbio and the fourteenth-century cathedral in Orieto. They admired the Renaissance architecture in Spoleto and the chapel in Assisi. Philip gazed at the portrait of Saint Francis and remembered childhood trips to the Met and the Guggenheim. He and his mother spent many Saturday mornings studying paintings by Rembrandt and Picasso. Afterward they would share a cheeseburger and shake at Sardi’s.
“I haven’t done anything like this in years.” Lily sighed, eating spinach salad with goat’s cheese. “When I travel with your father, our itinerary includes three-star Michelin restaurants. I love Tour d’Argent in Paris and the Connaught in London but it’s nice to eat at a simple trattoria.”
Philip glanced around the piazza in Perugia and almost forgot the money in his pocket was Adam’s. Tourists sat under striped umbrellas, sipping limoncellos. There were elegant boutiques and shop windows filled with colorful bottles of olive oil.
“You should come here with Daphne,” Lily mused, tearing apart a baguette. “She would love the chapel in Assisi.”
Philip put down his fork and pushed back his plate. “I haven’t seen Daphne in three years.”
“She was very warm when I ran into her and I don’t think she’s seeing anyone seriously.” Lily sipped a glass of water.
“I don’t want to date Daphne and I don’t want to drink Bloody Marys at the Knickerbocker club,” he snapped. “I’m a journalist.”
“You may think you know what you want, but you don’t know what you’ll miss,” Lily said quietly. “You can’t spend your life in a bedsit in Rome.”
“I’m a grown man, I can make my own decisions,” Philip bristled.
“Some people find their passion in work and others have hobbies that fulfill them,” she replied. “You can write in the evenings, perhaps start a novel.”
“If you flew to Rome to convince me to join Hamilton and Sons you’re wasting your time.” He threw his napkin on the table. “I know I don’t have a choice but that doesn’t mean I like it.”
Lily drizzled olive oil on spinach leaves and added salt and ground pepper. She looked at Philip and her eyes were dark.
“There are worse things for a father than expecting his son to keep his word.”
“I had to sample every chocolate in the store.” Max approached the table. He carried two silver and blue boxes tied with silver ribbons. “Baci chocolate is the most famous chocolate in Italy, each piece is wrapped in a love letter.”
“Why do you have two boxes?” Philip asked.
“I bought one for Lena and one for the countess.” Max shrugged, dipping a baguette in olive oil. “She loves hazelnut cream filling.”
They drove back to the Hassler and Philip walked his mother up the stone steps.
“I just have time for a quick bath before our flight.” She glanced at her watch. “I can’t arrive in Paris with grass stains on my skirt.”
“It was great to see you.” Philip stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“Do you want to come up and say hello to your father?” Lily asked.
“I don’t have anything new to say to him.” Philip shook his head.
Lily leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I had a wonderful afternoon, you and Max are terrific tour guides.”
Philip ran down the steps and poked his head in the Fiat.
“You can return the car, I’m going for a walk.”
“Do you mind if I make a couple of deliveries?” Max pointed to the silver boxes on the passenger seat.
Philip nodded. “Be my guest.”
Philip strode down the Spanish Steps and through the Piazza di Spagna. It was early evening and the sun slipped behind the Colosseum. He watched elegant couples consult menus and enter intimate restaurants. He saw men and women sitting at outdoor cafés, holding hands and sipping Bellinis.
He pictured his mother in her white sunglasses and his father in his wingtip shoes and felt a pain in his chest. He didn’t mean to disappoint them, but he couldn’t put on a Calvin Klein suit because his name was on the building. If he didn’t write his skin itched and his heart pounded.
He passed a café with yellow awnings and plate glass windows. He peered inside and saw a young woman with a silk scarf tied around her head. She wore dark sunglasses and was reading a paperback book. She wore a red cotton dress and silver sandals.
Philip opened the door and walked inside. He sat at a table in the front and drummed his fingers on the white linen tablecloth.
“Good evening, how can I help you?” a waiter asked.
Philip glanced at Amelia’s table and saw a slice of raspberry cheesecake and a frothy cappuccino.
“I’ll have what she’s having.” He waved his hand.
The waiter looked in Amelia’s direction and shrugged. “I’m sorry, sir, that’s the last piece of cheesecake. Would you like to make another selection?”
“No, thank you.” Philip rubbed his forehead.
He strode to Amelia’s table and waited for her to look up. Finally she put her book down and gazed at Philip. “Can I help you?”
“You took the last piece of cheesecake.”
Amelia smiled and closed her book. “I’ve heard ReCafé has the best cheesecake in Rome.”
“Are you sure your source is reliable?” Philip pulled out a chair.
“I heard it from a well-known local writer.” Amelia nodded.
“I have to sample it to make sure.” Philip picked up a fork. “Sometimes reviewers are paid for their reviews.”
“How scandalous!” Amelia exclaimed. “This writer is the most honest person I’ve ever met.”
Philip took a bite of cheesecake and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “The raspberry is a little tangy and the cheese is very creamy, but overall it’s delicious.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Amelia grinned and picked up her book. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m reading.”
Philip sat back in his chair. He sipped a glass of water and felt his heart racing.
“I thought you left Rome.”
“I had a few things to wrap up,” she mumbled, turning the page.
“Then you can help me, I need your advice.”
“My advice?” Amelia looked up.
“I’m writing a feature on Rome’s most famous fountains, I don’t know which ones to include.”
“Include all of them,” Amelia suggested.
“There are dozens, I don’t want to bore my readers.” Philip’s eyes sparkled and his face broke into a smile. “Come with me, help me choose my favorites.”
“Now?” Amelia raised her eyebrow.
“The feature is due tomorrow,” Philip pleaded. “It’ll just take an hour.”
Amelia gazed out the window at the pink sun streaming on the cobblestones. She turned to Philip and shrugged. “I have to finish my cheesecake.”
He picked up a fork. “I’ll help you.”
They crossed the Piazza di Trevi and saw the silver lights of the Trevi Fountain. They studied the Fountain of Nymphs with its naked nymphs and the Fountain of Turtles with its marble turtles. They entered the Piazza Navona and saw the Fountain of Four Rivers.
“The Fountain of Four Rivers is the most complex fountain in Rome,” Philip began. “Pope Innocent X held a contest to choose the designer and Bernini won. It was completed in 1651 and it was so expensive he had to raise the bread tax to pay for it.”
Amelia looked up and saw a tall Egyptian obelisk flanked by huge marble figures. There were thick snakes and birds and palm trees surrounded by rushing water.
“It’s impressive but it’s not my favorite,” Amelia mused. “I like the Trevi Fountain, it’s like an underwater palace.”
“If you turn your back to the Trevi Fountain and toss in a coin, you are promised to return to Rome,” Philip explained. “But if you make a wish and throw a coin into the Fountain of Four Rivers, your wish will come true.”
“Any wish?” Amelia raised her eyebrow.
Philip fished two coins out of his pocket and handed one to Amelia. “Let’s try it.”
Amelia glanced at the gold coin and giggled. She closed her eyes and tossed it into the fountain.
Philip threw a coin into the fountain and turned to Amelia. “What did you wish?”
“I’m not telling.” She smiled, watching the stars twinkle in the night sky.
“I’ll tell you mine,” Philip whispered, pulling her close and tipping her head up to his. “I wished I could kiss you.”
Philip covered her mouth with his and ran his hands down her back. She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“Now tell me your wish,” he pulled away.
Amelia rubbed her lips and giggled. “I wished for another slice of cheesecake.”
They sat at an outdoor table and shared raspberry cheesecake and iced coffee with nutmeg and cinnamon. They talked about books and magazines and movies. Philip tucked a loose hair behind Amelia’s ear and curled his hand around her fingers.
“Do you miss New York?” Amelia asked. “Don’t you get lonely living where everyone speaks another language?”
“You can be lonely anywhere, even in the place where you grew up, especially if the people you love don’t understand you,” Philip said slowly. “Sometimes it helps to go somewhere new and realize what’s important to you.”
“I think I know what you mean.” Amelia pictured Sheldon and the huge silver cameras on the set. She remembered Whit saying acting was a phase and she’d get over it. She thought about all the glorious hours she’d spent curled up on an ivory sofa in the Villa Medici Suite rehearsing her lines.
“If you look hard enough you can find things in t
he new place that make you happy: a café that serves pesto spagettini, a used bookstore that carries old Archie comic books.” Philip traced a circle around her palm. “Someone who’s beautiful and smart and has a wonderful smile.”
Amelia pulled her hand away and glanced at her watch. “I have to go, I had a lovely time.”
“I’ll walk you home,” Philip replied.
Amelia shook her head. “I have some errands to run before I go to work.”
She strolled along the cobblestones and then stopped and turned around. “I’ve decided not to go to Florence and Venice.”
“The Hassler will be happy to hear that.” Philip slipped his hands in his pockets. “And so am I.”
chapter eighteen
Amelia sat at her dressing table and gazed in the mirror. She dusted her cheeks with sparking blush and coated her eyelashes with Lancôme mascara. She rubbed shimmering lip gloss on her lips and dabbed her wrists with Estée Lauder’s Lovely.
She pinned her hair with a ceramic clip and glanced at her watch. She had an early morning call and didn’t want to be late. They were filming the scene at the Mouth of Truth and she couldn’t wait to ride through Rome on a shiny red Vespa.
She grabbed her purse and remembered Philip’s kiss at the Fountain of Four Rivers. She shouldn’t have kissed him when she still thought about Whit and should be concentrating on Roman Holiday. Then she flashed on sharing raspberry cheesecake and talking about love and books and movies. There was something about Philip that made her feel secure and happy.
She heard a knock on the door and wondered whether maid service arrived early. She opened the door and saw a man wearing a navy blazer and beige twill slacks. His dark curly hair touched his collar and his chin had a faint stubble.
“Whit!” she exclaimed, dropping her purse on the marble floor. “What are you doing here?”
“I had one more meeting with Alex Tomaselli,” he replied. “And I wanted to see you.”
Amelia picked up her purse and tried to stop trembling. She remembered him crossing the Piazza di Spagna and disappearing up the Spanish Steps. She remembered lying in bed and thinking her heart was breaking.