Tom and the Dazzling Fiona Ch. 06

Later he walked Fiona down to the Via Garibaldi crossing over a succession of little hump backed bridges and they ate in the Castello district and drank Bellini Cocktails almost under the daily wash still strung across the narrow alleys that opened off the street.

On another occasion they took a private launch to follow the route of the #41 Vaporetti anti-clockwise around Venice and like two kids fell in love with the sights and each other.

Fiona couldn't bear to be out of contact. She pulled his arm around her shoulders and half turned to nudge her breast against his chest. Her hand found its way to rest on his thigh, and she pressed her face into his neck then tilted it up so she could watch the view reflected in his eyes.

"It's like I want to see and hear everything through you."

Their time in Venice became like a dream; a gondola ride along the less frequented waterways; a stroll to La Fenice to hear a performance of Vivaldi's 'The Four Seasons'; a boat out to the remote island of Torcello lost in the silence of the northern lagoon where they enjoyed a candle lit meal; the time slipped by and she worshipped his body with her own.

But like all dreams it eventually came to an end and one morning the porters collected their luggage and the couple were taken to the Ship Terminal. There they boarded a great slab sided Car Ferry flying the Greek flag and which had the Cassavettes logo conspicuous on its towering bow.

"This is one of our ships," said Tom rather unnecessarily for the evidence was rearing large above them, "so be prepared for a lot of fuss and nonsense."

This began as soon as they reached the entry port where a uniformed officer and a senior stewardess were waiting for the couple. The officer saluted and Tom was taken forward to meet the Captain while the stewardess bore Fiona off to a state room where the luggage had already been delivered.

"Can I unpack for you Madam?"

Fiona gestured to the case labelled 'FERRY' and said immediately,

"Thank you, that one, please."

She was growing to enjoy the attention being lavished upon her as Tom's wife. Gone now was her embarrassment at being helped in such menial tasks. Admittedly she had always enjoyed having someone wash and dry her hair, the treat of being given a manicure or pedicure, or even having someone give her a soothing massage but now she had grown used to having somebody unpack and pack for her. But above all else, would soon grow used to having someone else wash and iron her clothes.

She was joined by Tom on their private balcony as the ugly ship slid down the Giudecca Canal with the tugs standing by in case of problems and as they entered the San Marco Basin she felt that she could have leant over the rail and touched the buildings as they passed slowly by.

"Look there's our hotel," she cried out, "I can see our room and our balcony. I wonder who's in them now?" Then she looked brazenly at Tom. "But I bet he's not as good in bed as you."

His pride at this unexpected praise made him blush until she reached up to kiss his cheek and he saw the mischief in her eyes.

"Let's try out this latest bed." She whispered while making a dive for his trouser zip.

...

They ate that night in the Captain's private dining room with six people at the table. The Captains wife turned out to be an agreeable middle aged woman who made appropriate small talk easily and was adept at seamlessly filling any awkward pauses. She also appeared unfazed at having the owner's son on board, although incognito, and from her behaviour the other two guests would never have guessed that the young man was later to inherit the whole shipping line.

With his usual reserve Tom had introduced them merely as Thomas and Fiona without giving any surname but this was in complete contrast to the other couple for everyone was soon made very aware that he considered himself to be an important official in the British Consular Service.

The man's wife had, ever since their marriage, made it her primary job to promote her husband's career and she was not slow to fill Tom and Fiona's ears with tales of his triumphs. In her mind he was Permanent Secretary material and she was convinced that in time such a senior post would be the inevitable appointment for a man of his ability.

But, as always, Tom had conveyed very little to such strangers and Fiona had long ago learnt to follow his lead. But it would have made no difference in this case for neither she nor Tom could get a word in edgeways. And as the other pair were so full of their own importance that they never once inquired into Tom's circumstances.

Sadly however Fiona's enjoyment on that particular evening was entirely spoilt when she discovered that the foreign office official had a restless hand. A hand which she was forced to remove from her thigh on a number of occasions. She was loath to make a fuss but his behaviour eventually became such a bore that she stood and reached for her evening bag.

The other two women then assumed correctly that Fiona was off to the cloakroom and rose to join her and at that very moment the Captain's attention was temporarily diverted by an officer who had apologetically entered the cabin.

This left Tom free to speak privately to the Civil Servant.

"Keep your wandering hands off my wife."

He spoke with considerable force although quietly enough not to carry, but his vice like grip on the man's wrist only served to reinforce the order.

"I can assure you that she doesn't like being pawed, and I'm damn sure that I dislike it even more."

There was a sudden flash of fear in the man's eyes followed by the shocked but late realisation that his fellow diners were far more influential than his earlier snap judgement had indicated. Now, and very belatedly, he recalled all the newspaper and TV reports of the marriage of Thomas Cassavettes the heir to the global Cassavettes Company.

One derogatory comment from this prominent man made into the correct ear would be enough to ruin his prospects for ever and the realisation made him break instantly into a cold sweat.

As a result he cravenly made their excuses and dragged his unwilling wife away soon after she had returned to the table. What explanation he subsequently made, when and if the 'little' woman realised who had shared their dinner table, Tom neither knew nor cared.

Nonetheless he stood politely as the pair left the room although with the residue of anger still lingering in his eyes.

"How did you know?" Fiona asked perceptively as they made their way back to the stateroom. "And what did you say?"

"You know very well that I have X-ray eyes that can see through tables," but although his comment was intended to be humorous his voice had a rough edge, "I just told him to stop his rude behaviour and that you didn't like being pawed."

She squeezed his hand in gratitude but he was unwise enough to continue.

"I was right wasn't I?"

This final attempt at bogus humility was going far too far so she released his hand and punched his arm.

"Ouch, that was definitely not ladylike." He began rubbing the embryonic bruise. "I didn't realise that I'd married a bare knuckle boxer."

But this time he caught her clenched fist in mid air and in response kissed her ear.

That night she snuggled up to Tom and whispered apologetically, "Can we not do it tonight, I'm a bit sore down there."

"Oh, okay."

But having caught the note of disappointment in his voice Fiona, for the first time, took pleasure in successfully sucking him off.

...

The new Mrs. Cassavettes lay naked on the upper deck protected from all but an overhead helicopter by white canvas screens. Her body glistened with lotion as she topped up her sun tan although already bronzed and lovely with her hair bleached almost white by the sun. Tom couldn't keep either his hands nor his eyes off her.

The 'Lady Eleanor' was moored in the natural harbour of Fornells on the north coast of Menorca. The traditional gentleman's yacht, owned by Nicholas Cassavettes and built in an earlier era, was in complete contrast to the line of multi-million dollar fibreglass products of the leisure industry which were also anchored in this sheltered haven.

The line of ships however was being regularly buzzed by high powered ribs which the skipper had told the honeymooners were on hire to the paparazzi who were looking for a divorced English Princess believed to be hiding out in one of the ships.

Through high powered binoculars the Captain had shown them the serried ranks of telephoto lens concealed in the trees all along the foreshore and had immediately ordered the erection of the canvas privacy screens behind which Fiona was currently relaxing.

Tom was in the saloon talking on the phone to his PA back in London. He had been as good as his word to Fiona and had rigidly ignored the temptation to ring anyone until now but as they were returning home tomorrow he wanted a prior heads up before going into his office.

They had joined the 'Lady Eleanor' in Patmas after leaving the Car Ferry but Fiona had turned out to be an indifferent sailor. The Captain had offered an alternative plan so they had come to Menorca by easy stages only moving by night when she was fast asleep.

On the way they had put into Sicily, first at Catania and then at Palermo, then Cagliari on Sardinia, before crossing to spend their last few days here at Fornells.

Later, after the sunbathe had the predictable effect on Fiona and the now very randy wife had hunted down her husband to energetically ride him to a noisy orgasm, Tom broached a subject which had lately become uppermost in his mind.

"Where do you want to live?..."

Fiona who was now sensuously rubbing cream into her breasts while absent mindedly giving lot's of attention to her still very erect nipples finally looked up clearly puzzled.

"...During all the interminable arrangements for the wedding and then my absence in Hong Kong we seem to have forgotten to discuss where you would like to live. It has even crossed my mind that you might enjoy choosing a new home."

"I don't know," she finally replied while still looking confused. "I've been so used to you taking charge of everything that I seem to have actually given up thinking for myself."

She stopped and he waited while she considered the situation.

"I suppose I just assumed that we would live in your apartment in London and go down to your parent's house on those weekends when you weren't away on business."

"So you don't fancy looking at houses for sale?"

"No, at least not yet. I love your London pad and Tremaine Place has everything that I might possibly need, that is if your mother has no objection?"

"No she'll be pleased to have the company. But what will you do in London all day when I'm out of the country?"

He smiled indulgently but she just grinned back.

"I might need to find a gigolo for when you're away. But seriously Tom, how could you ask me that? I've wanted to live in London all my life and now I've got all these credit cards which you've so foolishly showered on me I'm sure that I shall be blissfully happy."

"Okay," he said, "if you're sure that's what you really want."