Rome! Crumbling walls and palaces side by side with marble monuments and piazzas made cool by fountains. Sun-drenched days and warm nights and music always and everywhere. Rome was a city of feeling—an experience rather than a series of sights to be seen. They had been in Rome for only three days, but already Alexa felt as if she would like to remain here forever if she could.
They were staying in the villa of an extremely old Italian Duca and his considerably younger English wife, Perdita, both friends of Sir John; and Perdita had already taken Alexa everywhere that she could think of on their sightseeing excursions.
“You have seen the Colosseum and the Circus Maximus and the Sistine Chapel—not to mention the catacombs and the famous Caracalla baths. But my dear, would you not like to see something of the more modern side of Rome?”
Giusto, Perdita’s husband, had been engaged in a political discussion with Sir John, but now he suddenly looked across the room and gave a high-pitched chuckle. “Aha! You see how well I know my Perdita? I had been wondering how long it would take her to broach the subject.” He chuckled again at Alexa’s puzzled expression before he explained kindly: “The Temple of Venus, my dear. And it is well-named too, I can assure you. Most exclusive—most discreet. We usually make a habit of calling on our friend Orlanda at least once a week.” Surprising Alexa even more, the Duca actually winked before he added, “But you must let Perdita describe everything to you, for she will do much better than I could; and then you may decide, si?”
“Of course I can describe it all!” Perdita had a ribald twinkle in her eye as she leaned closer to Alexa. “In fact, I used to work there myself until my dearest little Giusto insisted it was time that we began to present a reasonably respectable facade. When the French were here it didn’t matter, but the English—good heavens, they have become so stuffy! On the surface, that is. In any case, I always wear a cloak when I visit now, and a hat with a veil or even a mask. Most people do these days, even the men. Don’t want to be recognized!” Catching Alexa’s rather wary look, Perdita shook her head with a laugh. “No, no, my dear! I know that by now you must feel as if you have seen all there is to be seen, eh? But I can promise you that the Temple of Venus is quite unique. For one thing...you won’t find the usual house girls there. Some of the young ladies come from the best families in Europe—convent runaways, un
happy wives, divorced women, ruined governesses. They dress like demure young misses and usually speak several languages, as well as being accomplished in many other ways as well. And they all enjoy what they do. You’ve read about the priestesses of Aphrodite?”
In spite of the fact that Alexa had by this time begun to feel that there could be nothing that could surprise her any longer, she found herself intrigued by Perdita’s veiled hints and roguish smile. Directing a questioning glance in Sir John’s direction, Alexa discovered a slight twinkle in his eye; and with a mental shrug she thought that, having seen the ancient and respectable side of Rome already, there could be no harm in discovering the other, more raffish side of the city. In any case, they were guests of the Duca and Duchessa Atanasio, and guests were supposed to fall in agreeably with plans made for their entertainment, were they not?
She would remember all too vividly afterwards that the night air had felt as warm as a caress against her face, and that the color of the silk gown she had worn under her hooded black velvet cloak had been a shade of scarlet interwoven with gold thread that could change color in different lights. The sound of horses’ hooves on the uneven cobblestones of the Via Condotti had made her picture the horses and chariots of ancient Rome that must once have traversed this very same street, and she had felt relieved that Sir John seemed less tired tonight than he had been since their arrival in Rome.
“Ah, there is nothing quite like a Roman night!” Perdita said as the Duke’s private carriage pulled up before a deep archway that was almost a tunnel, guarded by a spiked metal gate with a gold-painted reproduction of Botticelli’s Venus done in bas-relief against a deep blue background serving as a lock. The same emblem was also embedded in the brick arch above the gate, Alexa noticed as one of the footmen used the enormous silver key that the Duca handed him to unlock the gate for them. Almost at once, or so it seemed, two stalwart men clad in blue and gold livery appeared with torches to guide their way through the shadowed archway and across a small open courtyard with a fountain in its center, until they reached the imposing pair of carved marble columns that framed an ebony door bearing the same gold Venus they had encountered before, this time in the shape of an enormous door knocker.
They could very well have been entering the grand palazzo of some noble Italian family, Alexa thought as they entered a hall that was as large as a reception room, with its white marble floors scattered with oriental rugs and an enormous crystal chandelier overhead. And indeed, Madame Orlanda—dark-haired, slender and exquisitely gowned—could very well have been a titled hostess greeting guests arriving for a masquerade ball. There were a few other people about but they also were cloaked and masked and seemed to know in which direction they were supposed to go. In any case, Alexa noticed no display of curiosity or heads turning to stare as Madame Orlanda led them upstairs into her own private parlor to partake of some refreshment while she undertook to describe to the newcomers some of the exotic pleasures and pastimes available to guests at the Palace of Venus.
By the time they had gone upstairs and were comfortably seated, Alexa could not help but notice with a feeling of uneasiness that Sir John had begun to look tired and drawn again, although he brushed aside her concerned whisper with pretended harshness as he growled that he did not need a nursemaid at his time of life—a glass of the best cognac the house had to offer would do nicely instead.
“And after that I think I’ll take a nap as I usually do. Can’t keep up with active young fellows like Giusto here any longer!”
The Duca, who was at least fifteen years older than Sir John, chortled shrilly at this, while Madame Orlanda immediately invited Sir John to take his ease in her own sitting room, leading him there herself with a twinkling look over one elegantly clad shoulder while she invited the rest of them to make themselves quite at home until she returned.
Almost immediately the Duca put down his wineglass, and after a perfunctorily murmured apology he took himself off with the air of a man who knew exactly where he was going and what he wanted.
As the door closed behind him, Perdita lifted her glass to Alexa with a smile and a slight shrug. “Well, here’s to you, my dear! And to new experiences.” Her look held open appraisal as she studied the younger woman in her flamelike gown with the black velvet cloak now slipping off her shoulders. “You’re very lovely, Alexa,” she said in a softer voice. “And especially in that gown. What colors one can discover in it every time you move!” As Alexa lifted her glass with a guardedly polite smile, Perdita gave a sigh. “But—you do happen to prefer men, do you not? I can usually tell. Have you ever found yourself curious, though, about having another woman?”
“No,” Alexa said bluntly. The veiled admission that Perdita had made with her questions had not shocked her; she had been approached by other women before during the past few months when women had been her teachers, and she had learned to be direct. Now, because she really liked Perdita and did not wish to hurt her feelings, she smiled at her over the rim of her glass. “I suppose that might be so because there are very few things left for me to feel curious about since I began my education, as Sir John calls it. And that was in order that I could learn to defend myself.”
Putting her glass down abruptly, Perdita crossed the room to where Alexa stood, touching her cheek with a strange, almost pitying laugh. “Ah, my dear, don’t you think that all of us would like to guard ourselves against our feelings? But emotions can rise up all too easily to trap us unawares, like a sudden summer squall that comes from nowhere to whip a calm sea into a whitecapped frenzy. Be careful, for I do not think you have become a real cynic yet.”
Alexa might have argued the point if Orlanda had not returned to them at that moment with the announcement that Sir John was quite comfortable and had already fallen asleep.
“Well then,” Perdita said with a mischievous look as she drew her cloak more closely about herself, “ I for one am going to find—whatever I might be in the mood to find tonight. Do enjoy yourself, love. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
Quite unreasonably, as Alexa had to admit to herself, she felt a little annoyed at being left to her own devices, even though Orlanda proved more than gracious and not at all impatient or condescending as she poured out a glass of sherry for herself and asked Alexa if Perdita had told her anything about the Temple of Venus.
“Only that it is quite unique, I’m afraid. But I hope that will not make you feel obliged to waste too much of your time in...”
“Ah no, cara! I do nothing I consider a waste of my time. And since I also believe in frankness, as your husband tells me you do as well...you do not mind if I say that what I have heard about you is most intriguing?” When a slight smile and a shake of Alexa’s head answered her, Orlanda’s own smile widened to show small white teeth that were still pretty. “Good! So, shall we sit here for a few moments while I tell you a few things about this house of pleasure? For you must understand from the beginning that here we only cater to pleasure and nothing else. There are no questions asked here and the only boundaries are those that are self-imposed—not by our guests only but by the young ladies who choose to please them as well. I do not permit that anything should be inflicted on an unwilling partner, you see. Those who visit the Temple of Venus and return again and again do is because here it is all discovery and excitement; an exploration of the senses and an intensification of feeling. And because not only most of our guests but several of the young ladies too prefer to remain masked, it gives a sense of freedom. You comprehend?”
Alexa did indeed comprehend before too long, especially when Orlanda, with a rather roguish smile, led her into her own bedroom, which was dominated by a massive bed that was canopied and curtained with tassel-edged satin.
“Come. I promise that you will not be bored by the usual peepshows.” A sliding panel to the right of Orlanda’s bed revealed a rather narrow aperture that led them into a narrow corridor that was thickly carpeted, the walls on either side covered with a
heavy fabric that felt like velvet to the touch. The only faint light came from red shaded oil lamps that burned dimly in the niches that were set into the walls at intervals and from thin pencils of light that seemed to come from within the walls themselves.
Alexa had played the reluctant voyeur before, never being able to feel quite comfortable about observing certain acts that would normally take place in privacy even after she had been laughingly assured that some men were actually more stimulated by the thought that they might be observed.
“Most of my guests prefer to participate rather than to merely observe,” Orlanda whispered. “And it is very seldom that I bring anyone along this particular passageway, unless they are close friends of mine and...” she turned her head to look back at Alexa, who was following her, before adding with a strange kind of significance, “in the same profession as I am.” Before Alexa could think of a response to that rather enigmatic statement, Orlanda drew her attention to one of the tiny openings with the casual comment that she might be amused by this particular piece of theater. “He enjoys playing the Turkish sultan surrounded by odalisques, and he pays very well for each of them.”
A plump man wearing a domino mask that concealed all of his face except for his eyes sat naked and cross-legged upon a pile of cushions, surrounded by five young women clad in costumes that were as transparent as the flimsy gauze face veils they wore. One of them fed him grapes from a silver dish while another offered him occasional sips of wine from an ornately chased goblet. While a third young woman strummed on a strange looking musical instrument and sang with suggestive smiles and movements of her hips and eyes, the other two who reclined on either side of him occupied their crimson tinted lips and hennaed hands with pleasuring him.
“He visits us quite regularly,” Orlanda whispered before she led the way once more. “And so do many others—both male and female—who can afford to pay the prices I charge to have their secret fantasies fulfilled. With the masks, as you can see, they can become themselves! Paradoxical, is it not? I have known great ladies of the highest degree—well known for their coldness and arrogance—who come here to offer themselves to any man who approaches them with a certain crudeness of manner. And gentlemen whose wealth and positions make them envied and looked up to, who seek the most unexpected kinds of satisfaction.” Orlanda’s slim shoulders lifted expressively. “But as you have seen already, peepholes can only provide a student of human nature, shall I say, with such a very limited field of vision; whereas the same performance on the stage of a theater or opera house... You can imagine the difference!”
Even while she had been straining her ears to try and follow Orlanda’s low-pitched stream of words, Alexa found herself becoming more and more puzzled as she wondered why she, an utter stranger, should be taken into her hostess’s confidence without questions or reservations.