| |
The following morning, Dorothy packed her few remaining toiletries and cosmetics. She kissed Jamie goodbye and wheeled her luggage out to the waiting limousine. Bel had been collected first, and was sitting in the back, grinning like a maniac. Dorothy was delighted to see a familiar face behind the wheel.
As the chauffeur, Eamonn, tenderly packed her Louis Vuitton into the boot, he assured Dorothy he well remembered driving her to the airport back in January, since he made a habit of never forgetting a beautiful woman. Dorothy giggled at this until she saw the disapproving expression on Bel’s face.
She quickly shut up and distracted her friend with talk of the logistics of the journey. She fervently expressed the hope there would be no turbulence. As nothing was guaranteed to scare the living crap out of Bel more than finding herself at the mercy of the forces of nature while travelling in a metal tube thirty thousand feet above sea level, this proved to be an effective strategy. Any notion of Dorothy’s over familiarity with the ‘staff’ was swiftly forgotten.
Equipped with the all-important tail number of their flight, they set off companionably for the service centre at Dublin airport. Upon arrival, they discovered they had met most of the crew before, which immediately put them at their ease.
Bel was disappointed to learn that Captain Merryville was not piloting the jet, and even though the threat of waterboarding would not have induced her to admit it, so was Dorothy. She shrugged off the disappointment, telling herself she wouldn’t have done anything about it even if the man in question had been on the flight deck.
The ladies were boarded within minutes, and Dorothy relaxed into one of the enormous leather seats. Succumbing to temptation, she kicked off her shoes and reclined the chair. They had yet to come up with a plan for their stay in Rome, and she was keen to reach an agreement with Bel regarding the timetable. She felt it was important to formulate some sort of basic strategy, thereby avoiding the risk of wandering around aimlessly for the first few days.
Bel had been to Rome on three separate occasions, but Dorothy had only been once. Six years earlier, she had booked a last-minute city break for her and the twins. In those days, they had stayed at a three-star hotel. They had walked or taken the bus and train everywhere, and only eaten in budget pizzerias.
This time around, it could not have been more different.
Their hotel was part of the Waldorf Astoria group. It was situated in central Rome, conveniently close to St Peter’s Basilica and other major attractions. It was by no means a cheap option, especially as Bel had been successful in booking them each a suite.
Fortunately, since her minor meltdown in Kerry, Dorothy had calmed down and was feeling far more relaxed about the prospect of spending yet more money. After all, as Gordon quite rightly pointed out, she could not take it with her. She was sure that, financially speaking at least, things would settle down once she had taken possession of the palace. She certainly had no intention of buying any more residential property for some considerable time, if ever. Claudia had suggested she might want to consider buying three or four as investments, but that was a different story.
At Da Vinci airport, they found their limousine ready and waiting. The luggage was loaded with ruthless precision by the driver, and in what felt like record time they were being spirited off to the Hotel Cavalieri. After check-in, they spent an hour unpacking and familiarising themselves with their suites. As Dorothy hung up her clothes, she privately admitted her nerves were rather frayed. Bel came in to check out her friend’s mini-bar, and rather sheepishly informed Dorothy that she was also feeling fraught and struggling to relax.
This was hardly surprising. Both women were tired from running around preparing for the trip. Bel had things much tougher than Dorothy, who had Jamie acting as her assistant. Bel had no such luxury. She had spent the previous week making sure she was leaving things at home as organised as possible for her husband and sons. Now she was officially exhausted by it all, and confessed she had zero ideas regarding the itinerary.
Feeling quite pleased that for once she was the stronger of the two, Dorothy ushered her friend into a comfortable chair and presented her with a chilled bottle of sparkling water and a bag of peanuts. She plumped up the pillows on the king sized bed and made herself comfortable with her own snack.
They whiled away the next twenty minutes doing very little except eating, drinking and occasionally venturing a suggestion. Eventually they gave up the rather pointless exercise and agreed to spend an hour walking around the city, followed by a relaxing dinner.
‘Once we’ve had a good meal, we’ll be more in the mood to formulate tactics,’ Dorothy told her pal decisively.
The plan worked. The stroll cleared their heads like nothing else, and by the time the main course was finished they had made significant progress. Bel was of the opinion that as they had nine full days at their disposal, it would be a good idea to go sightseeing every morning. That would leave time for other activities in the afternoon, such as shopping, treatments at the spa, or possibly time in one of the pools. They would finish each day with dinner and drinks and then bed, ready to start again the next day.
Dorothy agreed wholeheartedly with all of this, and suggested they get an early night and recoup some of their lost energy. She kissed Bel goodnight at the door of her suite and made her way to her own room on legs that were suddenly unsteady.
‘I’m getting too old for all this gallivanting,’ she told herself severely, and went to plunder the refreshments corner for herbal teabags. She cursed when she remembered that most European hotels did not provide as much as a kettle. She rang room service and asked for a large mug of boiling water to be delivered to her room as quickly as possible. Trying hard not to feel irritated by the hotel, she began her bedtime preparations.
The water soon arrived and she graciously thanked the girl who delivered it, before shutting the door firmly in her face. I’ll tip her the next time when I’m in a less cranky mood. Then she rummaged in her smallest Louis until she found the bag of mixed teabags she knew Jamie had packed. There was no camomile, although she did come across something called valerian with a note on it from Jamie that read: Fantastic sleeping aid. There was no clue regarding its properties on the plain white label, and she eyed it dubiously.
‘I seem to recall Horace mentioning this stuff to me once. At least I think it’s the same brew. Let’s hope this isn’t one of Jamie’s little jokes.’
She dunked the teabag into the cup of water and let it brew for three minutes. The valerian tasted rather odd but nonetheless she downed every last drop before brushing her teeth. She also took the precaution of rubbing a drop of essential lavender oil on the inside of each wrist. She climbed into bed and lay on her side in her usual position. For five minutes, Dorothy lay alone in the strange hotel room and listened to the night-time noises of Rome. Then she drifted off.
When she woke the next morning, she felt incredibly refreshed and leaped out of bed before the alarm went off, determined to get to the Colosseum at a reasonable time. Bel was only five minutes behind her, and insisted they only pause long enough for a quick breakfast before setting off in a taxi. Their timing was excellent, and they congratulated themselves on having missed the worst of the crowds by leaving a little earlier. The ubiquitous Latin inscriptions forcibly reminded Dorothy of Horace, and she was obliged to have a serious word with herself.
As far as she was concerned, she had done her best by him in recent months. She had given him plenty of cash, encouraged him to book a holiday to Vienna, sent regular cheery messages via Amanda, written him a detailed letter about her life and activities and lastly, arranged for the boys to help him celebrate his birthday. If he owned a phone, she would have gladly called him every week. It was not her fault the man was a technophobe, or eccentric, or both. Latin or no Latin, Horace Johnson would have to wait until her holiday was over. She had worried about him quite enough for one year.
By midday, the Colosseum began to pall on them. Both women agreed their feet hurt, and decided to return to the hotel for a poolside massage. They followed this treat with a swim, a gourmet meal, drinks in the bar, and finally bed. Aside from the seeming inability to banish all thoughts of Horace Johnson from her mind, Dorothy enjoyed every minute of her hectic day. She took every available opportunity to use the conversational Italian Helen had taught her. Most of the time it was a positive experience, although on one occasion she became completely flustered and ended up ordering a bowl of oysters instead of a salad.
After another night of excellent valerian-induced sleep, Dorothy rose early and spent an hour in the fabulous fitness centre. She made it back to her suite by eight, all ready to meet Bel for breakfast. They had already decided upon the Pantheon for their morning excursion, followed by a light lunch with plenty of water, as the climate was considerably warmer than the moderate temperatures they were used to.
After lunch, they took a taxi to the famous Via Condotti and enjoyed a stroll around the shops. Dorothy could not help giggling at the expression of pure rapture on her friend’s face. It was as if Bel had been born to shop there. As if she and the street were, in fact, soul mates. If Bel had been a flower, her petals would have unfurled, and her stamen neck would have arched in the direction of Prada. Belinda Kinsella had indeed found her spiritual home.
As it was only day two, Dorothy was loath to get carried away with retail. That did not stop her from purchasing a wonderful black tote bag from Prada. She was guiltily aware the black was a safe option, but justified the choice by telling Bel she fully intended to buy more bags, the tote was only the beginning. She insisted on treating her friend to a pink and black clutch that looked as if it had been made for her.
After that little splurge, they returned to window shopping, but only after they had assessed the stores they might wish to explore later in the week. Having taken the edge off with their little Prada foray, the women wandered around soaking up the atmosphere, and marvelling at the chic Italian women who made it look so easy.
Dorothy had recently begun to buy size 12 clothes. At least they were size 12 by UK and Irish standards. She noticed she had to be very careful when shopping in Italy, as she was a U.S. 10, and an Italian 44. It was all very confusing, and it meant she could not risk buying anything on spec; she had to try everything on. Jamie had been over the moon when she bought her first small sized dress in Brown Thomas, and Dorothy had also been self-congratulatory about her weight loss. But that was before she set foot on Italian soil.
In Rome, even an American 10 was considered large. As she was barely five feet tall, and the Italian women seemed willowy by comparison, she felt extremely dumpy and was sure she looked it as well. Even Bel who was tall at five eight and only an American 6 was feeling the pressure. She took every opportunity to whisper negative comments about the stylish indigenous population, making Dorothy collapse into fits of hysterical giggling at inappropriate moments.
Over the next two days, they visited both the Piazza Del Popolo and the Piazza Navona, where Dorothy purchased a tiny painting of the Pantheon from a local artist. They were determined not to overdo the walking and leave themselves exhausted, meaning they did not hesitate to take a taxi whenever the need arose.
In the afternoons, they retired to one of the pools any time the chance presented itself. Notwithstanding the draw of the leisure facilities, there was no way they could neglect the designer shops, not with Bel Kinsella on board. By the end of the first week, Dorothy had been inside La Perla, as well as Yves Saint Laurent, Dolce and Gabanna, Bulgari, Hermes, Mont Blanc, Christian Dior, Gucci, Valentino, and of course, Armani.
She did go a little crazy in Armani because she knew if she invested in their timeless classic look, she would use the clothes for some time to come. She found some wide-legged trousers, a beautiful black one-button jacket, some long-sleeved shirts and an amazing long cardigan in a blend of silk and cotton.
Bel also persuaded her to try on a couple of silk dresses. Dorothy was not certain when she saw them on the model, because she did not feel ready to wear such a short style. When she tried them on, they sat perfectly on her knee and were an excellent fit on her hourglass figure. Bel persuaded her to purchase one in lavender and a second in a print pattern. Her partner in retail was not forgotten, and was treated to a white leather jacket, jeans and a selection of T-shirts.
After that splurge, they returned to sightseeing for a couple of days. There was no way they could hope to do the Vatican museum and the Sistine chapel tour in one morning, so they allocated an entire day to that. They set off immediately after breakfast and met up with their tour guide, Sonia, in the designated spot at nine o’clock. Dorothy was full of beans and really looking forward to the tour, especially the Sistine Chapel part.
Nevertheless, when she returned to her room in the Cavalieri shortly after seven that evening, she was on the point of collapse from all the walking and stair climbing. She had no choice but to take a nap before dinner in the hope of resuscitating her flagging energy. She was secretly delighted when Bel texted from the suite down the hall to say her feet were killing her, and she would be wearing ballerina pumps at dinner, regardless of how odd it would look.
Dorothy had watched highlights of the Queen’s visit every evening on the international news channels. Now, to the relief of many, Queen Elizabeth was safely home in London, having departed the shores of the Emerald Isle without a hair on her head being damaged. The traffic restrictions were still in place, because Obama was expected in Dublin on 23rd May. Dorothy knew Jamie would record the highlights of the visit for her, and was not worried about missing any crucial speeches or glimpses of the man himself imbibing a pint of Guinness.
Even though she had initially hesitated when the Rome plan was mooted, she was pleased she had agreed to the scheme when she saw the full extent of the traffic restrictions on the news, and heard mothers complaining they could not even get their children to school.
Besides, there was no denying that, so far, she had had a great time, even without all the shopping, and was thinking of asking Bel if they could do Florence the next time. Instead of hiring a private tour guide for one day, they could book one for the entire week of their stay, and explore the whole city and surrounding countryside with an expert. She put it on the back burner and resolved to ask Bel’s opinion of the plan once they were back home and settled, which, notwithstanding any unexpected volcanic ash barring their way, would be within a couple of days.
If the Florence trip went ahead, perhaps Simone and the boy-child might be persuaded to join them. In all likelihood, it would be next spring before they would be able to return to Italy. That would give Simone another ten months to introduce the world to her beloved Charlie, and vice versa. Or they might have broken up by then. That would be such a shame.
Despite all the fun of the past week, Dorothy was looking forward to getting home and recommencing her golf lessons with Georgie. Much to her surprise, she found she was really missing her piano, and often found herself picking out notes on an imaginary keyboard while sitting at the dressing table in her room.
She wondered if she should order a small upright for Otter, and made a note to ask Patrick’s advice about it. Frustrated by how long it always seemed to take to send a decent email via her phone, she got into the habit of popping along to the hotel’s media room every second evening. There, she was able to use their broadband service to reply to her messages.
From: Dottie8888@chatulike.ie
To: SRedmond@chatchat.com; ANorris@talkalot.com
Date: May 18th, 2011
SUBJECT: SCOOTERS, CATS, AND PINCHED ARSES
Hi Girls,
Greetings from Roma! Bel sends love. I will be meeting her for dinner in twenty minutes so I just popped into the media room to check my mails. This service is chargeable. They even charge for the use of the largest outdoor pool. I am rather shocked tbh. Not because I can’t afford it, of course.
I am thinking of all those people who save up for a year to come and stay here, only to discover that every time they as much as blow their nose it’s charged to their bill. Rome is fantastic as always, although much warmer than we are used to. I had forgotten about the cat infestation in the city and it’s a bit creepy. The idiots on scooters don’t help either, but when in Rome and all that.
I just read a mail from Diane saying the twins will be attending not only Glastonbury Festival (in the UK) this year, but also Oxegen in Punchestown. They’ve never been able to attend Glastonbury before, although they did get to Oxegen last year with a cheap tent. I must buy them some of those designer wellies while I’m here, the shops are to die for. There was also a mail from Bea asking what name, if any, I prefer for the hotel. I was thinking The Unicorn, but J&B might not like that.
There was a mail from Orla with an attached spreadsheet showing the time allocation for the villa for the six months to the end of this year. Orla likes to be organised, although it will be another month before I complete. I am forwarding the spreadsheet to you guys in case any of the free weeks might suit you.
I am booked in for the first two weeks of September when the kids are back at school. Orla says this is only a draft and all requests will be considered. LOL. She is a gas girl. Remind me to tell you a story about whipped cream, slutty lingerie, and a partnership in a physiotherapy practice the next time we talk on the phone. Ho hum.
I had better go and meet Bel before she is chatted up yet again by some Italian stallion. Her poor little skinny ass has a huge bruise on it from being pinched the other day, in the Vatican of all places. We may as well have been in a nightclub in Dublin city centre.
We didn’t catch the culprit, and even if we had, I am not sure what we would have done with him! I don’t know what Gerald is going to make of the bruise when he sees it, but hopefully he will kiss it better and all will be well. LOL. Love Dot xxx
