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The dining
car was almost empty when she walked in – an elderly couple at the far end, two
businessmen deep in conversation at the first table and another reading a
newspaper. Rachel took a deep breath, summoned up her courage and marched to a
seat at a table for two, half way along the carriage. She wasn’t used to eating
alone. In fact, she wasn’t used to formal dining at all, but this rail journey
through France to Italy was the overture to a big adventure and she meant to do
it in style.
She looked
up from the menu with a start when she sensed someone standing next to her.
Tall, elegantly dressed, with thick dark hair turning steel-grey at the
temples, his hand indicated the vacant place opposite hers. Beautiful leather
shoes.
He spoke
in French.
‘I’m
sorry, I don’t speak French.’
‘Ah, Inglese.
Pardon me, Signorina. I ask if I might join you.’ He smiled and blood
rushed to Rachel’s cheeks.
‘I suppose
so,’ she mumbled, nervous.
‘A
beautiful woman should not dine alone.’
His eyes
were deep brown, as intense as espresso.
She
swallowed.
He offered
his hand. ‘Salvatore Monterosso.’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘Er… I’m
Rachel Radcliffe.’
‘And where
are you heading Signorina Rachel?’
‘To Milan.
I have a job there. Teaching English.’
He smiled
again and she felt a shiver deep inside. She wasn’t sure whether she should be
afraid or excited, then decided she was both.
As if
reading her mind, the stranger leaned forward and said, ‘You are wondering if I
make a habit of talking to young women on trains?’
She said
nothing.
‘I can
promise you I don’t. But there is a first time for everything.’ He studied her,
his expression thoughtful. Jerking his head towards the lone businessman
reading Le Figaro at the end of the carriage, he added, ‘Usually that
would be me. My head buried in the financial pages – in my case Il Corriere
della Sera.’ He gave her another winning smile.
The waiter
approached and Monterosso spoke rapidly to him in French. The man nodded and
disappeared.
‘What did
you tell him? I haven’t ordered yet.’
‘I told
him you are my guest and I have ordered for both of us.’
Rachel
felt a pulse of annoyance. How presumptuous. Yet part of her was secretly
thrilled. It was the kind of thing that happened to women in books and films
but never to someone like her.
‘Tell me
about yourself, Rachel. Your new job? Why Milano?’
‘I studied
Physics at university. Graduated a month ago. Before I settle into a proper job
using my degree, I want to see something of the world. Try something
different.’
‘And what
might a proper job in Physics be?’
‘I don’t
really want to think about that yet. Teaching maybe. Data analysis. Or an MSc
and then work in a more specialised field. But I need a break first.’
‘So, you
are a very clever woman. Mi piace molto le donne intelligente. I adore
clever women.’
His deep
brown eyes gazed into hers and Rachel’s stomach flipped. How old was he? Much older than her. Then
she told herself he was only being courteous. She shouldn’t jump to the
conclusion he had an ulterior motive.
Again,
that uncanny ability to read her mind. ‘You are thinking perhaps I am a man in
search of an… adventure?’ His smile was disarming. ‘That I make a habit of
seducing young women?’
She
swallowed, wishing now she hadn’t let him join her. ‘It’s hard not to reach
that conclusion.’
He laughed
and gave his head a little shake, wagging a finger. ‘Then you would be quite
wrong, Signorina Rachel. I am a happily married man.’
Rachel’s
breath released.
He looked
at her again, intensely. ‘But in this case, you are partly correct.’ He paused
as the waiter arrived and served them champagne. Touching his glass against
hers, he said, ‘I would like very much to seduce you, dear Rachel, and I intend
to make that my mission.’
The
champagne shot up her nose and she spluttered into her napkin.
He gave a
little shrug. ‘You are a beautiful woman and I want to make love to you. In
fact I won’t rest until I have done so. Many times.’ He took another sip of
champagne, his eyes locked on hers, as the waiter served their entrées.
Rachel
started to stand up. Salvatore laid a hand on hers and she sat down again.
‘Please, permit me to finish.’
As if her
body were paralysed, she waited, unable to escape the intensity of his gaze.
‘I want
you as my amante - my lover.’
Rachel
gasped, horrified. ‘You mean your mistress? You don’t even know me.’
He closed
his eyes, shaking his head. ‘Mistress is an ugly word. I prefer lover.’
Reaching
across the table, he touched her hand again and a shock wave ran through her.
Out of her depth, she didn’t know what to say.
‘Look at
me, Rachel.’
She lifted
her eyes.
‘You think
this is improper? Very un-English?’
She
nodded.
‘And yet
you want me, too? Don’t look away.’
She
nodded, helpless.
‘See? Not
so hard. My dear Rachel, forget the blushing English reserve, and trust your
own feelings.’ He took her hand again, stroking it. ‘I’m a wealthy man. I am
married and have a family. I will never leave them. Nor will I tell you
anything else about myself. You will not know my address, my telephone number, the
nature of my business.’ He continued to stroke her hand. ‘Instead, I propose we
meet every week to make love, to drink fine wine and dine together. He handed
her a hotel key card. ‘This hotel room, every Thursday at seven. You may remain
for the night after I return to my wife and family. We will enjoy each other’s
company and I will make love to you as you have never been made love to
before.’ He smiled again.
‘But…we
don’t even know each other.’
‘That is
the point. It will be a glorious adventure.’
‘Your
wife?’
‘Will
never know.’
Rachel
turned and gazed at the French countryside as the train rushed along. The sun
was setting behind distant hills, washing the sky in orange light and tingeing
the clouds the palest of rose. Her stomach churned. She was hungry but too
disturbed to eat the paté in front of her.
Salvatore
took her hand and brushed his lips over it. ‘I will leave you now to enjoy your meal and think
about what I have said. ‘I promise I will show you pleasures you have never
known before. Then, when you return to England to pursue your studies – as I
hope you will – you are too clever to waste your life teaching bored
businessmen English – you will have only beautiful memories to cherish.’
He rose.
‘Thursday evening. Seven p.m. The suite is molto elegante – the finest
in Milano.’
Turning
away, he walked down the car and disappeared through the connecting door.
Rachel
looked around. Had any passengers witnessed what had happened? Had anyone
overheard? But the Il Figaro-reading businessman had gone, the elderly
pair were drinking coffee and looking out at the darkening landscape, and there
were two more tables of couples absorbed in conversation. The waiter presented
her with a grilled trout. He showed no surprise at the disappearance of her
dining companion.
As Rachel
began to eat, she was surprised her appetite was restored. What had just
happened? Had she imagined it? But there on the white linen tablecloth was the
keycard to the hotel suite.
Out of the
blue she remembered reading one of her mother’s books – Erica Jong’s Fear of
Flying. Was she being offered the chance to experience the mythical
‘zipless f*ck’?
Rachel’s
sexual experience consisted of one long-term relationship at university that
had ended badly, and a drunken retaliatory one-night-stand, after discovering
her boyfriend’s infidelity. She had abhorred the behaviour of her more
promiscuous friends – yet had been secretly jealous of their capacity for
experimentation. Jack’s unfaithfulness had made her question her own
desirability and, more significantly, whether she was perhaps not good enough
in bed.
Pocketing
the room card, she decided that she was going to turn up at that hotel.
The hotel
was the kind of place Rachel would normally walk past on the street, noticing
the men and women coming and going in beautiful clothes, carrying Gucci and
Ferragamo bags. She never dreamed of crossing the threshold.
Her
accommodation in Milan was a cramped apartment shared with two other teachers
from the language school, on an ugly housing estate at the outer reaches of the
Metropolitano. That night, Rachel hadn’t told them where she was going,
saying she was staying with a friend.
Now,
crossing the marbled lobby to the bank of lifts, Rachel was consumed with
nerves. She felt out of place in her skinny jeans and tee-shirt in this sea of
designer gorgeousness. But no one gave her a second glance. The lift doors
opened and she stepped inside, grateful to be the only occupant. She pressed the
button for the eleventh floor.
The long
wide corridor stretched in front of her, broken by marble-topped console tables
holding arrangements of exotic flowers. The atmosphere oozed luxury and
expense. She stopped at room 1117. Gulping air into her lungs, she inserted the
key card. The green light came on and she entered, heart pounding.
At first
she thought he wasn’t there, then she felt a touch on her arm and swung around.
Salvatore was wearing a white silk bathrobe, his deep brown eyes gazing into hers.
‘You came,
my dear Rachel. I am so happy you did.’
‘You
thought I wouldn’t?’
He smiled.
‘Perhaps a little doubt. I thought perhaps you’d had second thoughts. That you
are not the kind of girl who makes a habit of making love with strangers.
That’s one of the reasons I like you so much.’ He stroked her hair. She
shivered.
‘I wanted
to thank you for dinner. And to give you back the key. Yes, this isn’t
something I can do.’ She felt herself shaking. ‘I can’t stay.’
He smiled
again. ‘Oh, you will stay, amore. And yes, this is something you can
definitely do.’ Without waiting for her to answer, he pulled her into his arms
and kissed her. She was lost.
Later that
night, after Salvatore had left, Rachel stretched out inside the enormous
marble bath, luxuriating in the lavish bubbles and intoxicating scent. It had
been an evening like no other she had experienced. Just thinking about what
they had done made her shiver, despite the warmth of the bath.
Salvatore had been assiduous in ensuring that
she took pleasure from everything he did. Tender and patient, he had taken her
to heights she had never imagined. After making love, they had eaten the cold
supper delivered by room service, washed down with a chilled wine, before he
carried her back to the bed.
In between
their love-making, they talked. Not of personal details – his embargo on
discussion of his wife, family and business remained solid. But they discussed
films, music and art. Rachel told him she was the younger of two sisters, that
her mother had died the previous year, and that her father had already
remarried. He listened to her avidly.
The guilt
Rachel had felt on entering into this unusual arrangement soon left her, as the
weekly trysts with Salvatore became part of the fabric of her life. In the
hours before she was due to meet him – always in that same hotel suite near the
Quadrilatro – she was consumed with nervous anticipation, daydreaming about the
pleasures that awaited her. In the hours after he left her, she would lie in
the enormous bed, longing for him to be here beside her, wishing that for once,
she might fall asleep in his arms.
As weeks
turned into months, Rachel began to build a life of her own in Milan. None of
her friends had even the smallest clue about the secret world inside room 1117.
Yet increasingly, Rachel felt her life was lacking a real purpose. She
remembered Salvatore’s words to her on the train – that she could do better
than teaching Italian to bored businessmen. That meant she was also worth more
than being the mistress of a wealthy Milanese.
Rachel
strode across the hotel lobby towards the lifts. As she pressed the button, a
voice behind her said, ‘May I help you?’
Jumping,
she turned to see a uniformed concierge staring at her, his expression
unsmiling. She waved her key card at him.
With an
outstretched hand he took the card from her. ‘Please follow me, Signora.’
Gesturing with a sweep of his hand, he ushered her towards a room off the main
lobby.
The hotel
manager was seated behind a large mahogany desk. He looked up and signalled
Rachel to sit.
‘What’s
happening?’ she asked. ‘Why am I here? I am visiting Signor Monterosso.’
‘There is
no Signor Monterosso.’ The man’s eyes were cold, and his expression bordered on
contempt. ‘It seems you have been misled.’
‘But he’s
a regular customer of the hotel. A wealthy businessman.’
‘And you
are his… putana?’
Outraged,
Rachel jumped up from her seat. How dare he call her a whore.
‘Perhaps
that was harsh. Shall we settle on amante? His lover?’
Saying
nothing, she lowered her eyes, humiliated.
‘I have
some news for you, Signora. Your friend is Luigi Bono, the brother of my
under-manager. Or rather, former under-manager. He was dismissed this
afternoon. Bono himself is a concierge at the Excelsior. He too is seeking
alternative employment.’
Rachel
gasped.
‘It seems
you have been duped. I imagine he led you to believe he was a man of some
importance? You have apparently been visiting this hotel and enjoying our
hospitality for a long time. Una bella truffa - a nice scam between the
two brothers. Each looking out for the other. I imagine Alfonso enjoyed a
similar arrangement with his mistress at the Excelsior.’
‘I had no
idea.’ Rachel was consumed with shame.
He fixed
his eyes on her. ‘No, I can see you hadn’t. I will press no charges against
you. I don’t like a scandal.’ He rose. ‘Never try to enter this establishment
again, Signora. Now, get out.’
Rachel’s
heart pounded against her ribcage as she left the hotel. At first she thought
she was going to cry, then, as she went down the marble steps into the busy
street, she began to smile.
Walking
towards the Metropolitano, she decided there was no such thing as a
‘zipless f*ck’. Everything carries consequences.
Her
Milanese adventure was over. It was time she went home and got her physics text
books out of storage.
© Clare Flynn
Did you guess the song title?
Strangers In The Night Frank Sinatra
Strangers In The Night Frank Sinatra
Website https://clareflynn.co.uk
Clare Flynn is the author of ten historical novels and a collection of short stories, both historical and contemporary. She lives on the Sussex coast.
Her latest novel, Storms Gather Between Us was published by Canelo in June 2019. Her next book, The Pearl of Penang, set in wartime Malaya, was published on December 5th 2019
Reviewed by Discovering Diamonds |
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There will be another story inspired by a song tomorrow!
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The Full List of Authors
December
4th Helen Hollick Promises, Promises
5th Paul Marriner Memories
6th Pam Webber One Door Closing
8th Barbara Gaskell Denvil Sticks and Stones
9th Judith Arnopp Secrets
10th Erica Lainé Silk Stockings
11th Anna Belfrage Hold Me, Love Me, Leave Me?
12th Annie Whitehead Frozen
13th Tony Riches Alas, My Love
14th Clare Flynn, Zipless
15th J.G. Harlond The Last Assignment
16th Elizabeth St John Under The Clock
17th Alison Morton Honoria’s Battle
18th Jean Gill The Hunter
19th Patricia Bracewell Daddy's Gift
20th Debbie Young It Doesn't Feel Like Christmas
21st Ruth Downie Doing It Properly
23rd Elizabeth Chadwick The Cloak
24th / 25th CHRISTMAS BREAK
27th Barbara Gaskell Denvil Just The One... Or Maybe Two
28th Deborah Swift Just Another Day
30th Cryssa Bazos River Mud
31st HAPPY NEW YEAR
Note: There is copyright legislation for song lyrics
but no copyright in names, titles or ideas
Great song, neat dénouement and I was torn between 'why not' and 'no, don't do it!'
ReplyDeleteI’d never have done it myself (...I think!)
DeleteHmmmmmmmmmmmm
DeleteBrilliant take on a classic song!! Like Jean I was screaming 'No' but thinking 'I hope she doesn't get hurt'. Seems to have been a catalyst, though, so a happy ending!!
ReplyDeleteMaybe an appropriate ending rather than a HEA!!!
DeleteI thought she should have said no ... but well, she was young, free, so why not...
ReplyDeleteYup - young free and single - me living vicariously again!
DeleteWhat a daring and entrancing story! And what a dilemma for Rachel. I guess the disillusionment had to come, but she goes on with her life with new experiences, er, tucked under her belt...
ReplyDeleteBeautifully written - thank you, Clare.
What a generous comment Alison. Thank you!
ReplyDeleteC'm on, Ladies. Really? Could you really resist those dark eyes? The velvet melody of his whisperings? Of course, if you were Italian; because then you'd know. As for us straight-laced gals, it would be really tempting (with the proper guilt naturally). Loved it, Clare.
ReplyDelete(I had to chuckle, since just one year ago, my song-and-dance hero here was my own charming con, Edward.)
Thank you so much Inge. I was beginning to feel besieged by the Puritans 🤣🤣🤣
Delete*Laugh* Clare - I think a few of us writes taking part in the StorySong are familiar enough with our own 'charming rogues' to not bat an eyelid...
DeleteThat's for sure!
DeleteWow! I was wondering how the storyline was going to end, but I didn't see this coming...... what a great twist to the plotline.
ReplyDeleteThanks very much!
DeleteEveryone needs a bad boy once in their lives. And this was a beaut!
ReplyDeleteyes good girls love 'em
Deleteenjoyed this very much but didn't guess the although it was my mum's favourite.
ReplyDeleteGuessing these songs is soooooo hard!
DeleteI would never have gone to the hotel - not even in my younger days... I liked the sharp twist at the end and think the song was a perfect fit, even if I didn't guess it.
ReplyDeleteThanks Anna - I'd never have gone either - but my alter ego would!!
DeleteWhich all goes to show why #metoo is, erm - complicated. Was it Wilde who said he could resist everything except temptation? Super story, Clare.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Jane, great Wildean quote - will have to remember that!
ReplyDelete