Home > adventure, aristocracy, culture, Death, life, wealth > 5. Beryl O’Flies – Confidential Investigator

5. Beryl O’Flies – Confidential Investigator

Rome’s Fiumicino “Leonardo da Vinci” Airport was relatively quiet when we landed in Italy. It was very early on Tuesday morning and the flight was almost uneventful. I say ‘almost’ because… well… you know how goofy Beryl O’Flies can be. We were out there over the middle of the Atlantic in a 747 when she woke me. She wanted us to make love at thirty-seven thousand feet and six hundred miles an hour. We quietly met in the washroom and made love. I sat on the toilet seat and she straddled me so we were face to face. I don’t really like doing ‘sex stunts’. I prefer a calm, peaceful, gentle night… or day… exploring each other, tasting each other for hours. Although it’s against the rules, we got away with making love in the washroom to join the ‘mile high club’.

As we left immigration there was a lovely young woman holding a sign that read ‘O’Flies’. We identified ourselves and she led us to the Mercedes limousine that was sent by Kimberly Rashid-Monterrain – our client – to meet us. I enjoyed following Bianca, the driver, because she had a pleasant walk and ‘culo’ in her chauffeuse uniform. It was form fitted soft, supple, grey leather. As she drove us, Bianca pointed out famous landmarks in the ancient Italian city. We soon were driven through a pair of huge wrought iron gates and up a long, long driveway surrounded by fruit trees. Eventually we emerged into a groomed garden area at the other side of which stood a splendid, although ancient, mansion.

We were driven around the central fountain and stopped at the front steps of the mansion. Bianca hurried around the car to open the door for Beryl and I. At the same time, a uniformed servant hurried down the steps to get luggage out of the trunk. Right behind him, a tall, stately, elegant woman with white hair piled majestically on top of her head descended the stairs with graceful movements. She presented a bejewelled hand to Beryl and then to me. Her dark eyes looked into mine as she welcomed us.

“Welcome to Monterrain,” she said. “I am Ariani Rashid, Kimberly’s mother. She is eager to greet you but is unfortunately occupied with a critical telephone call.”

The man who gathered our luggage was named Martin. He showed us to our quarters when he carried some of our luggage while Beryl and I carried some smaller pieces.

“When you feel refreshed,” said Martin, “simply descend to the main floor and you’ll be shown into Ms. Rashid-Monterain’s salon.”

Our quarters turned out to be a suite with a sitting room and two separate bedrooms with private bathrooms at opposite ends of the sitting room. Beryl and I agreed that until we get a better feeling of what’s going on here, we should take separate bedrooms.

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