Lara and Philip lay in each other’s arms, spent. Philip held Lara close, and he could feel the beating of her heart. He thought of a line he had once heard in a movie. “Did the earth move for you?” By God, it did, Philip thought. If she were music, she would be Chopin’s Barcarolle or Schumann’s Fantasy.
He could feel the soft contours of her body pressed against him, and he began to get aroused again.
“Philip…” Her voice was husky.
“Yes?”
“Would you like me to go with you to Milan?”
He found himself grinning. “Oh, my God, yes!”
“Good,” Lara murmured. She leaned over him, and her soft hair started to trail down his lean, hard body.
It began to rain again.
When Lara finally returned to her room, she telephoned Keller. “Did I wake you up, Howard?”
“No.” His voice was groggy. “I’m always up at four in the morning. What’s going on there?”
Lara was bursting to tell him, but she said, “Nothing. I’m leaving for Milan.”
“What? We aren’t doing anything in Milan.”
Oh, yes, we are, Lara thought happily.
“Did you see my messages?”
She had forgotten to look at them. Guiltily, she said, “Not yet.”
“I’ve been hearing rumors about the casino.”
“What’s the problem?”
“There have been some complaints about the bidding.”
“Don’t worry about it. If there’s any problem, Paul Martin will take care of it.”
“You’re the boss.”
“I want you to send the plane to Milan. Have the pilots wait for me there. I’ll get in touch with them at the airport.”
“All right, but…”
“Go back to sleep.”
At four o’clock in the morning, Paul Martin was wide-awake. He had left several messages on Lara’s private answering machine at her apartment, but none of his calls had been returned. In the past, she had always let him know when she was going to be away. Something was happening. What was she up to? “Be careful, my darling,” he whispered. “Be very careful.”
Chapter Twenty-three
In Milan, Lara and Philip Adler checked into the Antica Locanda Solferino, a charming hotel with only twelve rooms, and they spent the morning making passionate love. Afterward, they took the drive to Cernobbia and had lunch at Lake Como, at the beautiful Villa d’Este.
The concert that night was a triumph, and the greenroom at La Scala Opera House was packed with well-wishers.
Lara stood to one side, watching as Philip’s fans surrounded him, touching him, adoring him, asking for autographs, handing him little gifts. Lara felt a sharp pang of jealousy. Some of the women were young and beautiful, and it seemed to Lara that all of them were obvious. An American woman in an elegant Fendi gown was saying, coyly, “If you’re free tomorrow, Mr. Adler, I’m having an intimate little dinner at my villa. Very intimate.”
Lara wanted to strangle the bitch.
Philip smiled. “Er…thank you, but I’m afraid I’m not free.”
Another woman tried to slip Philip her hotel key. He shook his head.
Philip looked over at Lara and grinned. Women kept crowding around him.
“Lei era magnifico, maestro!”
“Molto gentile da parte sua,” Philip replied.
“L’ho sentita suonare il anno scorso. Bravo!”
“Grazie.” Philip smiled.
A woman was clutching his arm. “Sarebbe possibile cenare insieme?”
Philip shook his head. “Ma non credo che sarai impossibile.”
To Lara, it seemed to go on forever. Finally, Philip made his way over to Lara and whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”
“Sì!” Lara grinned.
They went to Biffy, the restaurant in the opera house, and the moment they walked in, the patrons, dressed in black tie for the concert, rose to their feet and began applauding. The maître d’ led Philip and Lara toward a table in the center of the room. “It’s such an honor to have you with us, Mr. Adler.”
A complimentary bottle of champagne arrived, and they drank a toast.
“To us,” Philip said warmly.
“To us.”
Philip ordered two of the specialties of the house, osso buco and penne all’arrabbiata. All during supper they talked, and it was as though they had known each other forever.
They were constantly interrupted by people coming up to the table to compliment Philip and to ask for autographs.