Belle - Lesley Pearse [119]
But now he seemed in no rush to have his way with her, she was seeing yet another side of him. It was good just to lie back on the pillows and talk; she never had a chance to do that with other men. He told her how he had to ride the railway a great deal to check that the passengers on the trains were being treated properly, that the trains ran on time, and that the stations along the routes were maintained well. But he was also involved in decision-making about new railways, negotiating the deals for the land they crossed, and buying up or building hotels and other related businesses by the railway stations.
He had the ability to make even rather mundane things interesting, but once he got on to the subject of different parts of America, the wildlife and the Red Indians, he was spellbinding. ‘It’s God’s own country,’ he said with real fervour. ‘Vast plains, huge forests, wide, fast-flowing rivers and mountains so beautiful they bring a lump to your throat.’
Then he wanted to know about England, and although Belle did her best to describe London so he could imagine it, she was ashamed that she knew so little about the city of her birth.
She wanted to ask him about his wife and children, but she sensed he wouldn’t welcome such questions. So instead she told him how she had been snatched off the street and eventually brought here.
He looked thoughtful as she told him the story, and when she’d finished he took her hand in his and squeezed it.
‘It’s men like me who make this lucrative market,’ he said sadly. ‘We only see the excitement, the colour and the thrill of sporting houses. We don’t ever think how the girls came to be there. I sure do feel ashamed now.’
She squeezed his hand back and cuddled closer to him. ‘Don’t be. You are a good man. There aren’t any girls in this house who aren’t willing. Even if I hadn’t been forced into this way of life, maybe I would’ve come to it anyway. You weren’t the one who captured me, or one of the men who raped me in Paris. I like being here with you. I really like you.’
He turned to her and stroked her cheek. ‘I like you too, Belle. You are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, with your mop of dark curls and your dancing eyes. You make me feel young again.’
When they’d drunk all the champagne Faldo scooped her into his arms in the way she felt a husband or a lover would, and he sought to please her rather than expecting her to please him.
Sex with any of her clients was quickly over and much the same whoever it was with. Faldo had been like all the other men too; there was nothing to single him out other than that he hadn’t been rough, said crude things or been unpleasant in any other way. But he was different tonight, slower, sensitive and loving. It wasn’t in the same league as Serge’s lovemaking, but it was enjoyable.
Belle glanced at the clock on her bedside table at one point and was amazed to see it was gone twelve, yet they’d come up to her room soon after nine. But he was holding back, wanting to make it last, and for once Belle didn’t try to speed things up; she was liking it, really liking it.
Daylight was just creeping around the edges of the shutters when she awoke to find herself still in his arms, and his body, which she’d thought so flabby the previous evening, now felt warm, soft and comforting. And she stretched herself along it like a cat, winding her legs over his. This, she thought, was how it must be when you were married, a cosy kind of contentment.
He made love to her again a little later and it was sweeter still than it had been the night before. She even let him kiss her, for she felt as if she should give him all that she had.
But around half past eight he looked at his pocket watch and sighed. ‘I have to go, my little flower. I have a meeting at ten and I need to go to a barber’s and get shaved and back to my hotel to get a clean shirt.’
‘It’s been really lovely,’ she said, wrapping her arms around him