The morning sun was bright as we stumbled about in our suite at the fancy hotel in the center of Milan, waiting for room service breakfast to arrive. One carafe of dark coffee had been delivered early. When Lorenzo let himself in with his extra room key, the women were still showing a lot of skin.
Avril said to him in Italian, "Please come in. Breakfast will be here soon. Do not mind these wenches, they are awaiting your instructions about the program for today."
Anita gave him a hug, "Yes, the program. Do we need clothes?"
I gave a deep growl, "Teasing will..."
Quickly, her chest was pushing into mine. "Do not be a spoilsport. Your women need some fun!"
Beth intervened to inject calm, "Jason, find the print of Spring for Lorenzo."
I dug it out and carried to the window. In the early light, it looked as glorious as ever. Lorenzo was as tongue tied as the rest of us. "Signora, it is marvelous! You have such talent!"
Beth responded, "It is the first of a set of four, after Vivaldi's 'The Seasons.' We are on this tour so she can think about the others."
He held out his arms for Marie to provide a hug. It was a special moment.
Chapter 15 - London
Early Thursday afternoon, crammed with days of total immersion in Milanese art and history, we departed Italy on a two hour flight to London. The guides had been fully occupied with logistics duties, packing and arranging air transport for the art baggage, turning in the van, and seeing that the women were not burdened with details as they enjoyed the attentions of Lorenzo, who had developed a genuine attachment to our group. Hugs and kisses and tears accompanied our good byes.
Two days previous, Beth and Anita had taken Avril in the other room and coached her on an email note to her parents advising of certain changes in her supposed art activities in Tuscany. Deliberately, the note was short on details, but announced that all would be explained when she (and we) arrived on Thursday.
Several hours later, an aggressive reply came in that Avril was scared to open, making Anita do it. Fortunately, British restraint was obvious, only emphazsizing that indeed many explanations needed to be forthcoming, and was she being sufficiently wary of fast talking Americans?
Anita pushed Avril into my arms and thrust a hefty gin and tonic into her hands. "Young artist, all is well. Please relax in his arms and think about your further art education in California!"
Avril was shaking and giggling and the other women were in a fit of mild hysteria. At dinner, she was asked to fill us in on her parents. Blushing, she said that her father, Robert Stalwell, known as Rob, had an important finance job of some sort in the City. Her mother, Claudia, was a painter and an administrator of an artist's coop. There was a married older sister named Anna. The family home was on Albany Street near Regent's Park.
Beth added, firmly, "We are staying at the historic St. Pancras hotel, now completely restored, which Avril tells me is only a few blocks away from home."
Sensing another five star stay, I groaned and buried my head. Anita batted me and Avril said, "It is also an easy Underground trip from Heathrow to King's Cross station, which is next to the hotel."
My burdens increased when Marie smiled and said, "Jason, you are responsible for carrying the gift watercolour from here to Albany Street, surmounting all obstacles!"
Now I did have something to moan about. How was a 26x30 fragile canvas to be transported safely through airplane and subway and hotel checkin and intermediate hazards? Good Grief!
Damn! Avril was looking at me with teary eyes. Suck it up boyfriend!
Smile! "A challenge... But we thrive on challenges! Never fear, the art will go through!"
Four sets of female eyes were staring and doubtful.
"I mean it. The parents will receive this glorious work of art undamaged! What else are boyfriends good for?"
Two days later, I was trotting down the jetway to the First Class section of a British Airways widebody jet, the carefully wrapped painting under my arm. Leaning on the perks of First Class, I advised the Flight Attendant that I was carrying important art that had to be hand transported. She nodded and found a place behind the last row of seats and said she would guard it.
Finding her seat, Anita poked me, mumbling, "Lucky bastard!"
A glass of champagne and Avril in the next seat made life better. First major obstacle overcome.
At Heathrow, we did not have an immigration scrutiny, but the Customs people said they had to see the painting to screen for contraband. Experienced traveler Beth had anticipated this and had helped me prepare a flap which exposed a generous chunk of the canvas.
Gazing at the obviously fresh pigment and feeling around the edges, the inspector gave me a look and said to proceed. Whew! Allowed into England with Marie's art.
An hour or so later, the painting was resting in one of two adjoining suites in the new wing of the historic hotel. Five bodies occupied facing sofas, somewhat surprised that the journey had found success without incident.
Marie inquired gently, "Avril, don't you need to stay with your folks tonight?"
"Yes, I suppose I do, although I am terribly comfortable here!"
She climbed into my lap and shed a tear. Anita asked, "Young one, how are we to meet the parents? Shall one of us call and invite them to dinner? Would hotel food suffice? If we served cocktails here in the suite, Marie could make her speech and unwrap the gift painting?"
More tears. "Oh, you are so nice! That sounds exactly right. Let me call and see if Mom is home and put Beth on the phone."
In a few minutes, the arrangement was made, including Beth telling Claudia that dress was casual because we only had airplane clothes, and please come over immediately.
In the meantime, Anita had discovered that the hotel would be pleased to host dinner for seven in a private alcove of the dining room at 7:30. As usual, I was not to inquire about cost.
Avril was all smiles. Life was definitely improving. "I must shower! May the boyfriend scrub my back?"
We exited to the bathroom, insults echoing. Standing under a fancy waterfall shower head, she yanked on my important part and said, "He must be very restrained tonight. You too. No boyfriend moves!"
I pinched nipples and said my behavior would meet British standards. Her kiss was torrid. "Oh, I do hope we can get along. Do you think four Californians and two proper Brits can hit it off?"
Sitting on the bathmat, I lotioned legs that kept jumping about from nervousness. I was allowed to assist with underwear and buttoning the flouncy dress which packed well and shook out in a moment.
She was still lacing sneakers when there was knock at the door and she dashed over to welcome Mom. Two excited women hugged and kissed and squealed. The family resemblance was obvious.
"Mother, you must meet these wonderful people from California!" Introductions of Thompsons and Stalwells were made. Anita said, "I might as well be a Thompson since I have thrown my lot in with all their art. But my proper name is Arnold."