After we got back from Rome, he was lost in thought for quite a while. He retired to his room more, didn’t talk a whole lot during our walks… He was pleasant, as always, just distant. He didn’t seem down or depressed, just that going to Rome had clearly made him think. It was about three weeks later, as we were walking along in Hyde Park, when he had a sudden loss of consciousness and fell flat on his face. He came to again within a few moments, bleeding rather excessively from his face. At first I thought he’d broken his nose but when I’d taken my shirt off to prevent his suit from getting stained, it turned out to be his lip. It had split about an inch up towards his nose on the left side of his face.
One taxi ride later, I stood in the hospital’s waiting room, gnawing at what was left of my thumb nail. Needless to say, I felt incredibly guilty. Had I paid better attention, then I would have noticed him tripping and falling, possibly being able to prevent him having to go through surgery that had absolutely nothing to do with his heart condition. Finally, a doctor came out to see me.
‘He says you don’t have to wait around, that he’ll take a taxi home when he’s done.’
‘So he’s OK?’
‘He’s perfectly fine, we’re just waiting for our plastic surgeon to come in. His shift starts in an hour.’
‘Plastic surgeon? Is it really that bad?’
‘We just want to make sure it heals as nicely as possible, considering it’s his face. It won’t be more than five stitches or so. He should be good as new by this evening. Don’t worry,’ he added as he touched my shoulder. ‘He insists that you go home and change your clothes so the blood doesn’t stain them permanently. No buts. Those were his words.’
I chuckled. ‘Tell him that I’m touched by his concern for my clothes, but that I’m not going anywhere.’
The doctor just nodded and walked back to where he came from. I got myself a magazine and a cup of coffee and made myself comfortable. I had to occupy myself with something, otherwise I would keep having images in my head about blood gushing from his upper lip and hideous scarring – accompanied by a blinking neon sign saying “MARIA’S FAULT”. I read about Charles and Diana’s trip to the US and their gala dinner hosted by President Reagan that included guests like Clint Eastwood, John Travolta, Tom Selleck and Neil Diamond; about Reagan and Gorbachev holding their first summit meeting and somewhere in the middle of reading about a coach crash on the M6 motorway near Birmingham that killed two people and injured 51, I must have fallen asleep. I only came to when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
When I opened my eyes, Alfredo was standing next to me.
‘Hello there, Sleeping Beauty,’ he said smoothly. I looked up to see what the surgeon had been able to do, but my attention was immediately drawn to the fact that he was completely clean shaven. My jaw must have visibly dropped because he reacted immediately.
‘I know, I was surprised too. I haven’t shaved for nearly thirty years.’
‘You look… you look so…’
‘So handsome!’ I heard myself blurt out. When he smiled vaguely at my reaction, my statement was even more true. He had a chin cleft, a slightly pointy chin, visible dimples and surprisingly smooth skin. When I finally got to his lip, I stood up and counted seven stitches. ‘The doctor only said you needed five.’
‘The surgeon wanted to do smaller stitches so the scarring will be minimal.’
‘It looks neat. Swollen, but… you look twenty years younger.’
‘Thank you, my dear. You’re being too sweet.’
We made our way out of the hospital and into a waiting taxi. I couldn’t stop looking at him. He had a much stronger jawline than I’d thought and his battle scar made him look rugged. I’d always guessed that he’d been a looker as a young man, but I was still blown away. He looked like he could have been a star in those classic movies from the 40s and 50s.
We arrived back at the house and he vanished into his room to change his blood stained clothes. He handed me his shirt when he came back out and I said I was going out for twenty minutes to drop it all off at the local drycleaner. As soon as I’d reached street level, I realised that I’d forgotten my purse, so I had to go back up to fetch it. I locked myself back in and was about to go to my room when I heard singing coming from the drawing room. At first I thought it was a recording but then I heard Alfredo clear his throat, which paused the singing, only to resume moments later. I put my ear against the door and just listened.
The voice was surprisingly rich, like a merging of chocolate and velvet, as well as full of emotion. He was crooning like Sinatra but with the strength of an opera singer. When the song was over, I heard his footsteps against the hard, wooden surface approaching the door. I was so stunned that I couldn’t seem to move fast enough, but somehow managed to slide across the hall, onto the stairs in an attempt to make it look like I was descending the stairs. Our eyes met as he exited the room and saw me. At first he looked like he’d been caught shoplifting, but then just looked at me – probably wondering if I’d heard what I had, in fact, heard.
‘I…’ I started. ‘I forgot my pur…’ I paused as I realised I was seemingly coming down from fetching the purse I’d forgotten – that was, in fact, still upstairs.
‘OK,’ he said, his eyes smiling with amusement. I wasn’t sure if he’d been trying to hide his obvious talent, considering I’d never even heard hints of it until he thought I was out of the house. I didn’t say anything else, just ran up the stairs and back out with the clothes under my arm.
Upon my return he was nowhere to be seen, so I went into the drawing room. As I was lingering by the window I could still hear his voice in my head, the melody, the emotion…
‘It’s a serenade,’ I heard him say behind me.
‘Sing it again,’ I pleaded, still with my back against him. ‘Please.’
Then I heard his voice again. The song was in English, performed almost like a lullaby. As before there was no accompaniment, just his voice surrounded by the silence of the room. I got chills as I realised he was walking slowly towards me, ending the last note alongside my cheek as he wrapped his arms about my waist, just under my bust line. I was waiting for him to walk away, or to apologise for the intrusion – but this time he didn’t. Instead he brushed his smooth skin up against my neck and slowly turned me around to face him. Before I had a chance to react, he slid both arms tightly around me and brushed his full lips against mine. I put my arms around him and leaned my chest against his as we melted together in a sensuous yet passionate kiss. I was momentarily worried about the stitches in his lip, but let my worries go when the energy between us intensified and he pushed me up against the window sill. My head was spinning and my senses heightened, leaving me with chills going down my spine every time his hands travelled up and down my back. Eventually he moved his mouth to my neck, embraced me tighter and sighed.
‘I’m done apologising,’ he whispered as he leaned back, looking directly at me. ‘I’m not sorry.’
‘Neither am I,’ I sighed as I felt my lips pulsating.
‘I haven’t felt like this in a really long time… I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I worry that it’s too much to ask of you to get involved with someone in my situation.’
‘What situation would that be?’
‘I’m not exactly in the prime of youth and in amazing health. I could…’
‘Don’t…’ I said and put my hand over his mouth. I didn’t want him to say the word we both knew was a possibility. To make sure the conversation didn’t continue down the same path, I once more met his eager mouth. When I took a step back he looked at his watch.
‘I’ll make dinner,’ he said and offered me his elbow.
‘How is your lip?’ I inquired as we made our way through to the kitchen.
‘Hurts like a mother… but it was worth it,’ he smiled. ‘How do you feel about chicken?’
I sat on the kitchen bench and watched him prepare the chicken with herbs. We talked loosely about nothing in particular, like we always had, but the difference was that every few minutes we exchanged flirtatious glances. When the food was ready, we kept exchanging looks and by the time we were done eating you could have cut the tension with a knife. We tidied up in silence and walked out to the hall, where we usually parted and went our separate ways. He held onto my hands and met my eyes.
‘Would you care to come in and sleep next to me?’
‘At the very least,’ he chuckled and lead me through to his bedroom. It was large, minimalist and tidy – and actually had pictures on the walls. I took a quick glance and was immediately drawn to one that was of him as a young man. He was wearing a short-sleeved polo shirt, leaning on his elbows and resting his chin on his folded hands. He was significantly younger but it was definitely him. I’d been right: he had been a stunningly handsome man in his youth – and still was.
As soon as we’d crawled under the covers, I could hear his erratic breath in the darkened room and was pretty much dying to feel his hands on me. I closed my eyes and let him explore my body in any way he wanted, and immediately came to the conclusion that he knew exactly where to touch to achieve the desired reaction. At first he teased me, circling the areas that I most wanted him to focus on. I pulled him closer, halfway onto me, guiding his mouth onto my neck, down my chest and further down my torso. He seemed only too willing to take my directions and when he put his tongue to work I locked my thighs around his head and sighed audibly as his left arm leaned across my lower abdomen and the other caressed my thigh.
Just as I got to the point where I wasn’t sure if I could handle any more, he made his way up my body again and didn’t stop until his mouth had found mine. Once more I wrapped my legs around him, this time directly above his hip, welcoming him with ease. I clutched onto his broad back and enjoyed the substantial weight of him. His breathing came in raspy tones as his climax began to wind him up. As he increased intensity, every forward thrust finally sent bursts of electricity that surged through me, making me yelp with pleasure as we orchestrated our sexual duet’s final movement.