Then as if someone had whispered into her ear, the maid’s expression promptly changed and she rushed to Angelina’s side. “May I help you with something, Madame; are you needing assistance?”
Angelina immediately dropped her foot to the carpet, feigning an adjustment to her straps. “Non, Mademoiselle, mais je vous remercie. I was only adjusting my strap. Is this the way to the foyer?” Angelina pointed down the lavish corridor and toward a gently spiralling and highly ornate staircase.
“Oui, Madame,” the maid’s expression was concerned and a little puzzled by her question.
Angelina turned cautiously, using the polished handrail to guide her unsteady steps, leaving the maid staring after her. Halfway down the gold and green staircase, Angelina’s heel dug into the fluffy grass, throwing her off balance and causing her to stagger forward; but a furious grab for the shining rail averted a stumbling tumble and possibly injuring her dignity in an unladylike heap at the base of the staircase and in full view of the staff and patrons of the expensive hotel.
As she finally stepped onto the foyer’s solid level ground, an immaculately dressed blue-suited mountain met Angelina with a courteous smile and gently offered her his arm. In the other hand, he carried a small rack of plastic covered fashion clothes with the exclusive insignia of L’Apollinaire unashamedly blazoned across the plastic wrap. Angelina’s puzzled gaze did nothing to perturb the handsome muscled man, reaching out his arm to her as if he’d done this many times before and her confused gaze was a normal part of his everyday routine. Reluctantly, but thankful for the support, she reached for the suited arm offered and enfolded her hand around the strong muscled limb. For a moment, Angelina suspected the gentle giant to be her elusive and benevolent husband, but as the hotel staff gathered excitedly and admiringly around her, a “petite” member of the staff handed the mountain a piece of paper.
“Your receipt for Madame’s stay, Clayton.”
“Merci,” the rich baritone voice replied, taking the paper from the woman’s hand.
“We hope you have had a pleasant—if only brief—stay with us, Madame,” the woman turned her attention and directed a well rehearsed plum speech towards a deeply confused Angelina.
The soothing effects of the hot shower had worn off and so had the intense desire to commit a felony on the writhing Niccolo’s skinny frame, but with this new skit playing out, she was beginning to feel the profound biliousness of a lurking migraine stalking the sleep-deprived hallways of her spinning mind.
“Please offer our sincere gratitude to your husband for the gifts to our staff and we hope you get well soon.”
Sensing Angelina was about to faint, Clayton protectively brushed aside the adoring onlookers and led the waning celebrity to a waiting black Rolls-Royce Phantom and gently placed his charge in the back seat and then closed the door. Finding the driver’s seat, Clayton’s immense frame easily slipped behind the white leather and polished mahogany’s interior controls, before hanging Madame’s fashion accessories onto a cabin hook. Commanding the aggressive but well behaved power module into life with a fingerprint to a touch screen and gazing back at the struggling woman via the rear vision mirror, Clayton adjusted the air conditioning stream to whisper gently into Angelina’s face with the touch of a sensor. The opulent vehicle obeyed the driver’s command with precise accuracy and brought immediate euphoric relief to Angelina’s bewildered and aching mind.
As if orchestrating a well rehearsed manoeuvre, Clayton manipulated the cabin accessories again and a darkened screen closed, separating the driver compartment from Angelina’s space, filtering the light entering the back seat while another exacting control adjustment extended the comfortable soft leather seat she was sitting on into a semi-reclining position, gently stretching her aching body into a restful sleeping pose. Then as if the vehicle had a mind to obey the driver’s thoughts, the window curtains surrounding the back seat automatically closed; the cabin lights dimmed to a dull murmur and gentle, soothing piped music lulled Angelina’s heavy eyes to close. With the opulent smell of expensive leather exuding from the vehicle’s polished interior and caressing her struggling mind, she heard a deep, gentle muffled voice enter her thoughts just before she fell off the cliff of consciousness. “Sleep well, Madame.”
Clayton engaged the velvety transmission without the slightest hint of disturbance to the vehicle’s interior and soon the black Rolls-Royce Phantom, prowling with prowess, glided into the Quai Wilson from the Quai du Mont-Blanc, leaving the pleasantries of the Hôtel d’Angleterre on the shores of Lac Léman slipping silently behind them. Following closely to the shoreline of the picturesque lake, Clayton effortlessly navigated the Avenue de France before turning right into Rue de Lausanne and swiftly accelerated up to speed along the A1 en route to Montreux, their final destination, leaving Geneva as a fading memory in the clear haze of the luxurious vehicle’s exhaust.
After thirty minutes and a lane swap at the Lausanne interchange connecting the A1 and the A9, the distant imposing barrier of the Alps rose up majestically above the autoroute, signalling the stunning beauty of Montreux would soon be in reach. Taking a glimpse into the darkened passenger cabin from the rear vision mirror, Clayton smiled at the hazy outline of an exhausted figure fast asleep in the protected sanctuary of the Phantom. Then with a quick glance at an expensive Rolex and a brisk survey of the traffic intensity, Clayton calculated they would arrive in Montreux exactly as planned.
*~*~*~*
The sleek and stately black Rolls-Royce Phantom stealthily entered the Grand’ Rue and turned its shimmering majestic lines along the lakeside boulevard until it came to a smooth hovering halt directly opposite the lavish foyer doors of the Hôtel Fairmont Le Montreux Palace. Clayton glanced into the rear view mirror and checked his charge. She was still fast asleep. The corners of his mouth turned up in a half smile while the concierge met him at his window, obviously expecting the party’s arrival. As Clayton opened his door and forced the concierge back from the vehicle, the brightly attired doorman began to babble.
“The suite is ready and waiting, Clayton. Can I assist you to move Madame?”
Clayton shook his head vigourously. Madame was his concern and no one would handle her excepting his tender care.
Just then a strikingly attractive, intensely piercing blue-eyed young woman burst from the hotel foyer and with a worried flurry, ordered Clayton to immediately convey Madame to the waiting presidential suite. “Quickly, you big oaf, take Madame into her room and away from all these prying eyes!”
Chantal had a way with people and always managed to upset Clayton, but he knew Madame would be in good care with her fastidious personal handmaid. Clayton opened the passenger door, but before he could reach in to convey Madame to her room, Chantal squeezed in around him and gently fussed over the sleeping form, very careful not to wake her. Grabbing Chantal by her designer belt encircling her stylish uniform, Clayton lifted her effortlessly from his path, kicking and hissing, threatening the big man with all sorts of trauma if he didn’t immediately put her down. Ignoring her threats, Clayton gently reached in and slid his powerful arms under Angelina’s peacefully sleeping form and tenderly drew her from the back seat. He paused as Angelina groaned, but when she settled again he continued the precise extraction and with one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back, her head rolled slowly against his large arm while Chantal lightly placed a silk coverlet over Madame’s legs, keeping her modesty safely intact.
Swiftly, Clayton entered the foyer with his precious cargo while a receptionist pointed the convoy down a passage and into the presidential suite, all the while Chantal hissing orders from behind like an overemphatic Chihuahua. As he approached the door to the suite, Chantal raced in front and threw the expensive barrier open just in time for Clayton to enter the large hotel apartment carrying Madame. Angelina’s blue-suited minder turned sideways to allow her feet and head to enter unhindered, avoiding the substantial door and its frame without distur
bing Madame’s sleep, while Chantal sizzled, whispering aggressively, “CAREFUL!”
Once inside, Chantal pointed him to a lavish bedroom and then with utmost care, Clayton lowered the sleeping form to the soft, springy mattress. Angelina groaned again and then rolled over, allowing Clayton to remove his arms from under the sleeping figure without disturbing her, but as soon as he had removed his arms from under her body, the chastising Chantal ordered him out of the room.
“You may go, Clayton! I... will take care of Madame from here!”
*~*~*~*
Chapter 16
Chantal ambled around the ostentatious presidential suite, hovering by the main bedroom door from time to time and sipping from a steaming hot cup of coffee, watching the drawing breaths of the exhausted woman deeply asleep in the semi-dark room. Distracted by a muffled metronomic timbre, she turned her attention to a tall grandfather clock standing proudly by the opposite wall, watching the pendulum through an ornate glass door swinging from side to side. Occasionally, a stifled baritone dong bellowed out from its highly polished carved oak cabinet signifying the top of another slowly passing hour. It had been a challenge getting Madame into bed without waking her, but as usual, Chantal prevailed and her task succeeded without losing focus or waking her esteemed protégé. After all, she was a professional and well rewarded for her professional abilities.
She glanced back into the master bedroom momentarily, then satisfied Madame was in no danger of waking, Chantal dawdled back into the expansive and magnificently appointed entertainment room and settled in a comfortable recliner. Placing her cup down on a glass coffee table, her attention was drawn to the lakeshore and the meandering crowds milling around the jazz festival’s temporary vendor stalls. Surrounded by an artificially lit and manicured Quai de Vernex, the endless crowd slowly moved on from stall to stall, making an unhurried trail for the entrance to the Auditorium Stravinski and the first night of the celebrated Montreux Jazz Festival.
Breathing out heavily in an attempt to relax, the unusually warm summer day had taxed Chantal’s high octane energy levels. Drained and feeling the desire for some fresh and cool lakeside night air, she wriggled from her chair and pushed open a sliding glass door onto the first floor balcony, but was immediately hit with a solid wall of noise emanating from the Auditorium Stravinski just a few hundred metres away. Fearing the sudden onslaught would wake Madame, she quickly slammed the door shut again, locking the passionate screaming and high intensity rock music outside. Tiptoeing towards Madame’s open bedroom door, she glanced in just in time to see her roll over and moan slightly, before settling back into a rhythmic deep sleep. Chantal held her breath momentarily and then sighed with relief as Madame’s breathing deepened further, but waited just in case, making sure the attractive woman hadn’t been disturbed.
Convinced Madame hadn’t been troubled, she returned to the recliner where a hotel magazine laying across the glass coffee table and directly in her line of view caught her eye. Reaching for the glossy pages, she had only just managed to grasp its cover when a metallic beep signalled an incoming text message. Because of her high profile job, Chantal had few friends, but those she did have knew not to contact her when she was working. Monsieur was a kind and generous employer, although he would never permit anyone to distract an employee, especially when he was paying such a large salary and with such an important lady in her care.
Meaning to switch off the device, she accidentally glanced at the sender’s name instead, immediately raising her antagonised hackles. “What does he want?!” she hissed vehemently, then deciding it may be significant, she opened the message and read.
peace offering. la rouvenaz pizza + wine. share with u. let me in at door now.
Chantal’s stomach growled with hunger. She could easily reach for the hotel phone and order something from room service on Monsieur’s account, but a hot La Rouvenaz pizza enticed her eager taste buds and her resolve faltered, before collapsing altogether. The source of company, however, didn’t meet her stringent convention and she hoped she wouldn’t be caught dining with someone of such despicable character. A new text chimed its way into her decision making process and the single word... please...! sealed her decision. She loved it when she had control, and lower class people were forced to beg from her hand.
Chantal tiptoed past Madame’s room and unlocked the substantially secured presidential suite door, fully aware hotel security cameras were watching the hallway outside the room. Then quietly, she pulled the rich wooden barrier open to expose the blue-suited giant holding the offering he had enticed her with.
“Took your time, didn’t you?!” Clayton chafed.
“Sssh! If you wake Madame, I swear I’ll...!”
“Yeah, yeah, heard it all before,” Clayton pushed past Chantal but stopped, mesmerised outside Madame’s bedroom door, staring in at the woman with an obsessive glower. Feeling an animated shove from the little Chihuahua and a hand waving him past the bedroom door, he followed Chantal into the entertainment room and settled his peace offering onto the coffee table.
Hungrily biting into her first piece, Chantal mumbled through a mouthful of pizza, but the confused expression from her dubious dinner partner only confirmed he couldn’t understand her pizza speech. Swallowing down the sumptuous bite, she once again attempted to chastise the annoying brute. “I said... I wouldn’t let Monsieur catch you gawking at Madame that way!”
As if Clayton had been caught doing something wrong, he abruptly averted his eyes from Chantal’s and changed the subject. “Niccolo’s performing his new song at the auditorium right now and if you open the door, you’ll be able to hear it.”
“Is that Niccolo performing?” Chantal suddenly realised she had been baited and changed her tone. “Yes, I already have opened the door and almost woke Madame in the process. Does it sound good? The new song, I mean,” she reached for another piece of pizza, but her eyes never left Clayton’s.
Clayton shrugged. “If you like that kinda thing; doesn’t do anything for me though, but the crowd seemed to be enjoying it.”
“I’m sure Monsieur would be pleased,” Chantal offered.
Clayton’s eyes met hers and an uneasy expression passed between the duelling rivals.
*~*~*~*
Chantal’s eyes blinked open in shock and squinted in the bright sunshine reflecting in through the suite’s expansive windows facing the hotel’s manicured grounds and the sultry aqua blue water of Lac Léman. She quickly extricated her stiff body from the recliner, staring around the scene and figuring she had fallen asleep while sharing a glass of vino with Clayton; but thankfully, after she’d dozed off he’d had the insight to clean up after their unscheduled supper. Swiftly, she strode towards the main bedroom fearing Madame was already awake, but relief overtook her when she checked in to find Madame still asleep with some of her jet black locks restlessly tangled around the peaceful lines of her attractive face.
Then from out of nowhere, an incessant pounding echoed into the presidential suite and drew Chantal’s flustered attention. The loud knock would almost certainly wake Madame. Chantal’s ire had risen above boiling, ready to give the guilty party a well sharpened piece of her mind; and if this was Clayton’s idea of a payback, then he would not only face her ire, but Monsieur’s as well. Unlocking the heavy sentinel, Chantal threw open the door only to be greeted by a group of frenetic young men.
“Sssh! What is the meaning of this outrage?!” Chantal demanded, letting her hair down and bellowing at the astounded party, assured Madame would most likely be awake now.
The stunned faces collapsed into silence at the enraged attack from the small pretty woman. “Mi scuso, signora! We did not mean to offend, but we know Madame Trudeau is here and we are eager to see her,” the spokesman for the group, a curly, black-haired heart throb seemed to be familiar, but Chantal didn’t care.
“Madame Trudeau is not well and if your brutish greeting has woken her, you will be in deep trouble!”
r /> From somewhere behind the snapping guard dog, a forlorn and shattered voice drifted out into the passageway. “Niccolo... is that you?”
*~*~*~*
Chapter 17
Philippe stood nervously before the banquet hall door and with an uncertain hand, patted down the fraying cloth of his meagre attire, convened to an audience with his father. Henri Rousseau, a ruthless self-made mogul and an extravagantly wealthy man, had it in his mind to break his wayward son’s devotion to the poor, and the God who had captured his heart and mind, bringing unending embarrassment and displeasure to the wealthy tycoon. This would be another extreme battle of wills and Philippe silently prayed for strength and wisdom before the game began. Taking a deep breath, Philippe held it for a few seconds and then exhaled, gaining strength to knock and announce the beginning of another round of sharp reproof.
“Come in, Philippe, and join me in a hearty wealthy man’s breakfast.”
The first cheap shot had already been fired even before Philippe entered the arena. The doors to the banquet hall slowly crept open before the gaping hobo, held ajar by two stunningly attractive young women, shapely and scantily dressed, making Philippe feel dirty and trying to avert his eyes. The game had indeed begun and his foe was using tactics unbefitting a gentleman, but at this point Philippe felt powerless and unable to defend his position.
“Ah! You find my two... hostesses alluring. These are some of the trappings of a wealthy man, Philippe,” Henri waved an annoyed hand at the two women, ordering them to leave the older man alone with his ragtag guest.
Not trusting his eyes, Philippe stared at a vast white tablecloth covering a huge table and spread with every type of extravagant food conceivable until he heard the door at the other end of the hall close and the two ladies of the night had left the room.