Being wantonly indulged

For my birthday, Anne arranged a spa day for the two of us - when I entered the Haven Hotel, I felt that I was boarding an ocean liner in the 1930s - smooth marble floors gleamed in the light of brass chandeliers -  fountains played over bronze nymphs - soft voiced staff showed us to the spa - an art deco restaurant overlooked the sea - I half expected to see Hercule Poirot sipping a vermouth, or a woman with a secret, smoking a cheroot -

The indoor pools were overshadowed by succulent plants - dark spiky leaves glistened in the warm steamy air - balconies overlooked lolling swimmers - light streamed in through floor to ceiling windows -

Outside, there was a heated pool, set within a terrace - yachts sailed by, a few hundred yards away - we quickly changed into our swimming costumes, lazed in thick white robes - we read crisp newspapers, sipped sparkling water -we swam energetically in the glittering pool -

Later, we lazed in the indoor pools, were jazzed up by the zinging violent bubbles of the jacuzzi - sat dreamily in the steam room - were broiled in the sauna -

Then, we were massaged - a sinewy blonde woman pumelled me for half an hour or so - I lay, like a pasha, helpless and indulged - I went into a reverie - I thought I heard harpsichords playing Vivaldi's concerto - I imagined that I was on an embassy to Venice - the Sublime Porte was a galley's long voyage away -