Crossing the line - 18. The Far Pavilions

A bottle of white wine had been left for us, chilling in the fridge at the villa. Very civilised. No-one disturbed us, and it was only the alarm on Dan’s watch that reminded us to get ready for dinner, though the light was fading fast so we could hardly have stayed out later, in any case.

Suki made a beeline for me as we arrived at the loggia, and once I had a drink in my hand, a very strong Negroni, led me to one side, ostensibly to show me part of the garden but in reality, to quiz me. Oh dear.

“I know it’s very infra dig to ask a critic what he thought”, I started to say something, but she stopped me, “But I had a bit of a shock this afternoon. I’d not had time to see the exhibition before. I’m familiar with his paintings in Paola and Tony’s collection and rather coveted them. But those in the exhibition!” She stopped and peered at me; apparently reassured that I hadn’t gone ‘aren’t they marvellous’, she went on. “They reminded me of the stuff you see in a Bank HQ, big, splashy, efficient and horribly cold.”

I smiled, “It isn’t you. Dan made the same comment, and shall we say that we didn’t fight over it.”

She laughed, a genuine laugh, one that reached her eyes. “Paola and Tony have been so diplomatic, charming and polite, but they must be so disappointed. Paola was there when I got back this afternoon, and we barely exchanged a word.”

“Difficult to admit that your latest protégé has let you down.”

“What will you write, dare I ask?”

“I can honestly say that I don’t know, yet.”

We returned to the rest of the party, and I found that I had rather warmed to her. Thankfully the exhibition was a topic we avoided for the rest of the evening. It was a small party, Paola and Tony, Dan and I, Suki and Ercole, and another couple who knew Suki and lived nearby and had a similar artistic bent. It was vastly different from the previous evening, and this really did seem to be a gathering of friends. No sly business deals in the background.

I found myself sitting next to the woman from the new couple, Arianna. She was a striking woman, not lovely but with rather large handsome features and a taste in dramatic attire. Her dress was a stunning geometric design, apparently inspired by Russian Futurism, complemented by the sort of big, heavy jewellery that it takes chutzpah to bring off, and she certainly brought it off. We started by chatting about the dress, and the design, and the Russian Futurists which sort of got us going. She and her husband (a banker) were in London regularly and so we compared notes on previous exhibitions and changes to our favourite galleries. She had not heard of the Tramshed but assured me that she and her husband would visit next time. Tony was opposite us, and contributed reminiscences of London, and it was apparent that whilst he was technically an academic, he must move in quite rarefied circles.

Dan seemed to be quite happily chatting to Suki about gardens, and the ones we’d visited in Verona and the conversation gradually became more general as we discussed styles in gardening. As such events go, I’ve had far worse. Conversation was largely in English, which was very gracious of them indeed, and I managed to say as much to Paola at the end of the meal as I complimented her on the food. And the food was very fine; Dan’s influence must be rubbing off on me.

The only slippery moment was when I heard Dan mentioning to Suki about visiting the Nemon palazzo and the Scarpa intervention. I couldn’t resist throwing in about the Pontormo and how lucky they were to be able to acquire it from Francis Heyward, but it was a shame to spit up the two. You could almost feel the air freeze. Suki made a brief comment about the Nemon palazzo then briskly moved on to other modern gardens in the area, a neat bit of sidestepping, whilst Paola started talking very loudly to Arianna. Dan and I exchanged a look; we didn’t need to say anything more, our suspicions seemed to have an element of reality to them.

As if by arrangement, Dan and I found ourselves relaxing over a post-prandial drink with Ercole outside as the others continued a lively conversation inside, evidently discussing a hot topic of local politics, in Italian now.

We were stood leaning on the balustrade by the steps that led up to the loggia from the garden, and I felt the touch of Ercole’s hand on my bum. Again. I let it rest and looked over at Dan and back at Ercole. He had one hand on each of us (certainly equitable), and his hand started a gentle exploration.

“Are you happy here? We go somewhere more comfortable? Private?” Ercole gave a wide smile and I’ll swear he almost licked his lips.

“More private?”

“Mamma lets me use one of the far pavilions, as my retreat. My playroom she calls it.”

I wondered whether Paola was being ironic or naïve. The former I suspected; she didn’t strike me as being a naïve woman.

Walking through the garden in the darkening evening was rather magical. The pavilion was similar to ours, only it had high-end audio equipment, a huge TV screen, copious quantities of books and on a worktable, an untidy pile of what looked like technical drawings. Ercole apologised, he’d brought some work with him. It made him seem much less the playboy and the pictures reinforced this view, stunning photographs of bridges, spectacular ones.

He offered us wine, but neither of us felt we needed more. But then he offered cocaine, he didn’t call it that but both Dan and I knew. I saw Dan’s eyes widen and I thought, ‘There goes the evening’. I couldn’t fault him, after all, it was illegal, he’d spent his working life endeavouring to combat illegality. I wasn’t that au fait with the economics of illegal drugs, but I knew enough, and we’d had a couple of conversations about the terrible effects on those using and those back in Colombia or wherever who were producing for the drug cartels. So, I wasn’t best pleased, myself.

We both said a crisp no, and Ercole shrugged and gave us a look, clearly thinking we were uptight Englishmen.

He was definitely experienced. Going out of his way to put us at our ease and clearly not unused to threesomes (or more, perhaps), treating the situation with the right amount of humour. There can be something origami-like about a threesome, if you are not careful, you know, flap A folds over flap B and slips into slot C, removing all spontaneity. But this time, it was sexy and fun, and Dan after initial hesitation, relaxed and let things flow. As we walked back to our pavilion, much later, he kissed me and said he’d enjoyed it. Let’s do it again some time, with the right person.

As we had predicted, there was no sign of Ercole when, next morning, we had a last coffee with Suki, Paola, and Tony, which was probably for the best. Paola said he’d sent his regrets and had to be back at work for a meeting. She said it with a demure face, but there was the suggestion of a quirk of the eyebrow as if Mamma knew exactly what (or rather whom) figlio mio had been doing. Did she know that Ercole had offered us cocaine and that Dan was an ex-policeman? As I said, I don’t think she was a naïve woman and suspected she had clear idea of everything going on. Perhaps she and Tony shared a line, of an evening when they were alone, but I thought not.

We had an evening flight, Dan’s idea, so I got to choose what we did during the day. We spent our spare hours as pure tourists, I felt that Dan’s first visit to the area could not miss out Palladio, so we visited the Villa Rotunda, outside only. I never tire of it and Dan was rather taken too, thank goodness. Then on to a garden, grand, elaborate, still not enough flowers for Dan but lots of historic statues and more. Bliss.