Indiscretions (20 page)

“Stop, stop,
carina
,” he murmured, grasping her arm again.

India stole a glance at the taxi driver, whose attention, thankfully, was on the dark rain-wet road in front of him as they made their way out of Rome into the countryside. Fabrizio buried his head inside the soft fox jacket, taking her nipple in his mouth with tiny bites until she cried out.

“Sshh,” murmured Fabrizio.

India suddenly remembered the story of Jenny making love to her Englishman in the gondola in Venice—a taxi wasn’t quite as romantic as a gondola, but the concept was the same. She began to giggle. Fabrizio raised his head from his endeavors irritably.

“But why are you laughing, India? What have I done?”

“Nothing … you’ve done nothing—it’s just funny, that’s all.” She threw back her head and laughed, and Fabrizio moved away, straightening his jacket and smoothing back his hair.

“I don’t see anything funny,” he said, annoyed. No woman had ever laughed at him when he was making love.

His macho instincts—and his erection—were so obviously deflated that India found it even funnier.

“Stop laughing!” commanded Fabrizio. “What’s the matter with you tonight?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She gasped between giggles. “It’s just something I thought about.”

“
I
was thinking about
you
,” said Fabrizio coldly, “and I supposed you were thinking of me at such a time.”

“I was, truly I was … it’s—well, I just thought of something my mother told me and I realized I’m more like her than I thought.”

“Ah, your mother.” Fabrizio was filled with genuine Italian sympathy for a lost mother. “Poor little India. You will see, the pain will fade in a while. Sometimes laughter comes from sad memories.”

India pulled her fur jacket over her breasts. It was
bloody cold making love in cabs. She began to laugh again.

“Really, India, that’s enough. You’re becoming quite hysterical.”

“I’m sorry, Fabrizio, I didn’t mean it. It just happened.” She tidied her appearance and peered out of the windows. All she could see was a dark country road. “It’s very dark out there,” she remarked.

“The countryside usually is,” retorted Fabrizio.

India sighed. Obviously she’d hurt his finest feelings. To laugh when an Italian was making love to you—even one as sophisticated as Fabrizio—was the wrong thing to do. She’d probably insulted his manhood, when all she’d been thinking of was her own reactions. Something else he’d said was true, though, that he had been thinking of her and at such a moment she should have been thinking of him. She hadn’t—and it wasn’t the first time. More and more often lately she’d found her thoughts drifting away while Fabrizio was consumed with passion. It really wasn’t right to be wondering what was going on elsewhere while a man made love to you in some elaborate hotel bedroom. Was it that the secrecy of the relationship was finally becoming a bore? It wasn’t Fabrizio’s lovemaking, she could reassure him on that—but something was missing. India took his hand and kissed it and Fabrizio slid an arm around her.

“That’s better,
cara
.” He snuggled her head onto his shoulder. “You’re calmer now.”

“Are we almost there?”

“Another half hour. Not long, and then we’ll be alone together.”

That’s the problem, thought India, I miss being with people. Affairs with married men become a lonely business—too lonely. Like this weekend, for instance. Marisa was in Milan visiting her family and wouldn’t be back until Monday. Fabrizio had pleaded pressure of work,
saying that he must stay in Rome, and had arranged to borrow the country villa of a friend who was abroad. They would have two nights together—only two, because he was nervous that Marisa might surprise him by returning earlier on Sunday. He didn’t think she was suspicious yet—she’d laughed at the items in the newspapers and seemed unconcerned—but one never knew.

India snuggled closer to Fabrizio. She enjoyed being with him, she liked him, he was an amusing companion. He was an accomplished lover—and at first she had enjoyed the secrecy. It was easier in the beginning, she remembered; new love affairs bloom in out-of-the-way restaurants, where you were both unlikely to meet anyone you knew. Romance was heightened by assignations in quaint rooms in remote inns, and passion was allowed to take its course in thrilling rendezvous in some secret apartment; you were satisfied with much less in the beginning. But does romance begin to fade simply because it can’t be part of the real world?

“What are you thinking,
cara?
” Fabrizio kissed the end of her cold nose.

“I’m not sure.” India stared through the windows into the wet night as the taxi swung through a pair of elaborate iron gates.

The villa sat at the end of a long, straight avenue of poplars, bent and dripping beneath their burden of rain. It looked gloomy and uninviting as they stepped from the taxi, and India huddled under the portico, waiting while Fabrizio settled with the driver and arranged for him to pick them up on Sunday morning.

“The servants were told to expect us,” he said, pressing the bell.

India watched the lights of the taxi disappear down the driveway, leaving them alone in darkness. Fabrizio rang the bell again—and again they waited. The rain on the roof of the portico sounded even louder in the silence.

Fabrizio lifted the heavy iron knocker and rapped at the door. “Damn it, where is everyone?” he demanded. “Hello, anyone home?”

“I sure as hell hope so,” murmured India. What if there was really no one here and they were stuck in the middle of nowhere—on a night like this? So much for an illicit romantic weekend!

“Wait here,” commanded Fabrizio. “I’ll go and find the servants.”

“But Fabrizio—what if there are no servants?”

He was already down the steps and heading for the corner of the house. “There are
always
servants.”

His voice sounded angry and India hoped he was right. She peered nervously into the darkness. Faint rustlings in the undergrowth and the soughing of the wind in the trees brought back memories of every creepy movie she had ever laughed over—only, now they didn’t seem funny. She pressed closer to the door and prayed that Fabrizio wouldn’t be long.

Five minutes passed. India hugged her fur jacket around her; it was freezing standing here, there was no escape from that wind. She checked her watch again—another five minutes. Damn it, where was Fabrizio? Surely he should have found
someone
by now? A branch cracked like a pistol shot, crashing to the ground somewhere in the darkness along the avenue. What was that? Where was Fabrizio?—Where was
everybody?
She couldn’t bear to wait here any longer, she’d go and find him. He’d turned right, heading for the back of the house, hadn’t he?

Keeping close to the wall, India hurried after him, tripping over ornamental statues and urns in the darkness. Every window was shuttered, so even if there were anyone inside it would have been impossible to catch so much as a gleam of light, but of course the owners were away and all the main rooms would be closed. Fabrizio
had been looking for the servants’ quarters. An arched gate led around the side of the villa, and India peered through it hesitantly. You’re just being silly, she told herself sternly, of course there’s no one there, there’s absolutely nothing to be afraid of. Lifting her chin she strode through the arch and walked a few steps. If anything, it was even darker here than at the front of the house, and she paused uneasily.

“Fabrizio?” Her voice drifted tentatively on the wind. She listened hard, but there was only the sound of the rain flinging itself against the walls of the villa. “Fabrizio?” She called louder this time and strained her ears for a reply. Something must have happened to him. Oh, God, and she was here all alone without a car, probably miles from the nearest town. Panic gripped her. It was a couple of seconds before she realized that she had heard something, a different sound—yet familiar. A footstep on the gravel. India stood rooted to the spot, straining her ears. Yes, there it was again. Panic stricken, she turned and ran back through the arch—and straight into the man on the other side.

“India! Where the hell have you been?” Fabrizio grasped her by the shoulders. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

“Fabrizio. Oh, thank God.” Her knees felt weak with relief. “I thought something had happened to you. You were gone so long I got scared.”

“What is there to be scared of? If you’d stayed put you wouldn’t be this wet. Now we’re both soaked!”

“Where are the servants?”

“What servants?” asked Fabrizio bitterly.

“Those servants who are always here—remember?”

“There’s no one here. There must have been some misunderstanding about the dates.”

“What?” India stared at him disbelievingly. The rain streamed down her face, dripping under her collar. “You
can’t be serious. Are you telling me that we’re here in the middle of
nowhere
—with no car, and no key to this house?”

“That appears to be the situation,” replied Fabrizio stiffly.

“Goddamn it.” India stamped her foot in fury. “Why the hell didn’t we bring my car?”

“You know why—the paparazzi have you staked out—they’d have followed us here! They’d take photos through the bedroom windows! If you thought they were bad in Hollywood, it’s no holds barred here, India, and you know it.”

“Then why did we come here? I could have met you in a hotel in Switzerland, or France—but no, you had this nice cozy little love-nest only an hour or so away from Rome! Shit!” India’s stamping foot kicked out at him, catching him on the shin.

“Aagh!” Fabrizio stepped back, clutching his leg. He glared at her angrily in the darkness. “Violence does not become you, India.”

His reply to her kick sounded so stiff and pompous that India laughed. “I thought it was the Neapolitans who were volatile and crazy.” She giggled. “But, damn it, you deserved it, Fabrizio.”

Turning on his heel he limped back toward the corner of the house.

“Fabrizio, wait! Wait for me!”

She caught up with him under the portico and grabbed his hand. “I’m sorry, forgive me—I didn’t mean to hurt you, really, Fabrizio.”

“Why were you laughing? You’ve been laughing secretly all night—it’s very annoying, India.”

“It’s just that this whole situation struck me as being too ridiculous. You should be thankful I’m laughing, Fabrizio, and not crying!”

“It’s true, I know.” He put his arm around her wet,
furry shoulders. “And it’s my fault—I should have double-checked all the arrangements, but it’s difficult sometimes.”

“Well, what do we do now?”

“We break in,” announced Fabrizio calmly. “There’s a small window at the back of the house that has been left unshuttered. It probably leads into a pantry near the kitchen. I shall break it with a stone and open the latch so that you can get in.”

“Me?” India’s eyes were round with astonishment.

“Of course
you
—obviously I am too large for such a window. Come on, I’ll show you.”

The window was small even for her, and India stared at it doubtfully.

“Isn’t there any other way?” she asked in a small voice.

“Not unless you fancy walking six kilometers to the nearest town. Come on, now, India, it’s not that difficult. Inside there is warmth and comfort, dry clothes, food and drink.” He prayed he was right and that the house hadn’t been left unoccupied by the servants for very long. “At least there’ll be a telephone,” he added.

A phone! The lifeline to civilization.

“Here’s a stone,” replied India.

The sound of shattering glass was small compared with the roar of the wind that had now reached gale force, and India crouched low, bracing herself against it, as Fabrizio put his hand inside the shattered pane and fiddled with the latch.

“Got it,” he said triumphantly, swinging the window outward. “Come on, India—and watch out for fragments of glass.”

The window was higher than she had thought; she could only just clutch the sill with her hands. Fabrizio gave her a leg up and India cautiously pushed her head through the opening, staring into the darkness.

“Go on!” Fabrizio gave her a push.

“I can’t see a thing,” she called, her voice sounding muffled.

“I know the house,” he called back. “I’m pretty sure that this is the butler’s pantry. There should be a sink immediately below the window—if you feel down there you should find the taps and then we’ll know I’m right. There’s no big drop from the window to the floor, so there’s no need to be afraid.”

India felt forward cautiously; yes, there was the faucet. “You’re right,” she called, wriggling farther through. If she turned sideways she could just make it.

“I’m in,” she called triumphantly. “I’m standing in the sink.”

“Good, now I’ll tell you what to do. If I’m right, directly opposite you is a door. It leads to a passage. If you turn left and walk all the way to the end you’ll come to the door that leads from the kitchens into the side courtyard. If we’re in luck the key will be in the lock, because that door is rarely used—there’s another one the family uses that leads into the kitchen gardens.”

India screamed.

“What is it?” he cried in alarm. “What’s happened?”

“Oh, oh, it’s all right, it’s just a cat. It rubbed against my legs in the dark and scared the hell out of me.” The cat purred at her feet and India bent and picked him up. His warmth felt comforting. “Beautiful puss, you’ll stay with me, won’t you? You know this house better than I do.”

Sitting on the edge of the sink she wriggled to the floor and stood uncertainly, trying to get her bearings.

“I don’t suppose you remember where the light switch is?” she called.

“Try next to the door.”

Fabrizio’s voice sounded fainter and she glared back at the small rectangle of light framed by the window.

“Damn it, puss, what am I doing here?” she whispered as the cat levered itself onto her shoulder, purring happily. “I could be in some warm, cheery trattoria with warm, cheerful friends drinking warming and cheering red wine and eating my favorite pasta—I didn’t have to come all this way to get laid!”