This is the fourth part of the sequel to my series "Bad Penny" which I published here a few years ago. That was a semi autobiographical story (enhanced of course for fun, names changed to protect the guilty).
A related series "If I knew then" is also referenced in this story. It is a fantasy based on what could have been in a perfect world. A third series, "Life Sentence" also gets a mention - it is an horrific nightmare inspired fantasy, in which Penny is featured.
I hope this story is readable and enjoyable as a stand alone, but obviously, if you read the first chapters in this new series (and all the others) first, it will make more sense. This series, as a sequel to Bad Penny, is of course also semi autobiographical. And all names are fictitious. But some of it is true...
Dining at the Ritz hotel in London is an experience. The high ceilinged room with the multiple mirrored wall, the waiters in grey waistcoats, the sparkling silver and crystal, the crisp white linen, all combine to give an air of genteel opulence. And the food is wonderful. Presented on plates covered by silver domes, which are lifted from all the guests at the table at once to reveal the delicately plated complex and delicious dishes, they are masterpieces of flavour, texture, smell, and appearance.
Of course it helps when you have a beautiful woman for company. The woman who was your first love, and first lover, who has spent the last few hours telling you about her various adventures in the nearly thirty years you spent apart. Some of them very sexually explicit stories. Some of them quite shocking stories about abuse, and the sudden breakup of her first marriage, snatching her children away forever. But here she was, now smiling, chatting, sharing comparatively small talk, as we had agreed to do in this very public place.
So we talked about our travels, about other great meals we had, about old friends who she had not seen for years, about politics, and about books. She didn't take dessert, but encouraged me to indulge, and stole a spoonful of the walnut ice-cream which accompanied my poached pears. And then she proposed we have coffee in the foyer, at a table she had asked to be reserved.
As I followed her out I noticed that the beautiful young woman I had seen earlier that afternoon with her three companions, the ash blonde on who had winked at me, was sitting at a table with a middle aged man in a suit and apparently was deeply intent on listening to the story he was telling. Which surprised me, as two of the other girls had been at a table in my view behind Penny, with two Japanese businessmen, and the fourth young woman had walked past our table on the way out, accompanied by another older man, a few minutes before we had finished our meal. They must have met up before meeting their partners, for afternoon tea. And why not? I suspected they were all trophy wives, with little else to do. But if that was the case why did the blonde wink at me again?
I put it out of my mind, as we settled into the comfortable chairs and I sipped my coffee. Penny's long legs were crossed at the ankles, and they were fine ankles, I thought. I had taken a glass of wine with dinner, but had not yet taken my medication, so I was in gently relaxed mood. It was then that Penny said "Well, it is not late, for me, but perhaps it is late for you? I have so much more to tell you, but do you want to leave it for another day? Or shall I carry on?"
I told her I was wide awake, and would stay that way until I took the meds, and had no reason to get up early, so I was at her disposal, if she wished to talk.
"Then where were we? Oh yes, I was here, in my suite, weeping, as Angelo had just walked out, telling me his solicitor would be in touch shortly. Which was true. He rang in about ten minutes and told me he would be coming to see me at the hotel in a couple of hours time. He suggested that Angelo had agreed to pay for the bill until the next morning, but I should seek somewhere else to stay the next day, if I did not wish to continue paying for the suite myself. So I spent the next few hours packing. I knew that Angelo was never going to come back.
The deal was simple. If I agreed to a divorce in Italy, under Italian law, I could keep the Dama Frisi title, which of course required an agreement about royalties for the domain name, and the flat in Paris, and an annual income of 12,000 euros. And I had to agree never to see the children again. I signed. I ordered the most expensive dinner and breakfast I could, and charged the taxi to the room. It was petty but, I felt petty.
The taxi took me to a much cheaper hotel, and I basically folded up for a few days. Then I rang one of my London acquaintances, and met for drinks, and she knew someone who had a pied-à-terre they were not using, so I borrowed it for a few weeks, and all the time I was just heart sick and despairing. And then Franzi turned up. My saviour again. He had heard from Angelo, who was not happy with him. Zi had after all introduced us, and knew a little of my past, so he should have warned him that I was a worthless whore. Close quotes. So Zi asked me to come back to work for him, but I said no. I had a different future that I knew I had to endure.
I got myself together, made some preparations, and then I went to Tilly, and knelt before her, and begged her forgiveness."
I nearly spilled my coffee. "What? You didn't! Why!"
