When in Rome

When in Rome Page 13

by Gemma Townley

  “Oh, you’d hate having me around all the time,” he says jokingly. “I’m sure I’d cramp your style.”

  “I mean it,” I persist. “For once, you’re doing something just for me—I mean, you’re meant to be in Geneva and you came here instead. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

  I look at David with what I hope is a devoted expression, but he just looks slightly embarrassed.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he says, after a short pause. “How about I make up for everything by taking you dancing?”

  It’s not quite the response I was looking for, but it’ll do.

  “What, now?”

  “No time like the present. Come on, drink up.”

  This definitely isn’t the David I know. But if he wants to take me dancing in Rome, who am I to say no? And anyway, even if I haven’t really managed to have a heart-to-heart with David yet, there’s always tomorrow, isn’t there? We finish our wine and leave the restaurant arm in arm.

  “The nightclubs won’t be open yet, but there’s a wonderful place near here where we can get some wine and dance the night away,” David says, turning down a small side road. I follow him dubiously—it looks pretty deserted to me—but sure enough, five minutes later we alight upon a small establishment called Carlo’s.

  As we walk in, a short man greets David with open arms. David introduces us—his name is Carlo, so I can only assume he’s the owner. The place is fantastic. It’s your perfect cheesy seventies venue, with flocked wallpaper and a guy with dark, slicked back hair is singing Bee Gees songs with a thick Italian accent. And the really weird thing is that it’s completely packed—there’s barely a free table. How did David know about this place, and how does he know Carlo, I wonder.

  Carlo kisses me hello and leads us to a table. Several other people grin and wave at David as we walk past.

  “Darling, how do you know these people so well?” I whisper, intrigued.

  “Oh, it’s work-related,” David shrugs.

  Carlo, who has overheard, puts his arm round me.

  “Mr. Davido, he ees hero,” he says loudly in my ear. “He stop the mafioso from closing me down, from taking all this away from me and my family.” He looks around the restaurant proudly, reaching over to give David a hug.

  “It really wasn’t that dramatic,” David says, grinning as he sits down at a table right next to the dance floor. “We just caught a guy running a prostitution ring in the U.K.—and he was also rather busy in these parts.”

  “Ees savior,” says Carlo again, and signals for one of the waiters to bring us a menu.

  “Since when do accountants get involved in prostitution rings?” I ask incredulously. I am completely blown away. I’m also very impressed, but am beginning to wonder what other surprises David is going to have for me.

  “Well, it all comes down to money in the end. If you can trace where the money is and what’s being done with it, you can track down the people. Now, some wine for the lady?” David attempts an Italian accent, and hands me the plastic rose that is adorning our table. “Ees, nice, yes?” he grins.

  We order more wine and giggle as the singer wiggles his hips to “Staying Alive.”

  “David, you never really talk about your work.”

  “Yes, and for very good reason. It’s dull as ditchwater. Why on earth would you want to hear about my days in an accountancy firm?”

  “But all this stuff. Carlo’s nightclub. Prostitution rings. Why didn’t I know about any of this before?”

  “Look, it’s mostly pretty boring stuff,” shrugs David. “And the bits that are more interesting are usually either very sensitive or slightly dangerous. A lot of the work I do involves some pretty horrible people. And I don’t want you exposed to that again.”

  “Again?” I ask indignantly. What does he mean “again”? I don’t remember being exposed to any horrible people.

  David looks annoyed with himself. “At all. I meant at all.”

  I look at him accusingly. “David, don’t lie to me. What do you mean, you don’t want me exposed to that again? Tell me!”

  “Oh, I suppose it won’t hurt,” he sighs. “About a year ago I was working on a case involving dodgy mini-cab drivers. I got a note saying that they knew who you were and that I should stop my investigations or you were going to be in real trouble. And then you were really late coming round to see me . . . and I panicked.”

  “You mean the time you freaked out and went and bought me a mobile phone?”

  David smiles sheepishly. “Yes, I suppose I did freak out a bit. It’s a bit of a special phone actually. It means that if anything happens to you, we can track you. I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to have to deal with any of this rubbish.”

  I can’t decide whether to be flattered, excited, scared, or concerned. “You mean you know where I am all the time?”

  “God no,” David laughs. “But if you did go missing, or if anything happened, we would be able to find you.”

  No wonder Nigel was so excited by the phone. I better not tell him why David gave it to me; he’d probably think David was one of “them” and was using me to spy on Nigel.

  “When you say ’we,’ do you mean your accountancy firm?” I’m confused. None of this really makes much sense.

  “Not the firm, no. A lot of the work I’m doing now relates to government agencies. Organized crime, that sort of thing.”

  “So you’re kind of like a spy?” I ask hopefully. I sawTrue Lies with Arnie and Jamie Lee Curtis the other day and rather like the idea of going out with my very own action man.

  David laughs. “I’m afraid I’m not James Bond,” he says slowly. “In reality, the vast majority of my work involves digging around and going through people’s financial affairs. It isn’t at all glamorous and usually isn’t dangerous at all; it just gets difficult if people know you’re on to them. No one likes getting caught out. But I thought we came here to dance?” He grabs my hand and leads me to the dance floor.

  David has never been that great at dancing. We went to Starsky and Hutch, the seventies nightclub, once a couple of years ago and he was dreadful—funny, but dreadful. But our Italian singer has finished with the Bee Gees and is now crooning Frank Sinatra numbers.

  I don’t know how he does it, but with his hands holding me tightly round the waist David soon has me moving all over the floor, spinning around and everything. It’s intoxicating. I feel like I’m in a Sophia Loren movie, with the man of my dreams smoldering at me as I glide around the dance floor.

  I say glide, in reality I’m not actually the best dancer, but I’m definitely getting the hang of it. And to be honest, I think if I practiced I could be really good. Maybe David and I could go to classes when we get back home. And when we get married we can impress everyone with our amazing dancing—all our guests will just stand round the dance floor watching and clapping, and we’ll smile modestly and say “Well, we do like going out dancing. . . .”

  I let go of David’s hands to twirl round, and when I spin round again I feel some unfamiliar hands round, my waist. It’s Carlo.

  “You come to Carlo’s, you ’ava to dance with Carlo,” he grins. As we dance, I look at David watching us. He’s smiling broadly and winks at me when I catch his eye. What is he thinking, I wonder. What do I really mean to him?

  When the singer starts on “That’s Amore,” I break off from Carlo and walk back to David.

  “You looked beautiful dancing,” he tells me as I wrap my arms around his neck.

  “Why don’t you take me home,” I say simply.

  “Home?” David says, surprised.

  “Home as in your hotel. I don’t want to dance with my clothes on anymore.”

  “Just what I was thinking,” murmurs David and places his hand firmly on my bottom, leading me to the door. Carlo meets us with our coats and puts us in a cab. “You’ll sort out the Vespa for us?” David asks him.

  “Of course!” He grins, then winks at me. “Too dangerous for a beautiful young lady like you to be on a scooter, no? I think a car is better.”

  I smile politely. To be honest, I’m a teensy bit disappointed. I was looking f
orward to jumping on the Vespa and putting my arms around David again. Still, I suppose a luxurious cab isn’t too bad either.

  “Hotel Inghilterra,” David says to the driver and turns to look at me. He stares into my eyes as if looking for something.

  “So, did today meet with your expectations?” he asks me.

  I kiss him. “It did much more than that.”

  “And you’re happy?” He is still looking at me intently. As if he wants to ask me something important. He couldn’t be about to pop the question, could he?

  “David, I’m always happy when you’re around.” I take his hand and look up expectantly.

  “I don’t want to lose you,” David says softly.

  Lose me? What’s he talking about.

  “David, you’re not going to lose me,” I whisper in his ear, then kiss him, nibbling his earlobe. He kisses me back urgently, wrapping his arms around me. Then he pulls back slightly.

  “Darling, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Mmmm?”

  Before he can answer, the cab draws up in front of an impressive-looking hotel. David pulls away and gets some money out of his pocket for the driver.

  As we walk into the hotel, I nestle my head in his shoulder.

  “What was it you wanted to tell me?”

  “Oh, nothing. It can wait,” David says, stroking my head.

  As we walk into the hotel, I stifle a yawn.

  “Oh no you don’t,” David says firmly, and picks me up over his shoulder.

  “David! Put me down!” I yelp. There are a few people in the reception area looking rather taken aback.

  “Room number Thirty-four,” David says calmly to the concierge as if it was completely normal to have a girl hanging over his back.

  “Put me down!” I squeak as we move toward the lift, but David just pats me on the bottom and presses the button.

  “I am not having you yawn, Miss Beauchamp,” he says sternly. “I have a number of activities planned for this evening and I think you need to conserve your energy.”

  As the lift doors open, David concedes defeat and puts me down again.

  “No yawning?” he asks.

  “No yawning,” I agree. David picks me up again, but this time he has his arms securely under my bottom and my legs wrap round him. I can feel his slight stubble graze my cheeks as we kiss, our tongues exploring each other’s mouth.

  For a moment I wonder if we’re going to make it to the bedroom, but the lift doors open and David carries me down the corridor.

  I slither down his front as he puts the key in the door, and as David closes the door behind us he looks at me intensely.

  “Beauchamp, get your clothes off.”

  In any event, there’s no need; David has that under control, too. He kisses me urgently, deftly undoing my shirt and bra at the same time. Before I know it we’re naked and making love, and I don’t know if it’s the wine, the dancing, being in Rome, or something else, but I can’t help myself shouting out as waves of pleasure course through my body.

  “That wasn’t very princesslike,” David smiles afterward as he kisses my breasts, kisses my shoulders.

  “I think I did one better than Audrey Hepburn,” I smile. “She didn’t get a good seeing-to.”

  “Yes, well, she didn’t wiggle her bottom when she was dancing, did she? You are a sexy little minx, aren’t you?”

  With David’s arm wrapped round me and glistening in sweat, I feel myself begin to fall asleep.

  “The best thing,” I say sleepily to David just before I drop off, “is that unlike Audrey and Greg, we can stay with each other forever.”

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  ================================== 11

  The alarm clock is ringing, but however hard I try to turn it off, it won’t stop. God, it’s the most annoying sound. As I gradually drift into consciousness I realize that it’s the phone ringing. It’s nine o’clock in the morning, and the phone’s ringing.

  Reluctantly I reach over and pick it up.

  “Hello?” I croak, wondering too late if I should have said“Buon giorno” instead.

  “Oh, hello.” The clipped female voice on the other end sounds surprised. “I think I may have dialed the wrong number. I was looking for David. David Bradley.”

  “No, you’ve got the right number, but he’s asleep. Can I take a message?”

  There is a pause at the other end of the line.

  “I’d like to speak to him if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

  The frosty tone suggests that it better not be too much trouble, so I reluctantly prod David to wake him up. He looks gorgeous asleep, and I’m looking forward to spending the morning in bed with him. We can order room service and stay in bed till lunchtime . . .

  David wakes with a start and I hand him the phone.

  “Hi. Yes, of course I remembered. No, it’s nothing. She’s a . . . look, doesn’t matter. Fine, see you then.”

  He jumps out of bed.

  “Gorgeous, I’ve got to go I’m afraid. Shit, is that the time?” David wanders into the bathroom and turns on the shower.

  I follow him in, trying to work out what’s happening. How can David be rushing off when no one even knows he’s here? Unless his colleagues in Geneva have tracked him down? That would be so typical.

  “Darling, you don’t have to go anywhere,” I say, sitting down on the loo as David gets into the shower. I’m quite tempted to get in there with him. “You deserve a weekend to yourself. They can’t make you work on Sunday.”

  “I’m afraid they can,” he says, washing his hair. “I wish I didn’t have to leave you, but I’ve wasted enough time already. I should have been working yesterday . . .”

  “You’ve wasted enough time?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Yesterday was the best day of my life, and David is describing it as wasting time. “I’m really very sorry, David, but I thought yesterday was a little bit more than that.”

  “Notwasted . . . oh, look Georgie, I’m sorry but there are some things I have to do here. I shouldn’t really have had yesterday off, but I wanted to spend it with you. I’ll call you later, shall I?”

  He’s looking at me like he’s done me some huge favor. My heart is beating loudly and I can’t quite believe what’s happening.

  “But . . . I thought you followed me here. How could you be working when you came to Rome to follow me? How could you?”

  My voice breaks and I retreat into the bedroom. I am not going to cry. There is a perfectly rational reason for all of this. David is going to come out of the shower, and go back to being the David of yesterday.

  I lie down on the bed in what I hope is a seductive pose. There is no way David will want to leave this hotel room when he realizes he’ll be giving up a day in bed with me.

  But when David reemerges from the bathroom, he gives me a quick look over and then grins.

  “Gorgeous girl. Look, I won’t be too long. You order room service and watch some television, and I’ll see you soon, okay?”

  I sit up with a start. Last night I was a sex goddess and David couldn’t get enough of me; now it’s back to “gorgeous girl” and “why don’t you watch some television”?

  Patronizing bastard. How dare he talk to me like that? How dare he say he followed me here to be with me and then announce that actually he’s here to do some work, and did me the huge favor of spending time with me yesterday? He didn’t follow me here at all, did he? He was here for work, and happened to bump into me. Well, he and his work can go screw themselves. If David thinks I’m going to wait around for him he’s got another think coming. A little voice inside my head points out that I’m hardly one to talk, and that perhaps being here for work is not quite as bad as me being here to have an illicit affair with my ex-boyfriend. But that’s not the point. Or rather, we’re not arguing about that now. God, I hope we never argue about that. If David found out . . . no, that’s too horrible to even contemplate.

  I struggle into my clothes, and the silence in the room is deafening. I know that David is not a bad pe
rson. I know that he would never intentionally be mean to me. And I know that I do not have much of a moral leg to stand on. But the fact remains that he is ditching me just like Mike did, and he doesn’t even think there’s a problem. There is no such thing as the perfect man. Jesus, Georgie, I chastise myself, when are you going to wake up and smell the roses?

  As I put on my shoes, David comes over and sits down next to me on the bed. He’s still unshaven and I can see some nail marks in his back that I remember giving him the night before. I kind of wish I’d dug harder.

  “Darling, don’t be cross,” he pleads, taking my hand. “Look, okay, I’m here for work. But you don’t know how pleased I was to see you. We had the best time yesterday, didn’t we? Don’t ruin it now, please.”

  “Me ruin it? Me?” I’m really cross now. “For your information, I am ruining nothing. You, on the other hand, have ruined everything.”

  I pick up the scarf David bought me and throw it at him. Too late I remember that scarves don’t tend to throw very well. It glides softly down to the floor right in front of my feet. I kick it impatiently. This is our Roman Holiday, and David is leaving me here to meet some horrible work colleague. It’s just not fair.

  I pick up my things and head for the door without even kissing David good-bye. Why can’t anything just go well? Why can’t I just have one weekend in Rome with the man I love? Is it really too much to ask?

  Arriving in the smart lobby, my anger subsides a little as I try to figure out what to do next. I don’t want to go back to Mike’s hotel now—to be honest, since bumping into David yesterday I’ve sort of tried to forget I ever came to Rome with Mike, as if it will cease to be true if I can convince myself otherwise. But what else am I going to do? Plus, my ticket home is in Mike’s room, along with my things.

  The other thing is, I don’t want to leave on such bad terms with David. He’s probably up in his room now realizing what a shit he’s been. He might even be canceling his stupid meeting right now. Maybe I should wait for him down here. He’ll come down to the reception, see me, and be relieved that he’s got a chance to apologize. He’ll pick me up again and tell me how sorry he is, and I can accept his apology graciously, tell him to go and get his meeting out of the way quickly, then I can sneak back to Mike’s hotel, get my things, and be back here in time to have a relaxed lunch with David. Perfect.

 

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