The Sweetness of Liberty James

by Janey Lewis

  So, alarm set, they jumped into a taxi, Liberty relaxed and excited, holding Percy’s hand and begging him to tell her where they were going. Florence!

  ‘Florence! I haven’t been there since I was sixteen. Daddy used to take me there, how I love it and how I love you!’ exclaimed Liberty as she kissed Percy.

  ‘That’s enough, you don’t have to keep doing that,’ said Percy, conscious of the grinning taxi driver looking in his rearview mirror.

  ‘That’s all right, sir,’ said the driver. ‘So nice to see a couple in love. Usually get the arguments at the end of the night – you two carry on with my blessing.’

  Liberty grinned like a schoolgirl. How could she have doubted Percy? This was going to be amazing.

  As she settled into her business class seat on the plane and strapped herself in, a smile crept across her face. Everything felt right and good in the world for the first time she could remember in years. At last, I don’t have that nagging sensation that I am living in an unreal world, with things going on around me that are outside my control. This is my life; my husband is in love with me. This is happiness. And I didn’t even realise that I wasn’t living.

  She had always wanted to do work to help other people, but felt that by working for the family bank she would please her husband and his family. Now she felt very secure. Her husband did love her, and she would produce a baby to carry on the generations of CRs. Everything is falling into place, and when I get home I can quit my silly job and concentrate on doing something important. I shall research doing charity work. Whatever have I been doing these past six years?

  She hadn’t appreciated until now how much she had felt ill at ease, and how much she disliked her job. She was good at it because she put all her effort and skill into anything she applied herself to. But she wanted to do something that truly fed her creative spirit, and having a baby was just the thing!

  ‘Glass of champagne, or juice?’ The steward was leaning towards her with a tray.

  ‘Water, please.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Percy. ‘I’ve paid good money for these tickets.’ He took two glasses of bubbling champagne from the tray. ‘And you can bring the bottle back when we have taken off,’ he reminded the steward.

  Liberty glanced at him.

  ‘Well, what is it?’ he asked. ‘You seem so pleased with yourself, quite different, really.’

  ‘Well, you know, it’s best to be positive,’ she responded meekly, feeling surprised that Percy wasn’t as excited as she was about the impending pregnancy test, and worried he had been working too hard as he kept snapping. Trying to please him, but feeling no need for alcohol, she took a tiny sip of champagne.

  She only knew it was champagne because of the bubbles running over her tongue, and felt an immediate furring in her mouth. ‘Yuck.’ When the steward passed by she said to him, ‘Can I have some water, please, when you have a moment?’ He brought her a large bottle and smiled sweetly at her before letting his face fall and handing Percy a bag of nuts. Liberty wondered if he had spat in them, remembering J-T’s steward friends telling her in peals of laughter what they did to rude passengers’ food and drink. Then she shut her eyes until they took off, to clear her mind of all negative thoughts.

  Through her dream Liberty heard the roar of the engines and opened her eyes, which were feeling rather heavy, although she had only had a very quick nap.

  ‘Welcome to Florence,’ said Percy, smirking. Oh God, thought Liberty. Whoops! I must have slept the whole way. ‘You seem to have been tired,’ said Percy, his smile odd and cold. Liberty wondered how much champagne he had drunk. ‘Are you going to sleep the whole weekend? I’m spending a fortune on this and if your hormones are going to make you sleep the entire time, I shall have to buy a book.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ said Liberty, feeling embarrassed. The passengers around them, now standing to retrieve bags, were listening with interest whilst turning on their mobiles and stretching stiffly.

  Percy raced to passport control, then to the baggage carousel, as though they were late for something. He rushed off to find the hotel car and was chatting animatedly to the driver as she pushed through the crowds, trying to keep up. Not exactly relaxing so far. Liberty felt more like a spare part than his wife. He had given her this special treat and now she just seemed to be doing everything wrong and was acting like a failure. She must make more of an effort. Maybe she had been too self-absorbed recently.

  She didn’t speak Italian as fluently as he, but she understood ‘names wrong, stupid man’ and ‘phone ahead’ being snippets from their conversation. Oh dear, I hope the hotel hasn’t made a mess of our booking, she thought.

  ‘Come on, get in the car. I just wanted to check the rooms were ready before we arrived. You know what a fuss these hotels make, even if I did book the rooms bloody six months ago.’ How did he know six months ago they would be coming here for this particular weekend? An alarm bell started ringing, but she decided to ignore it. This was going to be the most wonderful, romantic weekend of her life.

  They drove through the cobbled streets of the old town in silence, Liberty struck dumb by the beauty and symmetry of the buildings. The sun was dazzling and made the contrast between grey London and roseate Florence even more noticeable.

  As they drove up the steep winding road to Fiesole, Liberty realised they were staying at the Villa San Michele, where she had been as a teenager with her father. It had been converted from an ancient monastery into a five-star luxury hotel, cleverly done in a relaxed but grand way, as though it was a private house full of lovely things rather than a designed ‘space’. The staff were always waiting to attend to the guests’ every wish or command, but they carried out these wishes in a discreet, subtle way, and therefore were never intrusive. Staying at the hotel was like being a guest of very good friends in their grand family home, with the best food in Tuscany served on the loggia overlooking the city of Florence. There were huge white hydrangeas blossoming in large terracotta pots on a terrace just below them, interspersed with lemon trees, also in pots, hanging with fragrant fruit.

  As Liberty glanced around, savouring the clarity of the light and the cypress trees reaching up in columns to the sky, a man came dancing down the steps to the car.

  ‘Mr Cholmondly-Radley, welcome; Luca di Campo, manager of the most wonderful hotel in Italy, if not the world,’ he said by way of introduction as he stuck out his hand. Percy took it, and said, ‘That’s quite a claim. I hope you can back it up,’ and then sotto voce to Liberty, ‘Bloody Italians, arrogant little Eyetie. They should stick to pinching bottoms and making handbags.’

  ‘Come on, darling,’ replied Liberty. ‘He seems charming, and this hotel is very beautiful.’ She gazed up at the facade of the building.

  ‘Attributed to Michelangelo,’ announced the manager proudly. ‘Please come with me, we will get you settled on the terrace with a refreshing drink while we take your luggage to your suite.’

  ‘I would rather check in first,’ stated Percy.

  ‘No need, we don’t do things like that here,’ explained the manager kindly. ‘We have your booking, no need for any more formality, you are here to rest! Come to the terrace and relax.’

  Percy professed himself disappointed to find there was no real bar, just a table set on the loggia, laid with a linen cloth holding a few bottles and glasses and a fridge for the peach juice and Prosecco in case anyone wished for a Bellini.

  ‘Giovanni will look after you from here,’ said Luca. ‘Welcome again and enjoy your stay. Anything you need, let me know. Our little bus will take you into town, it leaves every half hour, or we can arrange a taxi.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Liberty, gazing out at the heavenly view towards Florence in the distance, and entranced by the hilltop setting of the hotel.

  The maître d’ appeared as if from nowhere. ‘The best table has been reserved for you for dinner, sir.’ He indicated a table at the far end of the terrace, slightly apart from the ot
hers, and furthest away from the piano.

  ‘Come and sit in the garden,’ said Giovanni, somehow manoeuvring them into two comfortable chairs overlooking the distant city. ‘Now, my dear lady, a fresh peach juice for you, I think? And what would sir enjoy?’ Percy looked aghast at the term of endearment directed towards his wife, and Liberty could almost hear him thinking ‘Bloody Eyetie!’.

  ‘Whisky, single malt,’ said Percy, ‘and make it a decent size!’ he shouted at Giovanni’s back. The maître d’ acknowledged this with a nod of his head and a smile. He was used to hassled visitors who were unable to unwind from their hectic lives. A few days here and things would change.

  While they waited for their drinks Liberty sat back on her comfortable cushion-filled chair, and took in the incredible beauty of her surroundings. The gardens were terraced, flanked by one wall of the hotel. Swathed by an ancient wisteria, small garden rooms could just be seen tucked under the lower terrace where the gentle splash of water in the swimming pool soothed their ears. Near them was the lemon garden, with beautiful metal chairs covered in thick white cushions carefully arranged in groups so as to provide instant comfort wherever wanted. Some had small tables shaded by white fringed parasols, just slightly moving in the light breeze, and the whisper of the wind gave the right amount of relief from the otherwise pressurising heat of the late afternoon. Liberty felt so fortunate that she could experience this intense beauty, so far removed from the real world, and she marvelled that once in a while man could get it right, and create a paradise on earth. She made a mental note that she must tell J-T and Bob to visit; they would adore it. Percy broke into her reverie.

  ‘Damn the Eyeties, they are just too bloody familiar. The Ritz could teach them a thing or two. Next they will be telling us what to wear for dinner and what to eat.’

  Liberty knew full well they would do exactly that, or at least strongly recommend their special dishes. All Italians try to help visitors to realise in which direction they should be going, whether culinary, sartorially or any other which way, rather than sticking to their own known world. The manager would understand that as an Englishman, Percy could well order pasta for a main course, and would try to sway him tactfully towards it as a first course, to be followed by a little meat or fish, so she simply smiled and said, ‘But Percy, just look at this place – have you ever been anywhere quite so stunning? And when have you ever stayed at the Ritz?’

  Percy ignored the question and said, ‘Well, August the twelfth is pretty damned bearable if you are in the Highlands, when you have a gun in your hands.’

  ‘I am sure the management could arrange some shooting here, and they probably have game on the menu. Let’s just enjoy our drinks, shall we?’

  She sipped her white peach juice, and settled herself back in the cushions as she realised just how delicious her drink was. This was not only because she knew it should be so, but because she felt that this drink was truly tasty. She sat bolt upright. Then she recognised it had been subtly enhanced with lemon juice.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Percy, glancing up from his smartphone.

  ‘Nothing, nothing,’ said Liberty, not daring to hope that pregnancy may indeed have been bringing back her taste buds. But she kept that fact to herself. She was so excited that her sense of taste could be returning in such a magical place, but would hate to make a thing of it, just in case it was simply the miraculous setting that had made her imagination run riot. ‘Cheers, darling, and thank you again. I feel so lucky to have you, although I do wish you didn’t work so hard, you are meant to be relaxing!’

  Percy looked up at his exquisite wife, in the unique setting, and wished he could be anywhere else in the world. He knew the subject of her pregnancy would pop out the moment they got to their room. Trapped. Trapped by baby, trapped by job. Why was life turning into such a chore? Didn’t he deserve some fun? This weekend was meant to be oh-so different. But he managed to put his phone down, and with some effort raised his glass and said ‘To life!’, before downing the amber liquid in one.

  7

  They chatted idly as they finished their drinks, and before they felt in any way impatient a member of staff was at their side saying their bags were in their room, and would they like to go up now?

  He took them up the narrow mahogany staircase, along an arched hallway and stopped at Room Eight. He opened the double doors and they walked into a beautiful vaulted room that took up the entire width of the hotel. An enormous bed with a half-tester stood proudly in the centre against one ancient stone wall, draped heavily in red velvet; comfortable chairs sat cosily around a table; whilst all mod cons had been hidden in wooden chests and cabinets. To see the view from the shuttered windows they had to step up slightly to a ledge wide enough for both of them to stand on together. One of these windows afforded them a full vista of the bowl that held the city of Florence, like a teacup containing an exquisite hibiscus flower.

  Liberty immediately moved up to the ledge, pushed open the shutters just enough to glimpse the golden dome of the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore in the valley below and gasped at the wonder of the sight before her. She knew Florence was a noisy, bustling city, but from their vantage point they only saw the glamour, the beauty, the well-known skyline, without the noise or polluted air. All was serene, bar the sound of knives and forks and happy chatter wafting up from the terrace, as late diners were still enjoying their luncheon, although by now it was nearly five o’clock.

  There was the sound of a bottle popping behind her. ‘Look what I ordered – Krug ’99,’ said Percy. ‘Come on, here is a glass for you. Funny they didn’t offer you alcohol downstairs.’

  Liberty opened her handbag and said that she wanted to get unpacked first. She couldn’t help but think only of the pregnancy test she wanted to do. Percy wanted to get drunk.

  ‘Come on, just one glass to celebrate, and then I need to check my emails and make some calls before we go down to dinner.’

  Liberty accepted the glass from Percy and took a sip, again not experiencing anything but bubbles. But she was convinced she had been right about her taste coming back before, so surely it would again? They sat with the sun peeping through the shutters, until Liberty glanced at him and blurted out, ‘So, aren’t you desperate to know?’

  Percy looked startled for a moment. ‘Know what, my darling? Oh yes,’ he corrected himself sharply. ‘Well, go on then, but you are so sure already that little Charles is on his way, aren’t you? I’m already celebrating, as you can see, but I hope that at least you won’t eat for two and get all podgy like Conrad’s wife did. The poor man couldn’t look at her for two years until she went to that fat farm, and now everything still sags, he says.’

  Oh great, thought Liberty. Well, I suppose that is what men want. A wife, a baby, the immaculately presentable family that seems perfect but without any change in bodily substance. Must remember to do my best to remain svelte for as long as possible, but if I AM pregnant, nothing else matters.

  She wandered through a huge arched doorway that led to the stunning bathroom, wide bath set below a window, vast shower for at least two, and an enormous vanity table inset with two basins, all enrobed in Carrara marble. In fact, it was hard to find anything that didn’t seem to be carved out of the gleaming grey and white stone that flattered every skin tone, whilst adding a sense of serene calm and good taste. The ceilings were as high as those in the bedroom, with frescos along one wall that looked as though they could date from the fifteenth century, but had probably been added later. J-T would have a field day here, thought Liberty as she emptied her cosmetics out of her seemingly bottomless Birkin. ‘I know I put in at least ten of the damn things, and now I can’t find one,’ she muttered. ‘Aha!’ she exclaimed as she found a pregnancy test, feeling triumphant, like Mary Poppins when she discovered her hat stand.

  For a brief moment she wondered whether being pregnant might not be the dream she had hoped for. Percy had seemed so distant the moment she said she was sure it ha
d worked. Then she checked herself. Did she not love Percy, didn’t she respect him at all? What was she doing with such a superficial man, anyway? Why hadn’t she noticed his behaviour before now? She supposed it was because she had always made such an effort to be exactly the woman that Percy wanted, the perfect wife and partner, whereas now she just didn’t care any longer, all she wanted was to be a mummy and have a family, with Percy. She was sure he would be a good father. He was probably just nervous. After taking a few deep breaths leaning over one of the sinks, she reassured herself that he was a good man; not too good at showing love or emotion, perhaps, but kind nonetheless. She tried to remember the man she had met all those years ago, filled with passion and drive. He would be a fine father, she reasoned, it would just take a little getting used to for him. She regained her excited feeling and threw doubt to the wind.

  She tried to open one of the plastic wrappers to get into the pregnancy test and observed they were made for organised people who carried scissors wherever they went, so she hurried back into the bedroom to find a sewing kit or something similar. There was no sewing kit in the room that she could find. She looked around and saw a bottle opener on the table. Percy must have left the room to make his calls. There was a letter next to the bowl of fruit on the table that she had not noticed before. It must have just been delivered. It was addressed to Mr and Mrs Percy Smith. Out of curiosity, she opened it.