of the Milizia di Frontiera – one of II Duce ’s men.
Biff nodded. ‘I see. A major, no less.’
He knew the rank structure of the Blackshirts from a RAF briefing.
Catino gestured with his hands towards the staircase.
‘Yes, yes. Now, let me show you to your room.’ His face beamed. ‘If you have no objection we would like to offer you one of our top suites – at no extra charge,’ he added hurriedly.
Biff was genuinely surprised.
‘Why, that’s awfully decent of you. Is there any reason?’
‘Because you are honeymooners, and besides, we don’t have as many visitors as we used to, so we have the room. Please, it will be my pleasure.’
Impatient with Biff, Rosemary butted in.
‘Why, thank you, Mr Catino. We are pleased to accept.’
They followed the manager as he escorted them up the stairs and put the key in to one of a pair of double doors.
‘Here we are.’
He opened the door and stood aside for them. Rosemary went first, and Biff almost bumped into her because she had stopped so abruptly.
The room was large, with a painted ceiling depicting gods and goddesses being borne by chariots over fluffy clouds. The walls were covered in silk of a faint gold hue. Between two french windows draped in matching silk curtains was a white marble fireplace.
Assorted sofas and chairs were placed around it, while a delicate writing bureau and chair were placed against the opposite wall. The marble floor was covered with two huge Persian rugs.
‘Good heavens.’ Rosemary found her voice. ‘It’s beautiful.’
Catino beamed, and opened another double door.
‘And this is your bedroom.’
They followed him into another room, this time with no frescoes. The vast bed was set against one pale blue wall, which showed off the elaborate headboard. There was another marble fireplace, and a table and chairs in the style of Louis XVI, and rugs filled the room, with huge wardrobes and chests of drawers spaced around the walls.
‘Here is the bathroom.’
Catino opened a concealed door and flicked on a light-switch.
The honey-coloured marble was laid from floor to ceiling. Lights were reflected in the large mirrors above the two art deco basins.
Rosemary just looked in, then said; ‘It’s sumptuous.’
‘I hope you will enjoy your stay with us. If there is anything we can do to make you more comfortable, please don’t hesitate to ask.’
Their luggage arrived. Two porters placed their cases on a table, Rosemary’s hatbox on the bed, and trunk in the corner.
‘Would you like a maid to unpack for you?’
Rosemary chuckled. ‘No, that’s quite all right thank you. I like doing it myself.’
‘Of course.’
After further pleasantries Catino withdrew. They looked at each other for a second, then Biff picked Rosemary up and swung her around as they laughed, then kissed.
He said: ‘It’s wonderful, darling. We’ll remember this for the rest of our lives.’
She agreed. ‘But why do you think they’ve done this?’
He made for one of the french doors.
‘I expect it’s because fewer people are travelling with all this talk of war.’
He threw open the doors and stepped out on to a large terrace, the stone balustrade marked at each end by a Roman bust.
‘Come and look at this.’
The view was spectacular. The hotel was on a cliff edge so they were looking down on to the harbour some two to three hundred feet below, where a paddle steamer churned the water as it manoeuvred to head out to sea to Capri. Along to their right the cliff edge of Sorrento was solid with old hotels and buildings built right to the edge.
Opposite, across the Bay of Naples loomed Europe’s only mainland volcano: Mount Vesuvius, looking quiescent in the haze.
Hundreds of little sailing boats plied out of the harbour. Thesteamer sounded its siren several times, and began to make headway, leaving a white wake of foam in the deep blue which turned to clear sparkling green in the shadows. He put his arm around her as she
Biff nodded. ‘I see. A major, no less.’
He knew the rank structure of the Blackshirts from a RAF briefing.
Catino gestured with his hands towards the staircase.
‘Yes, yes. Now, let me show you to your room.’ His face beamed. ‘If you have no objection we would like to offer you one of our top suites – at no extra charge,’ he added hurriedly.
Biff was genuinely surprised.
‘Why, that’s awfully decent of you. Is there any reason?’
‘Because you are honeymooners, and besides, we don’t have as many visitors as we used to, so we have the room. Please, it will be my pleasure.’
Impatient with Biff, Rosemary butted in.
‘Why, thank you, Mr Catino. We are pleased to accept.’
They followed the manager as he escorted them up the stairs and put the key in to one of a pair of double doors.
‘Here we are.’
He opened the door and stood aside for them. Rosemary went first, and Biff almost bumped into her because she had stopped so abruptly.
The room was large, with a painted ceiling depicting gods and goddesses being borne by chariots over fluffy clouds. The walls were covered in silk of a faint gold hue. Between two french windows draped in matching silk curtains was a white marble fireplace.
Assorted sofas and chairs were placed around it, while a delicate writing bureau and chair were placed against the opposite wall. The marble floor was covered with two huge Persian rugs.
‘Good heavens.’ Rosemary found her voice. ‘It’s beautiful.’
Catino beamed, and opened another double door.
‘And this is your bedroom.’
They followed him into another room, this time with no frescoes. The vast bed was set against one pale blue wall, which showed off the elaborate headboard. There was another marble fireplace, and a table and chairs in the style of Louis XVI, and rugs filled the room, with huge wardrobes and chests of drawers spaced around the walls.
‘Here is the bathroom.’
Catino opened a concealed door and flicked on a light-switch.
The honey-coloured marble was laid from floor to ceiling. Lights were reflected in the large mirrors above the two art deco basins.
Rosemary just looked in, then said; ‘It’s sumptuous.’
‘I hope you will enjoy your stay with us. If there is anything we can do to make you more comfortable, please don’t hesitate to ask.’
Their luggage arrived. Two porters placed their cases on a table, Rosemary’s hatbox on the bed, and trunk in the corner.
‘Would you like a maid to unpack for you?’
Rosemary chuckled. ‘No, that’s quite all right thank you. I like doing it myself.’
‘Of course.’
After further pleasantries Catino withdrew. They looked at each other for a second, then Biff picked Rosemary up and swung her around as they laughed, then kissed.
He said: ‘It’s wonderful, darling. We’ll remember this for the rest of our lives.’
She agreed. ‘But why do you think they’ve done this?’
He made for one of the french doors.
‘I expect it’s because fewer people are travelling with all this talk of war.’
He threw open the doors and stepped out on to a large terrace, the stone balustrade marked at each end by a Roman bust.
‘Come and look at this.’
The view was spectacular. The hotel was on a cliff edge so they were looking down on to the harbour some two to three hundred feet below, where a paddle steamer churned the water as it manoeuvred to head out to sea to Capri. Along to their right the cliff edge of Sorrento was solid with old hotels and buildings built right to the edge.
Opposite, across the Bay of Naples loomed Europe’s only mainland volcano: Mount Vesuvius, looking quiescent in the haze.
Hundreds of little sailing boats plied out of the harbour. Thesteamer sounded its siren several times, and began to make headway, leaving a white wake of foam in the deep blue which turned to clear sparkling green in the shadows. He put his arm around her as she
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