Belle - Lesley Pearse [108]
‘I don’t think anyone living in Montmartre is troubled at the idea of a brothel,’ Noah said with a grin. Walking up from the Pigalle, they’d seen dozens of street walkers, and they’d looked at the posters of the cancan girls outside the Moulin Rouge. ‘Some of the artists who live here only paint girls in brothels, so there must be hundreds of them.’
‘Maybe so, but this square looks like a place where ordinary people live,’ James said.
James Morgan would be described by most people as ‘a gentleman of leisure’. When his father inherited his grandfather’s successful hardware shop in Birmingham, he sold it and sank everything into manufacturing bicycles. He was a visionary, and while most people thought him crazy to take such a risk on something which might only be a five-minute wonder, he was convinced that bicycles would become the most popular means of transport. He was right of course, and having got into the business before the rest of the world realized their value, and overcome various teething troubles, British-made Morgan bicycles had become the benchmark of good craftsmanship and reliability.
His company had gone from strength to strength, selling not just to the home market, but exporting all over the world. James was officially employed in the London office, but his only real work was taking trips around Europe to find new outlets. This was why he had been happy to agree to come to Paris with Noah: to all intents and purposes he was just checking on some of the shops which already stocked Morgans.
Noah pulled out his pocket watch. ‘Almost one,’ he said. ‘So why don’t we go and have luncheon in that place over there?’ He pointed to a restaurant across the square with tables and chairs outside. ‘We can play the part of a couple of bounders and ask the waiter where we can find some girls!’
James laughed. He liked being with Noah; his warmth, good looks and confidence drew other people to them. James didn’t find it so easy to make friends – he wasn’t exactly shy, just unable to push himself forward. He knew he wasn’t handsome, being short and a little tubby, and his hair seemed to recede further each time he looked in the mirror. People were always saying that at thirty, well-educated and wealthy, he was the most eligible of bachelors, but although his parents and their friends were always introducing him to suitable girls, they never seemed to be very keen on him. The truth was that he thought women found him boring, and he felt he must be for he was still a virgin. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell Noah that.
Two hours later, after a good lunch with several glasses of wine, the two men were having a brandy each.
James had not been able to bring himself to ask outright if there was a brothel nearby, but Noah, with only a handful of French words to work with, a little sketch of a naked woman on a piece of paper, and a great many gestures with his hands, had managed to make himself understood to the little old waiter with a stooped back and a green apron almost as long as his trousers. The waiter pointed diagonally back across the square, exactly to the address they had, and held up seven fingers which they had to assume was the time the place opened.
‘So we’re doing fine so far,’ Noah said, ordering another brandy. ‘Once I knew that was a brothel I didn’t think it wise to mention Madame Sondheim. If she got to hear anyone was asking about her, we might find we couldn’t get into the place.’
‘So we’ve got to go in there tonight?’ James said nervously.
‘How else are we going to find out anything?’ Noah asked, rolling his eyes in a display of impatience. ‘Come on, James, you’re the one that speaks French, don’t you go all reluctant on me now.’
‘I’ve just never been in a brothel before,’ James whispered, not wanting anyone to overhear him. ‘I don’t know the form.’
‘They kind of know if you’re green.’ Noah laughed, remembering his first time. ‘I don’t suppose it’s any different here. We’ll both act like novices, that way we might get to chat more