Rome in Love Page 9

  “I should have known if I was with you I’d get wet.” Philip shook the rain out of his hair. “You’re like a lightning rod for water.”

  “It can’t rain.” Amelia sighed, gazing at the muddy field. “It was such a beautiful evening.”

  Suddenly the feeling of elation from the beautiful music and delicious sandwich and fruity wine was replaced by an aching loneliness.

  “I was wrong when I said you were prettier when your hair wasn’t wet and your lips weren’t blue.” Philip pulled her toward him. He kissed her softly on the mouth, cupping her chin with his hand. “You’re beautiful when you’re soaked, like a painting by Botticelli.”

  Amelia pulled away and felt her legs trembling. She pictured Whit’s dark curly hair and blue eyes and her heart pounded in her chest.

  “I should go, I’m going to catch a taxi.”

  “Don’t be silly, we’ll wait until it stops raining and catch a taxi together.”

  “It’s almost stopped.” Amelia turned to Philip and extended her hand. “It’s been a pleasure, thank you for inviting me.”

  “Ann, wait!” Philip called after her. “You’re going to catch pneumonia.”

  Amelia strode through the field, covering her hair with her hands. She ran faster, her shoes sinking into the mud. She reached the gravel driveway and saw a yellow taxi idling at the side of the road.

  “Good evening, Miss Tate.” The driver grinned, opening the door. “The concierge told me to wait, they didn’t want their favorite movie star to get wet.”

  Amelia climbed into the taxi and leaned against the cushions. She gazed out the window and saw the ancient ruins and marble statues and stone arches. She remembered the warmth of Philip’s mouth on her lips and shivered.

  chapter eleven

  Philip tapped on his laptop and leaned back in his chair. He pictured Amelia in her tan slacks and cashmere sweater. He saw her glossy brown hair and the sparkling diamond earrings in her ears.

  He hadn’t meant to kiss her, but she looked so lovely with the raindrops in her hair and her sweater clinging to her breasts. He hadn’t expected her lips to be so soft and her skin to smell like raspberries and some kind of floral perfume. He remembered her running across the field and groaned. He had probably scared her off and ruined his chances.

  “Signora Griselda gave me your mail.” Max appeared at the door. He wore a blue collared shirt and jeans and sneakers. His hair was freshly washed and his camera was slung over his shoulder. “It looks like you have a female admirer.”

  Philip took the ivory envelope and recognized his mother’s handwriting. She refused to use e-mail and sent her letters in thick envelopes doused in Chanel No. 5.

  “I got some great photos last night before it started raining harder than the deluge.” Max pulled out a chair. “Amelia is very pretty. If I wasn’t the wingman of this operation I’d take a shot at her myself.”

  Philip grabbed the camera and clicked through the pictures. He saw Amelia leaning back on her elbows, looking up at the stars. He saw her eating a slice of chocolate torte and dabbing her mouth with a napkin. He saw her large brown eyes and her small pink mouth.

  He knew what he was doing was wrong, he should have told her the truth. But she was so easy to talk to; he didn’t want the evening to end.

  “I’m lucky I didn’t ruin my camera,” Max continued, adding milk and sugar to a mug of coffee. “I met a Belgian nurse who offered to share her umbrella. What happened after it started raining?”

  “We ran under a stone arch. I don’t know what got into me, but suddenly I pulled her toward me and kissed her,” Philip replied. “She just broke up with her boyfriend, I think I scared her off. She ran across the field and got into a taxi.”

  “A recent breakup is good.” Max nodded. “It means she’s used to sleeping with a warm body and having middle-of-the-night sex. You have to ask her out again.”

  “I think I should stop.” Philip shook his head. “I feel terrible pretending I don’t know who she is.”

  “You’re not the Pope and this isn’t the Vatican.” Max grabbed an apple and polished it against his sleeve. “You’re a journalist writing a story for his boss. Without the countess’s contributions I’m not going to be able to afford a plate of spaghetti unless I get paid.”

  “What if I ask her out again and she says no?”

  “She’ll say yes.” Max took a bite of the apple. “This time pick somewhere dry, preferably with a fireplace.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Philip murmured.

  “I have to return Dominique’s umbrella.” Max walked to the door. “I’m going to ask her to take my temperature, I think I’m coming down with a cold.”

  * * *

  Philip walked to the counter and sifted through his mail. He remembered Amelia’s innocent smile and felt like he’d swallowed something whole. He would tell Adam she refused to go out with him. He would return the euros and tell him to deduct what he owed from his paycheck.

  He picked up his mother’s letter and tore open the envelope. He scanned the flowery cursive and read out loud.

  Darling Philip,

  Your father told me you are coming home in August and I’m so pleased. I’m sure you’ll get your own place soon but I stocked the pantry with your favorite muesli and I renewed our subscription to the New Yorker and the Atlantic.

  I’m planning a small dinner party at Gramercy Tavern and inviting Daphne. I ran into her at Barneys, she cut her hair and it looks lovely. I know you had a falling out but you were such a beautiful couple. I’m sure now that you will be in the same line of work you’ll have so much in common.

  Please don’t think I’m interfering, but I can’t help wanting you to be happy. To me you will always be the little boy sitting at the kitchen table drawing hearts on Missy Smith’s Valentine’s card. You’ll understand when you have children of your own.

  I’m off to buy your father some clothes for Bermuda. I tell him they have perfectly fine shops, but he won’t get on the plane without a selection of linen shorts and leather boat shoes.

  Mom

  Philip crumpled the letter and threw it on the counter. He couldn’t spend his days watching imaginary numbers dance on a computer screen. He couldn’t live in a world where success was determined by the size of an engagement ring and the price of a prep school education.

  He sat at his desk and took out a sheet of paper. He scribbled a note and stuffed it in an envelope. He grabbed his keys and ran out the door.

  chapter twelve

  Amelia stood in front of her closet and selected a turquoise chiffon dress and silver sandals. She tied a white scarf around her hair and put on oversized sunglasses. She rubbed pink lip gloss on her lips and spritzed her wrists with Estée Lauder’s Lovely.

  She was meeting Sophie to go shopping on the Via Condotti and have lunch at Caffé Greco. Sophie had called that morning and apologized for standing her up at the concert. The road was closed for hours and she didn’t get home until midnight.

  Amelia pictured the plaid picnic blanket with the platters of sandwiches and fruit and chocolate torte. She saw Philip pouring glasses of red wine. She remembered the kiss under the stone arch and shivered.

  She lay awake all night thinking about Whit. She remembered his smooth cheeks and Hugo Boss cologne. She could call him and say they couldn’t throw away four years; they should wait until she finished filming Roman Holiday. She imagined drinking Bloody Marys at Clock Bar and talking about his new factory and the pile of scripts on her bedside table. She saw Whit kissing her on the mouth and telling her how much he missed her.

  But then she remembered Whit running up the Spanish Steps and her stomach clenched. He made it clear he didn’t want to be with her if she was an actress. Suddenly she thought about Sheldon and what he would say if Philip learned her true identity and leaked the story. Playing Princess Ann was the most important thing in the world and she couldn’t do anything to jeopardize her career.

  She
grabbed her white leather tote and walked to the door. She was going to spend the afternoon with Sophie browsing in Prada and Fendi. They were going to eat seafood pasta and spumoni in the oldest café in Rome. She was going to forget about Whit and Philip and concentrate on acting.

  * * *

  Amelia took the elevator to the lobby and found Sophie perched on a gold velvet armchair. She wore a white linen skirt and a yellow silk blouse and white leather sandals. Her hair was scooped into a bun and covered with a yellow scarf. She wore oval sunglasses and carried a red leather purse.

  “You look gorgeous.” Amelia smiled. “Is that purse new?”

  “I bought one for my lady-in-waiting but it was so soft I had to buy one for myself.” Sophie nodded. “I don’t know what the Italians feed their cows, in Lentz the leather is stiff as a board.”

  “Aren’t you afraid someone will see us?” Amelia asked, glancing around the marble lobby. It was midday and the space was filled with women in sleek linen dresses and wide hats and oversized sunglasses. They wore gold sandals and had bright leather totes slung over their shoulders.

  “I told you no one knows what I look like.” Sophie smiled. “As long as we wear our sunglasses we resemble all the other shoppers.”

  They stepped into the noon sun and Amelia felt warm and happy. The Via Condotti was flanked by stately palazzos and filled with boutiques with white awnings and tinted windows. They drifted in and out of Valentino and Burberry, admiring silk blouses and geometric scarves and jewel-encrusted sandals.

  Amelia had never cared about her wardrobe. She liked her uniform of capris and cotton dresses and flat leather sandals. When she walked the red carpet, the studio sent a stylist and a selection of dresses by Dior and Yves Saint Laurent.

  But it was fun to try on sheer cocktail dresses and satin pumps. It was fun to imagine what she would wear to the premiere of Roman Holiday—an ivory ball gown or a silver sheath with a plunging back.

  “This would be wonderful to wear to the Villa Medici.” Sophie held up a white linen dress with gold buttons. “Theo is taking me to the opening of the Donatello exhibit.”

  Amelia raised her eyebrows. “You’ve seen him every evening this week.”

  “It’s lovely to have someone to go to galleries with.” Sophie blushed, taking the dress into the dressing room. “He’s interested in history and he knows all the museums and monuments.”

  “You’re lucky.” Amelia sighed, following Sophie into the dressing room. “I go home to a hot bath and an empty bed.”

  “I adore Rome.” Sophie slipped the white linen dress over her shoulders. “I love the boutiques and the cafés and the gardens. But in a few weeks I’ll go home and return to my royal duties.” Sophie turned to Amelia. “When I slip on the royal tiara and stand next to my father in a receiving line, I’m exactly where I belong. I’m Princess Sophia de Grasse and I could never be anyone else.”

  “What about Theo?” Amelia asked.

  “Theo is like this dress.” Sophie sighed, gazing in the mirror. Her eyes were wide and her lips trembled. “It’s lovely but I know I can’t keep it. It’s too short; princesses never wear anything above the knees.”

  * * *

  They left the boutique and walked toward Caffé Greco. Suddenly Amelia heard footsteps and turned around. She saw a man striding toward them, a silver camera bouncing against his chest.

  Amelia grabbed Sophie’s hand and raced across the cobblestones. They ran down the Via del Corso, jostling tourists licking ice-cream cones. They ran through the Piazza del Piccolo, dodging street vendors and musicians. Amelia glanced back and saw the photographer coming closer, his heels thudding on the pavement. She looked around and saw a stone church with tall spires. She pulled Sophie through the iron doors and shut them behind her.

  “I took off my sunglasses in the dressing room, one of the salesgirls must have seen me.” Amelia sat on a wooden pew, trying to catch her breath. “I’m sorry, I hope no one recognized you.”

  “I haven’t had that much fun since Game Day at St. George’s.” Sophie grinned. “We almost knocked over that cart of roasted chestnuts.”

  “It was a bit like a scene in a Mission Impossible movie.” Amelia giggled.

  “And we ended up in a six-hundred-year-old church surrounded by priceless art.” Sophie studied a metal plaque. “The Santa Maria del Popolo was built in 1492 and houses paintings by Caravaggio and Raphael.”

  Sophie smoothed her scarf and opened the tall doors. “Come on, we’re going to share a caprese salad and a plate of spaghetti calamari. If we’re going to run marathons through the streets of Rome we can’t be hungry.”

  * * *

  Amelia climbed the steps of the Hassler Hotel and walked through the revolving glass doors. They had a delicious lunch of mozzarella and sliced heirloom tomatoes and spaghetti with clams and porcini mushrooms. They shared a profiterole for dessert and drank glasses of Marsala.

  It was lovely sitting with Sophie at Caffé Greco, talking about Raphael and Modigliani. It was lovely gazing at elegant women wearing Bulgari diamond chokers and Gucci belts. It was wonderful not thinking about her lines, just enjoying the afternoon sun and the delicious food and the sweet wine.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Tate,” the concierge called. “I hope you are having a wonderful day.”

  “Thank you, Ernesto.” Amelia beamed. “I had a delicious lunch and went shopping, I’m enjoying Rome very much.”

  “That gentleman was here,” Ernesto continued. “He may have left something of interest to you.”

  “What kind of thing?” Amelia asked.

  “A letter of some kind.” Ernesto shrugged, turning back to his computer screen.

  “Perhaps I could borrow it.” Amelia opened her purse and took out a ten-euro note. “I promise to return it.”

  “Miss Tate, I could not take your money.” Ernesto shook his head.

  “Then why don’t I leave the note on the counter and you put the letter beside it?” Amelia approached the desk. “Maybe I’ll pick up the wrong one.”

  Ernesto inhaled Amelia’s floral perfume. He took the envelope from his pocket and let it fall on the marble counter.

  “Excuse me.” He bowed. “I must help another guest.”

  Amelia glanced at the words “Ann Prentiss” scrawled on the white envelope. She slipped it in her purse and hurried to the elevator. She pressed the button and waited for the doors to open.

  * * *

  Amelia dropped her shopping bags on the glass end table and slipped off her sandals. She sat on an ivory silk sofa and opened the envelope. She unfolded the white paper and read out loud.

  Dear Ann,

  I apologize for my boorish behavior at the concert last night. I blame the red wine and the rain. You are not just a danger to yourself when wet, but to anyone who comes in contact with you.

  I would like to show you I am capable of enjoying clever conversation and fine wine without acting like a character in a D. H. Lawrence novel. I made a reservation at La Pergola for Saturday night. At least five waiters hover around your table at all times, so there is no chance of impropriety.

  We can finish our conversation about black market truffles and see if you like duck ravioli with foie gras sauce as much as I do. If you leave a note with Ernesto, he can let me know what time and where to pick you up.

  Warmly,

  Philip

  Amelia put the paper on the glass coffee table and giggled. She imagined Philip drinking from a crystal wineglass and eating off gold inlaid china. She saw them sipping demitasses of coffee and sharing a vanilla crepe and hazelnut ice cream.

  She walked to the balcony and gazed at the late afternoon sun dropping behind the Colosseum. Suddenly her cheeks were flushed and she felt a slight chill. She walked back inside and slipped the letter in its envelope. She sat on the ivory silk sofa and pulled the cashmere blanket around her shoulders.

  chapter thirteen

  Amelia gazed at her pale cheeks in the gilt mi
rror and frowned. She came down with a fever the evening after the concert and spent two days in bed. Sheldon sent a bouquet of pink roses and baskets of peaches and strawberries. Sophie took her temperature and made sure she drank hot tea with lemon and honey.

  She finally felt well enough to sit in the living room and eat a bowl of clear soup. But she missed chatting with the makeup artist while she brushed her hair. She missed slipping on satin evening gowns and diamond tiaras. She missed the glow she felt after a long day on the set.

  She ate a slice of peach and glanced at the stack of paper on the glass coffee table. She had spent the last day reading Audrey Hepburn’s letters. She loved learning about her relationship with her fiancé and her friendship with Gregory Peck and her excitement about becoming a star. She loved picturing Audrey taking a bath in the white porcelain bathtub or curled up in the four-poster bed with a copy of Vogue.

  She glanced at Philip’s envelope and flinched. She tried to reply but every time she pulled out a piece of paper she froze. He had been so kind, letting her share his cab and rescuing her from the fountain.

  She ate another slice of peach and picked up a page in Audrey’s sloped handwriting. She still didn’t feel well enough to do anything but read.

  June 27, 1952

  Dear Kitty,

  Something very disturbing happened on the set today. I was sitting in the sun, eating a turkey sandwich and a cup of fruit salad. We spent all morning shooting the scene at the Trevi Fountain and Mr. Wyler still wasn’t satisfied.

  Mr. Peck sat beside me and unwrapped a baguette with salami and provolone cheese and red onions. He bit into a fresh plum and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  “You’re drooling, Miss Hepburn,” he remarked. “Would you like a bite of my sandwich?”

  “It smells delicious.” I sighed. “My lunch tastes like cardboard.”

  “The first trick of being an actor is to become friends with craft services.” Mr. Peck handed me half a sandwich. “I paid Palo ten lire to go to the delicatessen and bring me a sandwich and a bottle of limoncello.”